The Salt Flats
1.30.2011
A couple of years out of college I got an invitation to a wedding from one of my best friends from high school, Maggie. It was my first friend to get married, and my first wedding that I wasn’t going to be a flower girl in. I was so excited, there was no question if I would go or not. Now, sometimes it is a question. I don’t want to sound like a jerk, but other people’s weddings can be a real pain in the ass. These days when I get invited to a wedding, my first thought is, Well there goes six hundred dollars I’ll never see again. (Just kidding people, keep inviting me to your weddings please – your second and third ones even.)
No, in all seriousness, I love weddings. Especially when you get to go home with someone. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.
The wedding was in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Before I even had a chance to look for flights, I got a call from Doug, another good friend from high school, and he had a plan. He told me that Brett, one of my biggest high school crushes, was going to fly to San Francisco to meet us and we would all drive to Steamboat together. I don’t know why Doug thought this was a good idea, as mapquest said it was a twenty one hour drive, and I can tell you right now there is no way I would have gone if it was just going to be me and Doug. Doug was known for snowballing himself into one ridiculous situation after another, and yet somehow none of them were his fault, and everyone else was to blame. I asked where we would stop to get some sleep mid drive, and he said that wouldn’t be necessary. I figured he’d crash and give in at some point, so I didn’t argue. But really, none of these minor details mattered to me, and I pretended he had to talk me into it. I already knew I would be traveling by car, not plane, to make it to Steamboat, because my biggest not-so-secret and ultimately unrequited high school crush would be in that car too.
We picked Brett up from the airport early Thursday morning, and our twenty seven, not twenty one, hour drive began.
First we took a detour through Tahoe, a stop that Doug had neglected to tell us about. He had to return some ski poles he’d borrowed from a friend, and more importantly, pick up some weed.
We get back on the road and the boys roll a joint and start smoking it in the car, and I have my window down trying to suck in the fresh air, petrified of getting contact high. Brett passes out again in the back seat, Doug and I start our first of about eighteen coffees and red bulls each. Six hours out of Tahoe and we are flying high. Six more hours and it’s a quarter to crack o’clock. Brett’s gets up and joins us on our way to crack town. Stopping at a hotel was going to be unnecessary now, and in my caffeine high I couldn’t believe I’d ever suggested it. I make a new suggestion – more red bull.
We stop at some creepy truck stop with a convenience store attached. There are numbers being called out by some shitty PA system. They’re also being displayed on an old TV monitor. Some DMV-like system was in place so we walked closer to the truck stop section and there are people waiting their turn to take a shower. It was obviously for the truckers to use during their long drives, but I wondered if anyone passing through could take a number. Either way, we high tailed it out of there but not before getting a new batch of red bulls and Starbucks espressos, munchies for Cheech and Chong, and a Best of the 80’s CD on clearance for $3.79. We listened to Life Is a Highway sixty four times throughout the rest of the drive.
As I’m sure you may have guessed, somewhere along the way (okay, immediately after he got into the car), I had started crushing on Brett all over again. And it was the exact same crush feeling I’d had in high school, butterflies and constant giggling included. I started being really silly and dorky - making stupid jokes, stealing his hat, poking him - I couldn’t help myself! But this time it was different – it became clear that this time my crush was reciprocated. Somewhere in an alternate universe, High School Molly was giving me a shout out.
Anyway, by the twenty third hour of the drive, we were high on caffeine, certifiably insane, and loving every minute of it.
So we finally get to this nice little suburban neighborhood somewhere in Colorado, where we’re staying with Doug’s friend for the night before heading to Steamboat. We’re on our 27th hour, and it’s 7:30 in the morning. We’re circling the streets, going next to zero miles an hour, trying to find the house number. There are kids riding bikes on the sidewalks, moms watering their rose bushes, dads mowing the lawn. Doug rolls down my window, leans over me and motions for one of the lawn mowing men to come over. I try to hide as he asks for directions, and we get the hell out of dodge before we get the cops called on us. We finally reach our destination, and within minutes are all passed out in Doug’s friend’s living room. After twenty seven hours, all we have to show for ourselves are empty cans of redbull, double shot Starbucks espressos, six crumpled McDonalds bags, sunflower seed shells, half a joint, a speeding ticket (my first!), and a partridge in a pear tree.
The next morning we drive to Steamboat Springs. On the way over we realize we have no hotel reservation. So we arrive college-style, expecting everything to just work out for us and fall into place – fast forward six years, I realize how important wedding etiquette is, and that when the bride-to-be calls, you don’t tell her that you forgot to make a reservation and you may not have a place to stay. Fortunately, Maggie is one of the most laid back people I know, and said not to worry about it, she’d call the hotel and get us a room. Five minutes later the four of us were unpacking in a perfect one bedroom, one bath, with kitchenette room.
The next morning we went to breakfast and, duh, started drinking, an obvious choice the morning of a wedding. We met up with even more Hong Kong friends and the overexcitement was getting to all of us. We lost track of time (or got drunk), and showed up late to the wedding, interrupting the ceremony trying to slowly open the two wooden doors of the church. Yeah, they’re not the quietest of doors. Again, fast forward some years and slap some social skills on me and that hasn’t happened since. Just saying.
Anyway, the wedding was amazing. And the reception…spectacular. We took gondolas up to the top of a mountain just before sunset. The view was incredible. I think because it was one of all of our first weddings, we were more excited about the free food and drinks coming our way than the celebration of love, but we still recognized that this was something special. Our little Hong Kong crew beamed with Hong Kong pride when Maggie came by to thank us all for coming.
And I’m afraid it’s all fuzzy from there. Not fuzzy from the alcohol but fuzzy like a dream (oh just wait, I get even cheesier). But I remember wearing Brett’s jacket, and have the clearest picture of me in it in my head. Wearing his jacket made it look like we went together, like we were a pair. And that’s exactly what we were that night. He didn’t leave my side all night (or I didn’t or wouldn’t leave his – semantics). Either way, we were glued to each other. And, well, I’m pretty sure that we were the first people to leave. Grandparents had a later night than we. I remember hearing music and singing (possibly Doug on stage with the band?) in the background as Brett and I left hand in hand.
The next morning I got a few sideways glances and knowing smiles, but our early departure and sweet flirtations paled in comparison to the night Doug had had. All attention shifted to him as he told us that he, too, had reconnected with someone from high school, although I don’t think they were playing out any teenage fantasies they’d had of each other so much as just playing out a drunk hook up. The girl Doug went home with was at the wedding with her parents, who were good friends with Maggie’s parents. Well mid hook up, her mom came to the door. Doug grabbed his clothes, slipped onto the balcony, crawled over to the edge on the street side and hung there, sixty feet up and naked. When her parents eventually left, he crawled back up and got the hell out of dodge. He must have done something right though because he got a voicemail the next day from her that said, thanks for last night. Very romantic.
Hungover as all hell, we packed up the car and were Bay Area bound. On our way through Wyoming we started seeing signs for fireworks. Unable to pass this up, we stopped at one of the makeshift stores and apparently it was the right one ‘cause they had everything. We all bought at least a hundred dollars worth of loot, wondering where and when the hell we’d be able to use it all. Funnily enough, that time would very soon come.
Hours later, somewhere in Utah, Doug reads aloud a sign he sees: “Bonneville Salt Lake Flats Speedway”. I’d never heard of this place before but it was basically hundreds of miles of absolutely nothing. It was once a lake that dried up and left a bunch of salt, or something to that effect. Doesn’t sound all too exciting and I really didn’t think it was, but this was the perfect place for two boys to drive as fast as they could and do donut after donut. Poor little rental car never saw this coming. Soon we discovered that under the salt was a shit ton of mud. After one too many donuts, the car started spinning on its wheels. We pushed the car, we laid clothes underneath the wheels to try to get traction, but to no avail – we were officially stuck. It was one in the morning, pitch black out, and triple A wouldn’t come look for us because of where we were. And because we didn’t know where we were. All we could tell them was somewhere in the middle of the salt flats.
Turns out somewhere in the middle of the salt flats is a pretty cool place to be when you have a bunch of fireworks and some warm beers in the trunk. We set off about half of the fireworks and explosives we’d bought that day, and watched the sky light up with our stupidity. We eventually got a couple of hours of sleep in the car, and woke up to the most breathtaking surroundings, surroundings we hadn’t seen the night before. It looked like freshly fallen snow surrounded us for miles and miles. Snow or salt, it was beautiful.
Well two hours and three hundred dollars later, we’re sitting in our car being pulled back to the road by a snow cat because the tow truck got stuck on the salt on its way to rescue us. We don’t look back as we drive away.
We stopped in Reno after the Salt Flats, deciding to press our luck. We got back to the Bay Area mid day Friday, and emptied our Reno winnings (two fluffy giant pink die and about six human sized stuffed animals) onto the front lawn of my parents’ house, beaming with pride. Brett was in town for one more night before he headed back to Boston, and we met up with some other of our Hong Kong high school friends who lived in the area. We went to a bar in the city and played pool and had some drinks. I drove in with my friend Tori and told her all about the trip, namely my rekindled gigantic sized crush. She was giddy along with me, talking about every detail like a couple of teenagers. And that’s exactly what we were - Tori and I, and Brett and I – a couple of teenagers having the time of their lives. Ah, to be young and in love…!
The boys were already at the bar when we got there. Doug and Brett and I all looked at each other like we were all in on a secret that no one else could understand, even if we wanted them to.
We were playing pool and drinking beers and Rishi and I started talking. He asked about the wedding and our trip and I filled him in with the missing parts of Doug’s rendition. So you had a good time, he asked. A really good time, I told him. He smiled and nodded. What, I asked, what are you smiling at?
“Well I knew you had a good time – Brett just said to me, ‘I think I fell in love with Molly this weekend’”.
They were the most beautiful words I’d ever heard.
I also took the fact that someone falling in love with me in three days spoke very highly of my personality, looks and indelible charm, overall self.
And although these words would do rhythmic gymnastics in my head for the next few years, they would also open a door in my mind whose sign said, Keep Shut. I didn’t want my thoughts to go wild with all of the what ifs that went with hearing someone was as mutually taken with you as you were with them, especially when that someone lived on the other side of the country. We said goodbye and he was off…
I was high on life for the next, I don’t know, forever? For months I walked around with a smile on my face, and if not on my face then hiding right behind it taking a little smile nap. I know it sounds lame to say or think this when you’re only twenty three but for the first time in my life I felt alive, or at least more alive than I’d felt before.
I spent weeks making a shadow box for Brett, the most intricate and well designed project I had ever completed. My mom helped me with it, like she’d helped me and my brother make replicas of California missions when we were in second grade. We lined the box with the map we’d used to get from San Francisco to Boulder, cutting out landmarks we’d passed and putting them places on the box that would highlight them. When it was finished I went crazy wrapping, boxing and taping that sucker up, making sure the cut out picture people of me, Doug and Brett wouldn’t fall over on their way to Boston. I imagined Brett examining all the detailed touches and craftsmanship of my work before putting the shadow box somewhere in his living room to be prominently displayed.
For the record, I will never agree to a road trip that long again. The three of us made the worst possible combination of people to get in a car with, but that trip was one of the best couple days of my life. For some reason the combination of the people, timing, occasion and our pasts all collided, joined hands and danced around in a circle singing. Dare I say that the stars aligned themselves just for us? (Hey, don’t say I didn’t warn you.) But seven years later, and I still can’t help but think there was something magical about that trip…
But was telling it worth not getting invited to any more weddings???
