Uh-oh... Joe and I were finding ourselves too willing to meld into our comfy living room chairs, especially during this stodgy winter. In our ‘golden years’ we were exhibiting clear signs of rust.
Pulling up roots is tougher every year; they’d sunk deeper because we’re older, and always tempted to succumb to Inertia’s security blanket. The cure? Dramatically rumple our routine. Go somewhere different, (somewhere warm). Joe has arranged three weeks off work! Two dear people in our extended family live in Pasadena, California with their very young children, one recently born, who haven’t been hugged yet by us. The perfect lure!
We nixed flying commercially. It’s much less appealing of late, as weird things tend to happen to, and in, planes, with startling regularity. Such as? A stewardess lowering emergency chutes, just because; a pilot removed for drunkenness; passengers fighting in the aisles over nothing, a lovesick man hijacking a jet to fly him closer to his ex-girlfriend, not to mention folks on the ground getting their kicks shining lasers into cockpits to blind pilots, and flying drones a few feet from jet wings just prior to its landing-
No thanks.
The civil, mannered world I once knew has gone, perhaps forever.
So, that left driving. We’d avoid airport lines, massive, ineffective security checks, and a general loss of control. Mmm. Driving ourselves, and including Bryn, was much more appealing. (And, we could take along one of Joe’s motorcycles, too. It would be strapped down just off the back bumper, on a platform designed to accept them.)
When our ‘93 Ford van finally sighed and died after 300,000 miles, two rebuilt engines and twenty-two years of faithful service we recently bought another pristine, much babied ‘95 GMC van registering just 50,000 miles, with lots of real wood and appealing grey plaid upholstery. (Usually the manufacturer-chosen decor for these vehicles makes me shudder.) The guy who owned this van had had the interior done at considerable expense. Result: it’s gorgeous. There are numerous hidden charms, too. Lots of under-seat storage, curtains, little cloth pockets for this and that...and when we removed the two middle seats, bingo! Lots of living/sleeping space! Perfect for KOA camping in the national parks we plan to visit as we steer through three time zones to aim straight for the Pacific Ocean.
We threw Bryn’s stuff in, packed quickly and lightly, added a cooler, and waved goodbye to family. An adventure would blow away the cobwebs, eh?
The route?
Saginaw to Fort Wayne, Indianapolis, Terre-Haute, St Louis, Tulsa, Oklahoma City, Santa Fe, Flagstaff, California’s Joshua Tree National Park, Pasadena, Sequoia National Park, Yosemite National Park, Capital Reef National Park, and then we’d meander back to Michigan on I-70.
Nothing, except Pasadena, is written in stone, though. A lot depends on the weather.
We left Saginaw during a snowstorm at 7 a.m. Wednesday, April 6. Then it changed to pelting rain that followed us right through Indiana and Missouri. And it was cold! All the way through Indiana on I-69 we shivered at rest stops that were half drowned. Snow, sleet and rain kept the windshield wipers busy. Bored truckers would block both lanes until cars piled up behind them in a long, frustrated line. Truck water-wakes left our windows constantly splattered with extra rain. Once it appeared a trucker was fighting sleep....We were, too. Two hours from Springfield, Missouri we faded, and holed up for the night at a Super 8 in the little town of Rolla.
.
Friday, as we traveled I-69 through Missouri on Friday there were NO rest stops. But there were lots of huge billboards advertising porn stores, placed at regular intervals along the freeway. They shouted their offerings in big capital letters:
ADULT STORES. A huge sultry-looking female face on a black background peered out at us.
I’ve never seen so many adverts for this sort of ‘attraction.’
The rot stopped as we crossed the Oklahoma border and drove through Tulsa, and then Oklahoma City. Navigating through the hearts of these huge cities was tricky, and choosing the right exits at 70 mph made us tense.
Next, the freeway (the iconic Route 66 of the old days, redone) led us into New Mexico. Our goal? Santa Fe. (I’ve wanted to visit this fascinating city for 40 years.) While driving along the beautiful NM highway, seeing few cars, lots of trucks and spectacular scenery we rang the Santa Fe Super 8 Motel and reserved a room for two nights, but warned them we’d arrive quite late. However, as we rumbled through the starkly beautiful semi-desert country, storm clouds opened up again. Oh, No! We hastily rechecked the aviation radar. Heavy rain and large storms were pelting Santa Fe, too! Rats! We’d been driving nearly 14 hours, and now it was getting dark fast.
Suddenly, we’d had enough. The thought of facing two more hours moving through a dark and stormy night over an impossibly vast landscape— Over twenty-six hours of driving had been accomplished. Now the need to stop again was overwhelming.
Just then, as I massaged a leg cramp, the little town of Santa Rosa appeared in the rain-fogged twilight. We’d book another room, and then advise the Santa Fe Super 8 not to expect us that night, but that we’d still pay for the room, so we could arrive there first thing in the morning and not have to wait until 3 p.m. to check in.
We drove up the main street, saw no Super 8, and so pulled up at a La Quinta Hotel (Which also accepts pets, but is more expensive). Might they have a room, or, if not, could they point us toward a Super 8?
“Oh yes,” the clerk answered, “there is one just down the road about two miles, but (a discreet cough) it’s not too clean. I have no rooms here to offer at the moment, so might I suggest Motel 6, just across the street? It’s been recently renovated, takes dogs, and is priced reasonably.”
“Yes, we’ll try it,” said I, gratefully, and crossed my fingers there would be space for three needy travelers. Right now traveling even two more miles was too much.
Oh, bliss: there was a room! We stumbled into it, I fed Bryn, who’d refused food and drink the whole day: now she scarfed it down. Joe and I walked her in the dark through a bleak, adjacent field peppered with tiny prickles. She wasn’t comfortable, but there was no choice. She did her duty, and we stumbled into our little haven and collapsed into bed.
It was midnight our time, ten o’clock New Mexico time. We slept like the dead.
Today, Saturday morning, dawned in a stunning manner. Sun emphasized a vividly blue sky that featured a few massive white clouds. Distant hills gleamed as it lit their high plateaus, and the red, iron-rich earth, still damp from all the rain, looked freshly painted. We ate a modest breakfast and drove the long, new-looking highway to Santa Fe, found our room, and moved in. A little aside: It was a tiresome trek to the hotel’s front door, through the dining area and then down the long hall to our digs, so Joe furtively removed our room’s window screen and I passed our stuff up through it from the van, which was parked right there. He replaced the screen quickly and we congratulated ourselves on making a boring, tiresome task easy.
Then it was Bryn time. She’d been so wonderful, never complaining, always happy just to be included. In Michigan we’d done some research on Santa Fe’s dog parks. One stood out. We plugged its address into our GPS, and followed its directions. This 14-acre fenced-in park is part of the Santa Fe Animal Shelter’s campus, and it’s open to the public. Bryn was desperate to see her own kind and to run flat out. The amazing park was greeted with incredulity and then great joy. She ran like a gazelle on this cool, crisp morning, with other eager dogs joining in. What a happy time! (See the photo below.)
The hard part, that punishing drive, was history. Today our vacation has truly begun. We’ve dumped our watches, welcomed the sun and temperate weather and can now explore this aptly named Land of Enchantment. I’ve fallen in love with the architecture already.
We’ll be back, I betcha, probably next spring...