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No, it wasn’t “five hundred miles.” It wasn’t five hundred more, or another five hundred. It was 2200 miles plus! As they say up there in Canada: “It’s a fur piece.” (I’m sorry for that—wait a minute, I’m not really sorry for it. Anyway, it’s supposed to be funny, and anyone who knows me knows that I really do love Canada.) I started out from Carlsbad, California at about two in the afternoon. I knew I had four hours or less of daylight. I was going to try to make it as far as Arizona before I stopped driving for the night. Here’s a little bit of my own history for you. I had never been this far from home without a friend or relative to give me moral support. I didn’t really know how big Cali was. I had never driven more than about five hundred miles in one go. This was to be a real adventure. I kept repeating to myself about how I had AAA and my trusty cell phone with me. As I drove east to Escondido and then north toward San Bernardino, the sun kept getting lower in the sky. There was a lot of traffic along the way. There was even a roadblock to slow things down. I kept driving as the sun set to my left. I stopped in Barstow at about 7 PM to fill the tank and check the oil. I got a shock with the price of gasoline. Luckily the price at that stop was the highest of the whole trip. I then headed east on Interstate 40 toward Arizona. It was on the dark, lonely, and desolate trip through the desert that I almost felt that I had made a fatal miscalculation. I have always had a vivid imagination. I kept thinking about the poisonous reptiles and wild creatures that could be lurking just off the highway. I wondered what I would do if I broke down. I checked my phone—I had service, so I was surely OK. I listened to Bach chorale preludes on my earphones. I didn’t even think that they might have been illegal in some states. The truck had a radio, but no cassette, so I couldn’t use the cassette adaptor to listen to my Mp3s. When some three hours had passed since Barstow and I hadn’t seen anything in the darkness save a few security lights in the distance, I saw some lights glimmering from afar. It was Needles, or at least, I think it was. The signs assured me that there was a rest stop ahead, and I made it into Arizona and was on my way to Kingman. In order to save money, I had decided to just stay in the truck a sleep at the roadside rests along the way. It was cold, but I slept just about as usual. I ran the truck for heat every three hours or so. That was a long night. I woke up about 9:30 AM and started on my way again. I stopped in Kingman, Arizona to refuel again and get something to eat. My favorite, Wendy’s, wasn’t yet open so I got something to tide me over. The ride was OK, but my backside was sweating. When I got to Flagstaff, I stopped at a Target store and bought some nice big towels to keep me dry. The view of the mountains (it must have been Humphreys Peak) was spectacular to the north. I took some pictures, ate some more, and vowed to myself to continue on to New Mexico before I rested again. As I drove east of Flagstaff, I saw signs announcing Meteor Crater. I thought it would be nice to visit, but the map made it look too far off the Interstate on a road of questionable surface. I passed the exit by and then saw, less than maybe a mile and a half off the road, the crater! I wasn’t happy, but there was no easy way to turn around to go back. I had to be satisfied with seeing the rim of the crater from I 40. F I drove on as the sun was setting behind me and made it into New Mexico. The air was crisp, and the Bach was nice. I saw what looked like a sparkling array of jewels spread out below me in the night. It was probably the most memorable sight of my trip. It was Albuquerque, and it was spectacular. It must have been that clear mountain air. After Albuquerque I started looking for another rest stop. The next morning I started off. Before I left, I read the signs on the main rest stop building. The was a nice message from Gov. Bill Richardson and a warning about the poisonous creatures that like to lurk about in the country around the rest area. I thought I should have know about that when I visited the facilities the evening before. I started my drive again. When I saw the signs announcing Tucumcari, I knew I had to stop. A good friend loves to relay the anecdote about a rather ramshackle gentleman who got on a bus he was riding in New Mexico. He asked the driver, “Is this the bus to Tucummary?” You make your own joke. Soon I was in Texas. That panhandle region is really rather plain. Amarillo was a bustling city, though. I was speeding through and saw a Golden Coral off to the left. I made the next exit and found the restaurant. The people were quite friendly while we waited in line to be seated. The manager was quite personable. I had a good meal and move on. My goal on that day, Wednesday, was to make it to Missouri. Texas was dry, and there wasn’t much color to the land. As soon as I crossed into Oklahoma, the land turned green. I had toyed with the idea of stopping in Oklahoma City to visit the memorial for those killed in the Murrah Federal Building bombing. But I thought, I’m driving a rental truck, and the perpetrator also was driving a rental truck, maybe I should just say a prayer and keep on driving. I left Interstate 40 and took the turnpike (I 44) out of Oklahoma City toward Tulsa. In Tulsa I continued on (now the Will Rogers Turnpike) toward Missouri. I stopped just to the west of Springfield, Missouri and spent the night. By this time (three days of driving) it hit me that maybe my driving for eleven or twelve hours a day and spending the night in an upright position wasn’t the wisest thing I could do. Duh! I tried to arrange my one piece of luggage so I could go horizontal across it and the two bucket-type seats. It really didn’t work, and I was sure I would wake up dead due to a blood clot traveling up from my leg to my lungs, heart, or brain! I ended up propping my feet on the dash and trying to sleep. I was maybe 42% successful. If I survived I had the Gateway Arch in St. Louis to look forward to. Not! When I woke, it was miserable, wet day just like when I left Ohio. I drove through Springfield, Missouri, and decided that I like Springfield, Ohio better. It was not a pleasant drive to St. Louis. As I look back, I am thankful that the first three days of driving were clear and beautiful. St. Louis was socked in. The visibility was not good at all. When I neared where I 44 and I 70 cross, just to the south of the Arch, I caught a quick glance of it. I tried to snap a photo, but I haven’t developed that roll of film yet. I’ll be surprised if the Arch is visible. The worst weather was in Illinois and Indiana. I had eaten in St. Louis, so I wanted to get home before taking another meal. Traffic was a mess as was the rain,... |
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