DAY 1 – Feb. 2009 – L. A. to Prescott, Arizona [3]

[Part 3]

I managed to time my arrival in Phoenix right around 5 pm—rush hour. From 75 I slowed to 35 but soon it was sundown and I now left the 10 and headed north on the I-17. I’d hoped to stop off at Flagstaff that night. It brought back memories of my journey out to California and how I didn’t make L.A. on that third night but opted for Flagstaff and even made my first phone call to the family in the Palm Springs area where I would stay for a while so I could get acclimated to life in SoCA. But now, in the setting sun of my first night away from the place I’d acclimated to, the mountains surrounding this other western city only reminded me of parts of Burbank and Glendale. I thought of Fry’s Electronics near the Burbank airport. The store with the 1950s sci fi theme where I’d bought such diverse items as buckwheat filled pillows, a rice cooker and various software programs, DVDs and CDs. I drive from Maricopa County to Yavapai County—exotic sounding names of places I’ll linger at for mere minutes as I journey in my least favorite direction – north.

Darkness falls and the wind picks up speed around the stony mountains with tufts of sage and chaparral. Soon the interstate is more like a small road as it twists and turns to accommodate the surrounding landscape. I don’t drive 75 as I’m on unfamiliar turf and it doesn’t seem sensible to shoot through this region so quickly. I know I won’t make Flagstaff but there’s Prescott and I go by the blue informational signs to spot my 2 needs that night: motel and McDonald’s.

I pull into a 2-story chain motel with a vacancy sign that I wasn’t surprised to see. Wasn’t exactly tourist season. I was winging it, not calling ahead for reservations, just gonna stop whenever the mood hit me. Hell, this wasn’t a 9-5 drive, it was longer than that—I was puttin’ in that overtime. I wanted to cover half of America and I wouldn’t do it with a just eight hours and lots of stopping for food and gas. Stopping for gas, vital. For me to have leisurely meals – not happenin’. Only at night, I’d splurge on one meal.

Fork over almost $60. Maybe it was tourist season in that area? Well, whatever, at least I got a free magnet for some local attraction of a Rainbow Bridge. How PC, I thought, being too tired to remember that it was a huge natural bridge that had been here long before that term. Another customer was checking in and I saw he was wearing camouflage and wondered if he was a hunter or a solider or just another traveler going somewhere, nowhere, anywhere. 

DAY 1 – Feb. 2009 – L. A. to Prescott, Arizona [2]

[Part 2]

The day’s heat was rising and in the air condition-less car both windows were open a bit. All I heard was the steady sound of the wind rushing past as I drove through the light afternoon traffic. Passed the wind turbines near Palm Springs, the large looming machines looked like giant floor fans. Some were on top the mountains and others in the valley. I noticed that some turned their triple blades quickly while others scarcely moved. So many of them loomed overhead they gave off a science fictiony feeling. I needed a soundtrack to go with the sight, I thought. There were hundreds and hundreds of them and they were tall—more than 200 feet tall each, I guessed. So dramatic. So SoCA.

Soon after the manufactured wind energy display, the road changed from 4 lanes down to 2. I was officially away from the last metropolis of Palm Springs. For most of my journey I’d be on a 2-lane interstate, not freeway, that crossed other states and only when the towns were actually cities did the lanes multiply. Having lived in L.A. for so long I’d forgotten about places that didn’t have 7 or 8 lanes of traffic and multiple cloverleafs filled with vehicles. I’d forgotten about places without electronic signs warning of some nearby car crash that was disabling traffic for miles and closing off lanes.

The orange warning sign read: “Avoid overheating. Turn off a/c next 10 miles.” This was seen in the Sonoran desert just before climbing the Chiriaco Summit. I made sure my windows were rolled down enough to benefit from the breeze but still allow me to drive without too much noise. I was also happy that my ‘Stang was being driven the way it was supposed to. Fast. Unfettered by those sudden blockages on the 101 or 405 even late at night or way early in the morning. My ‘stang hugged the few curves in the road. I admired the surrounding desert scenery, absorbing it, loving the dryness and the warmth. My car sped so easily as it hadn’t since living in the midst of Los Angeles. And it was quickly heading to the 80+ mile away gas station somewhere in Blythe where it would greedily suck up that $2.27 per gallon fuel it needed to get me to my destination.

Phoenix, Arizona was still about 250 miles east of me. I hoped to get past it that afternoon or evening and spend the night further north in the Grand Canyon state. Overhead the blue smogless sky loomed above me. I’d see the occasional sign pointing out that radiator water was available, further emphasizing how hot it gets in the summer. But not now. Now, everything seemed more spacious.

Sped past the familiar but increasingly unnecessary orange and blue call boxes along the sides of the freeway/interstate, remnants of pre-cellphone times. I’d seen them so frequently along all the freeways that I scarcely noticed them anymore. But where I was going they didn’t exist. Where I was going…a place I didn’t want to visit. I was driving into the future, ever southeastward, but to me there was nothing in front of me that I wanted to see or do or hear. I was going someplace because the place I had left behind was no longer.

The sights around me distracted my thoughts. In the midst of the desert I saw a field with grazing sheep. Marveling at that incongruity, I stopped off at a gas station, making sure I stocked up on bottled water for my journey through the desert between here and Phoenix. For food I had been snacking on pumpkin seeds and raisins. This way I could drive, drive, drive. But that night I’d find a fast food place just because I felt that during my trip I could justify an inexpensive and unhealthy dinner. After all, I hadn’t packed any cookware and where I was heading I’d find plenty of it.