cactus instead of moss

When I sleep in my car my breath condenses inside, and my sleeping bag becomes wet and cold. There's a certain smell that is always the same but which I could never begin to describe.

I drove to Tucson, up and through roads that have no business being roads. Upright cactus every few feet, some held up with pieces of wood. I saw a mountain covered with the cactus, and then I saw more. I took a breath and I did think, this is why I came, I think.

I did a long stopover at a rest stop. I've become fond of highway rest stops. I brush my teeth and wash my face. I sit in my car and put on a little face powder, not because I'm a vain little belle; my powder has spf 15, and my face has taken on a tan that is both beguiling and unforgiving on my skin.

I drove up towards the Phoenix area looking for an In-n-Out. I read about one in Chandler, AZ. Oh, and I stopped at a CVS to buy a disposable camera. Sad to put the digital away, though occasionally I still turn it on to see how it's doing and nod in disappointment when it reports that yes it still has a lens error or some other eye infection.

In Chandler, AZ, I sat in a parking lot under a small amount of shade and talked to Wylie on the phone for an hour. Meanwhile the sweat collects in the small of my back. Then I got my double-double burger at In-N-Out and a Neapolitan shake (all three flavors), a secret menu item. I found a radio station in Chandler, AZ, that seemed to only play T.I. and 50 Cent, all right with me.

I wanted to visit the world's smallest museum in Superior, Arizona, but it was closed. Next time. I did go to the Bryce Thompson Arboretum State Park, which sounds dorky, but that's one of the beauties of traveling alone. You can indulge your dork. The park is quite nice, lots of lonely, secluded paths that in the East might prompt caution. But since I was the youngest person there by about 40 years, I wasn't worried. The park was selling cactus, and I bought one. Tiny. Stayed in my trunk the rest of the trip.



And here is a fairly horrible picture of a hummingbird.



And a much better picture of the desert section of the park.



They had a tropical palm section, and yes, I did miss Florida a little. Hummingbirds were everywhere, as were the elderly. I kept my camera out of use, for some reason. It was a beautiful day, and I wanted to just take it in.

The road to Tucson was another ridiculous mountain road. I drove in 3rd gear. They had something I'd never seen before, and something that qualifies as the day's Most Frightening Thing on the Road. It was a sign that said "Runaway Truck Area Ahead." Then the road branched and a big stretch of sand, like the long jump pit -- if the long jump was 60 feet. I guess if you are a truck and the steep downgrade is too much and your brakes fail, the state highway system has a plan: just steer along, keep calm, and then veer off into this giant sand pit. But, really, the phrase "Runaway Truck"?? Great and terrifying.

In Tucson I got to play the "If my life had gone a different way" game. I was accepted into the U of AZ writing program and didn't go. But of course spent much time thinking how things might be different. People I wouldn't have met, for better or worse, whether the dry air would have been better for my mood than the wet. How I would have done without spanish moss.

Tucson was a city I planned on visiting. When I got there it was empty. I parked and walked by some houses with homemade lawn ornaments, signs on the porches about parking, cats everywhere, music and incense and cactus flowers. And I parked my car for a second to look at the book, and I suddenly heard "I'm Proud to be an American" coming from behind, and THIS drove by me:



Which, if you can't tell, is a man wearing a cowboy hat, driving a Rascal with a flag on the back of it. And music was playing from somewhere.

I stayed at the hostel in Tuscon. I met another girl doing the same kind of trip as me. Instead of books, though, she raised money by selling her expensive yoga clothes. She was going northish, aroundish, towardish yellowstone.

I wanted to make cookies so I went to the best-named grocery store in the city, FOOD CITY. A mexican grocery store, too, so next to the Ramen noodles are 50 different kinds of garbanzo beans.

I bought cactus again. Delighted to think I could try and cook it again, after my last attempt was doused in gasoline. I bought one cactus pad, one container of shredded oaxaca cheese, one container of pico de gallo (heavy on the cilantro), one pack of little flour tortillas. Altogether it was delicious. The cactus has got punch, sort of lemony but very green. Here's my cactus soft taco. The green strips are cactus.



Then I made my oatmeal cookies and that may have gained me some friends.

One friend I did not make was the older lady sharing our room. She went to bed at 9 pm when the other 4 girls in the room were still up, coming and going and getting things from our bags. Old lady rolled around and groaned when we made noise. She was on the top bunk, so was I. We were alone up in the stratosphere and by the time I hoisted myself in she was nearly hoarse from the theatrics. Oh to be put out by these young assholes!

I thought she was an alcoholic, because, why is anyone with a full head of gray hair in a hostel? But in the morning she was talking (about young people, politics, and the spirit, and our lack) and I understood that she wasn't an alcoholic, she was just an aggressively self-righteous new age hobo.