styrofoam containers and wrapped plastic utensils

Why I like being alone on this trip is I can wake up and leave Tucson, having seen absolutely nothing except the mexican supermarket--and who will say anything? How could they?

I did meet a guy in the morning, very mysterious, wouldn't go into his plans, with a pierced lip and in another universe he would have taken up a lot of my time. We looked at Craigslist ads for amusement and I took a typing test so he could learn how quickly I type (80 wpm, 80% accuracy). He said to go to Las Vegas, New Mexico, because everyone there has low riders. He said Las Cruces could be avoided without any real loss. A young man with a feminine countenance and heavy black boots disagreed and said I should see Las Cruces if I liked places filled with artists.

He said, Art is everything. I agreed.

I did go to Las Cruces. I don't remember what happened that day. I will look in my red notebook where I track my expenses. Maybe I napped. Maybe da road lulled me into a waking sleep. I did see this rock formation, which goes to show how whimsical nature can be. Hee hee!



And remember all the rib-tickling ads for Chick-Fil-A done over the years, you know, the cows painting signs that say "Eat Mor Chickn?" Well, someone in Arizona wants you to disregard those, and they are so serious that they aren't going to couch their message in a cute or clever campaign. Let's cut to it. I zoomed and cropped the photo.



I got into Las Cruces as the sun set. I took a picture at their rest stop, an award-winning rest stop, they'd like you to know, because they have incredible views of the city and a giant roadrunner made out of recyclables.



Please also notice that there are two signs on the post: "Truck Parking" and "Beware of Snakes". It was a great rest stop.

I went to the historic artist area of town and got a spicy meat burrito smothered in green chile sauce and cheese. I considered taking a picture but I ate it too quickly and sometimes Mexican food isn't as appealing when it isn't right in front of you. Sometimes it looks like swamp food. Rest assured that it was delicious. I also got a banana split from a frozen custard place, recommended by the book and by the crowd in front of the store.

The banana split had real strawberries, real pineapple, real marshmallow sauce (!), salted pecans, hot fudge, two cherries, bananas and the rest.

I ate these items in my hotel room, charming and older and still stuck in the 60s. The shower was the best shower I've had on the trip, what a water pressure. It must have become illegal at some point to have showerheads like that. You could bruise the skin.

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.

rough it

Okay I'm in Houston and Rebecca is helping me figure out what, exactly, to write here.

Like, I'm a week behind or so, and what should be included?

Rebecca says that I should absolutely include the name of the muffler repair shop in El Centro, CA: Desert Muffler, motto, "No Muff Too Tuff." The man, Freddy, said to go to the restaurant two blocks down and he would call me there. I did, and he did, after I ordered a footlong breakfast burrito (chorizo, cheese, potatoes).

The muffler is fine, everyone, have a little faith. It was rusted from when my uncle owned the car and lived in Boston and the salt splashed up and ate it away.


I walked to the library, didn't update this blog. I think I just enjoyed being on the internet.


The ultimate irony is that El Centro, California, is the center of nothing at all. Not cultural or geographical.

I drove through Imperial Sands something or other, where they filmed the desert scenes of the original Star Wars pictures. This reminded me of Wylie's friend Charlie, who is a big Star Wars fan. We stayed at his house in Georgia, once, and we stayed in the Star Wars room. I have my own memories of Star Wars but Charlie came up. Wondered, Has he ever visited Imperial Sands? He should. Look at where the tall dunes meet the sky and expect C3PO and R2D2 to beep beep over the hills.




I spent the night near some petroglyphs in Arizona. I was supposed to pay $8 but I didn't, and I was paranoid. The wind was so incredibly strong that I couldn't pitch my pathetic childrens' tent. I slept in my car and that was okay, not great. I don't do well sleeping on a hard surface, though I wish I could. This night also marked the first occasion where I misplaced my keys in a serious way.

They were in my bra, in the end. But I was worried. I thought I had an extra, but I tried it out and it was for another car, my parents' Accord. So, shit.

Other times I have misplaced my keys:

-In the desert at White Sands National Monument. I found them on a hill where I attempted a sand-angel.
-In the trash in San Antonio KOA. I accidentally put them with a head of lettuce I was disposing.


You have to understand that this is pretty good for me. I lose things all the time, and I'm in the habit of checking for keys, wallet, phone each time I change locations. But still it's not enough. Well. I do okay. The key to life is just knowing your own limitations. One of mine is this: sometimes I put my keys in my bra for safekeeping and then completely forget about it.

I tried to cook the cactus at the painted rocks. But the wind was so strong that when I poured the gasoline into the cooker, the gasoline flew all over the cactus. Lucky that it didn't spill onto me, I guess. But it ruined my cactus!

There was a bathroom nearby but I tried to rough it behind a rock. I really wanted to. But the only place that provided enough cover from the two other RVs was located adjacent to a hole in the ground that looked like it might house a brown recluse spider. No roughing it.

bad snow

Oh reader, so much has happened. I have left you in the dark on purpose while I decided what to write about. First.

When I woke up in Gallup, NM, in a Walmart parking lot, my car was covered in snow. At first I thought this was great because I could change clothes in privacy. But then I tried to drive on the roads and it was nasty, a solid sheet of ice. We crawled along the freeway at 20 mph. It wasn't slow enough, and I slid around, spinning three times before gently bumping into a guardrail. I sat in shock as an SUV drove past me. The driver looked at me, a blonde woman, and I looked back at her. We said with our faces,

"I just spun around three times."
"I know."
"It was so scary."
"Should I pull over?"
"I don't think you need to."
"I would probably just crash into you if I tried to brake."
"Yeah I understand."
"Okay, little girl with the Maryland plates. Good luck."

I got out and my car is a miracle beast. Some scratches, a new shape to my license plate, the front bumper a little lower than before. I got back in and drove away.

I thought, no need to tell anyone, because they would just worry, and I probably called that. I drove west, determined to reach Los Angeles by evening.

I stopped in Flagstaff, which is one of my favorite towns thus far. Everyone was so incredibly friendly. And of course it's beautiful there. But it's beautiful everywhere out here. Even dump towns have mountains as backdrops. I wish I could have stayed longer in Flagstaff, or Arizona in general. The German had yelled at me for driving with such purpose, not seeing the Grand Canyon or anything except the road to Los Angeles. It's true, I should have stopped and seen something. But I figured I could always see the G.C. when I'm older and have a family and I take my children on a miserable car trip, if cars are still around.

As I neared the California border I went south, taking the road to Lake Havasu, which is just about the weirdest town around. Here Arizona looks a lot like how I imagined CA would look, and I kept thinking I was there. The town is on a bright blue lake, the color of what-the-hell. Everyone there is a bad driver, reckless and entitled, which worked out all right for me as it gave me practice for California. Lake Havasu also has something called London Bridge, which as far as I could tell is a fake London Bridge going through town.

I drove through Parker, AZ, where I picked up some jerky for Adam. I got three kinds: sweet & hot, teryaki, and teryaky. I called him to say I was in Parker AZ, right near the border, and would be there soon, and he let me down quickly by saying it'd be another four hours or so. I called him from a scenic overlook, near the Havasu dam or something or other. picture here.

At the California border the agriculture police took away my macintosh apples (fruit, not computers) and then I drove through a giant cloud of bats, so yeah, welcome to California.

The sun set and I tried to get a photo but the camera insisted on focusing on the salt on my windshield. I drove over a hill and suddenly a glittering--no, really, it was glittering--city lay before me. Los Angeles! The city of angels. Actually it was some other town but it looks good. And this kept happening. I'd go up through some dark winding hills, and then at the peak the view of a city, feverish, plugged in. My jaw would drop, I'd claim, "Los Angeles! The city of angels." And then I'd see a sign that said, "Bumdiddly Fark City Limits."

The driving got more aggressive, slowly. I didn't notice it at first. The car was doing fine but I noticed that at high speeds, the steering felt off somehow. Or the car just didn't feel the same. No noises, no smells. I had concerns but I kept them to myself, which worked out fine, because I was alone.

Adam is a frequent commenter to the blog and my host in Los Angeles. He lives in the city, proper, and gave me directions to his gated community. I felt safe and secure. When he met me on the street I practically fell out of my car: After one near-death-ish experience and 14 hours of driving, 3 hours of which were in the greater LA area, I was ready to take a good shower and collapse on the floor, all the while mumbling gibberish. He let me do so, and I even borrowed his conditioner, which was coconut, the standard of excellence in hair care scents.

Also, I passed through a town, can't remember the name, and it was the Flagstone capital of the world. And as for the most frightening thing on the road, the winner that day went to the road itself, for covering itself in ice and bullying me around.