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.

You are cool in Los Angeles

On the way to Los Angeles:

Lake Havasu


Terrible.


Sunset near the Arizona/California border


In the morning Adam ran through a list of things we could do. But quickly we got on the same wavelength when I admitted I was perfectly happy to do nothing and eat burgers.

In-N-Out specifically. The best fast food restaurant in the nation, the universe. The menu is simple, but if you know how, you can order from the secret menu. For instance. Ordering something "animal style" makes it extra delicious. They put it on the receipt, too, and if I find the means I will get that receipt up here. Adam and I went to In-N-Out twice in one day. Thankfully the crew had changed. Here is food from In-N-Out:



We did do touristy-resembling things. We went to the Santa Monica pier. Adam drives his car quickly and with confidence. And he was especially forgiving of my gasps and shrieks. Then:

the beach. Adam was talking on his phone and I wanted a picture of that. For some reason I didn't. I got distracted.


me standing in the Pacific ocean. Posture rather like a shocked penguin.


pinkberry frozen yogurt


people watching



leaning on the railing over the pier and talking


a tour through town, including backalleys


this sign. When we passed this, Adam calmly pointed at it, then said something pithy, like, "welcome to California."


Okay here's what I thought about Los Angeles: It was sort of like if everyone at my middle school moved together and founded a town. That's the sort of feeling. I don't know if that makes any sense. Everyone thought that they were being watched; and they were all watching. I remember being in middle school and thinking as I took my tray up to the trash can that everyone was watching my every move. Then I went home and my mom called me out on it; she said, "Honey, no one cares."

Well, Los Angeles cares. The sunglasses, the black leggings, the drink in your hand. Everyone was sitting and waiting for the director to yell, Action.

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.

green chile

The first order of business in Taos was to call the German's friend back in Germany and sing happy birthday to her, in German.

After some tacos, we eventually found the tire houses. They are called Earthships, and they are also made of cans, and they're not a bad idea, not in the least. They are self-sufficient little things, using rainwater, solar power, love.

Here is a picture of the Brit in the control room of an Earthship.



And here is a streetname in an Earthship village.



Downtown Taos is a cute little place, and they sell pink cowboy hats, as well as jerky. Also they have this little duck you can ride.



My car was still parked at the hostel in Santa Fe, so we went to get it. The Brit and I argued about the various pronunciations of things. Such as patronizing.

We made plans to go eat at the Bobcat Bite, which has famed green chile cheeseburgers. And I had been talking about them, nonstop. Brit and German tried to get me to go to Roswell with them but I said, no no no.

Then the Bobcat Bite was closed and I let out a hearty wail. Another place down the road was open and filled with cars. I did get a green chile cheeseburger there, as well as a PINT of margarita, and they were good. I still might return here to go to the Bobcat Bite. This is how seriously I take food.

We exchanged numbers and I drove west and they drove south. If you are in the Roswell region and you see a Brit and a German traveling, say hello to them.

I slept in my car in a Walmart parking lot. Before you go judging, keep in mind that Walmart encourages RVs and trucks to stay in their lot, and there were at least a dozen RVs there already, so you can just think of it as an RV park, and not a parking lot.

three is the magic number

I had some plans to, what, go west, take my time, turn around in LA. My new friends convinced me to detour to Bandelier and Taos. I did want to see Taos. Here's us outside our hostel, getting ready. Please note the mural.



Look at the road out of Santa Fe.



So in Bandelier, people used to live in caves high up on the wall. And they use ladders. It's neat, right? But did you know that they were in better shape than modern folks? The trails are easy and the views are sort of astounding. I asked The Brit, who has been traveling the national parks for 9 months, if he was jaded at all by these views. He said he wasn't.





Here is a good sign.



Here is a scene from a Robert Frost poem.



Here's a ladder going up high. We climbed a series of these, and I had to take a break. The air was so thin I couldn't quite catch my breath.



At the top the Brit gives us a historic overview of how the native people lived. He gestures thoughtfully.





I did wear my layers of clothing. And we did have a picnic of bread and croissant-type items stolen from the hostel. I introduced the idea of cream cheese and green olives. Cream cheese is called Philadelphia cheese in Europe.



Nearby is a really strange place called Los Alamos, and I'm not sure what they do there, but it involves: 1) the military 2) secrets 3) nuclear things. Lots of anti-war stuff going on.



We went through the checkpoint. The second checkpoint man gave us directions to the Black Hole Surplus Store.



Here they sell everything you could need if you were building a time machine. Motors, cables, chips, sprockets, nuts, bolts, hard hats, ticker tape machines, hot plates, magnets, tubes, coils, appliances, and filing cabinets. Also a nice basket of cassette tapes, 10 for $12. But the man let me have two tapes (an handmade mix called "Country" and The Cars) for fiddy cents. He also gave me a 60's looking timer that doesn't work. It says "NO GOOD" on the top. If all things had such a label.

One man at the store was cool and showed us a magic trick involving a magnet ball and copper tubing. Another guy told us that we, being English, German, and American, would all at one point have been killed as enemies of the state. It was pretty confusing actually. And a woman there told us to go two hours away to see Tinkertown. No one had heard of the rubber tire house.

Oh let me back up. Taos is famous for a few things. It is near a pueblo, it is near a huge gorge, and it is near a rumored land where the homes are made of tires and cans.

The gorge view was, as the book said it would be, mind boggling.



We sang "Like a Bridge Over Troubled Water." Here the Brit and the German are on the bridge, kicking snow at each other.




The Brit wanted a hotel room to watch the Grand Prix (pronounced Graynd Priks) but we never did see it. And the History channel was showing Pearl Harbor, and the German had never heard Josh Harnett's real voice, so that's how I ended up struggling to defend American culture in a Super 8 in Taos, New Mexico.

good snow

When I was driving to Santa Fe, it was snowing, but I didn't believe it. I just refused. I went south to escape the snow.

The hostel there was packed with folks. I sat in the main room while some Americans dressed like lumberjacks played guitar. I wrote in my diary, repeated sentiments expressed here such as I wish I were good at small talk, were the kind of person whom strangers talk to. Later I found myself trapped in a conversation where a worker at the hostel talked AT me and another guest, a Brit, for some forty minutes, and the irony did not escape me.

This hostel required each guest to do a chore in the morning. I swept and mopped the floor in my little bedroom, shared with two other girls. I hadn't met either, really, and I came into the room after both were asleep so I changed in the hallway where I saw TWO large spiders.

I forgot to mention how often I think about brown recluse spiders on this trip.

The next morning my car was covered in four inches of snow. The first true miracle of the trip: I somehow thought to pack mittens, a hat, and an ice scraper. I forgave all my previous lack of forethought.



In the lounge I met other people, all travelers with plans on hold. I met the Brit (the other conversation assault victim) and the German (one of the girls in my room) and we decided to go into Santa Fe together and we did not leave each other's company for the next two days.

Saying goodbye to them was difficult. I like being alone on Da Road, but we all traveled so well together. Good travelmates are sort of like good weather. Don't question it.

In Santa Fe, I did not have the memory card in my camera. So there are no pictures of that. Downtown is full of tourists and wonderfully pretentious art galleries.

The Brit made fun of my converse. They have seen better days, no doubt, but I love them. We went to a thrift store to find me the german some warm clothes. She was wearing a hoodie from one of the guitar-playing Americans, and a heavy Polo jacket, vintage 1996, which she got from some old man. And I got some new shoes.

We made ourselves pasta at the hostel, I made some failed cookies. I talked and talked about getting a green chile cheeseburger.