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.

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.