A couple more pieces fall into place. Nothing is final until it happens, but a couple of straw-man routes have been mapped out. I will be gone from Tucson for 5 weeks. I will have a companion for all my travels; for the first four weeks it will be Jake, for the last week, Nina.
I had three possible outbound routes and three possible return routes; with plenty of variations of course. Return routes are still up in the air, but headed out, Jake and I are looking at a route I am calling the Great Northern. Plenty of this territory will be new to me, and most of the rest might as well be; I know from family photos I've been that way before, but I have little in the way of memories.
And even the places that I do remember might as well be new. When I was last in Glacier National Park, it had glaciers.
Showing posts with label road trip. Show all posts
Showing posts with label road trip. Show all posts
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Sunday, June 17, 2007
5. The Last Kilometer of I-Nineteen
Yesterday I finally accomplished one of my meaningless little sub-goals. I have now driven every mile of interstate highway in the state of Arizona -- Interstates 40, 10, 8, 17 and 19. Strangely enough, for years the only missing piece was a couple dozen miles of I-19 between Green Valley and Nogales -- easily tackled with a couple spare hours any day I had decided to do it.
An aside -- the miles of I-19 are not miles, they are kilometers. I-19 was built during one of those rare moments of enthusiasm for the metric system in the U.S., so, unique among interstates, the distance signage is metric (though the speed signage remains imperial). This is one of those bits of cool road geek trivia that separates me and a few dozen wackos from all you normal people out there. Sadly, the uniqueness will not last; as signs on I-19 are replaced in the due course of time, they will be replaced with imperial values.
I want to drive all the U.S. and state highways in AZ end-to-end as well, a ridiculous goal, but I'm really well on my way. The weekend getaway to Nogales also got me a big chunk of AZ-82, as we hit Lake Patagonia on the way back, where I was able to indulge my other rarely-indulged obsession by spending a couple hours on the lake in my kayak.
We had lunch Saturday in a funky Patagonia pizza joint called Velvet Elvis. All in all, a great weekend to whet my appetite for the big road trip. If it happens. Nothing in my life seems certain at the moment.
I never got an email back from the guy who may or may not be Bob (but probably is). It's one of those frustrating mysteries because I'll never know what it means. Maybe his spam filter ate the email, or maybe he never checks that account anymore, or maybe it's a different Bob so he just ignored it. Or maybe it's him and he read it, but what is there to say after all these years?
One more thing that gets answered in the next life.
An aside -- the miles of I-19 are not miles, they are kilometers. I-19 was built during one of those rare moments of enthusiasm for the metric system in the U.S., so, unique among interstates, the distance signage is metric (though the speed signage remains imperial). This is one of those bits of cool road geek trivia that separates me and a few dozen wackos from all you normal people out there. Sadly, the uniqueness will not last; as signs on I-19 are replaced in the due course of time, they will be replaced with imperial values.
I want to drive all the U.S. and state highways in AZ end-to-end as well, a ridiculous goal, but I'm really well on my way. The weekend getaway to Nogales also got me a big chunk of AZ-82, as we hit Lake Patagonia on the way back, where I was able to indulge my other rarely-indulged obsession by spending a couple hours on the lake in my kayak.
We had lunch Saturday in a funky Patagonia pizza joint called Velvet Elvis. All in all, a great weekend to whet my appetite for the big road trip. If it happens. Nothing in my life seems certain at the moment.
I never got an email back from the guy who may or may not be Bob (but probably is). It's one of those frustrating mysteries because I'll never know what it means. Maybe his spam filter ate the email, or maybe he never checks that account anymore, or maybe it's a different Bob so he just ignored it. Or maybe it's him and he read it, but what is there to say after all these years?
One more thing that gets answered in the next life.
Monday, May 28, 2007
4. For the Love of John Prine
If you are heading out on the highway, don't leave home without some John Prine songs as counterpoint to the rhythm of the road beneath your wheels. And if you are stuck at home for now, download some Prine into your iPod, attach the earbuds, close your eyes and hit play; your mind can be behind the wheel even if your body isn't.
John is a master of the poignant melody, of the lyric whose words don't quite make sense but whose feeling is unescapable.
I was listening to "Hello in There," which will make you think of old friends. So, like looking up an old friend, I looked up John Prine on iTunes, found a CD he made in '05, and discovered the song "Clay Pigeons," which will make you want to look up old friends.
In seemingly unrelated news, a wildfire on Catalina Island was beaten back by heroic firefighters, before it could engulf the almost-magical town of Avalon. Stay tuned, though -- nothing is unrelated.
In 1976, my very best friend was Bob. For the life of me, I can't remember how we met our how we got to be such good friends. We were 2/3 of a trio, along with Dave (who died in '78 or so when his jeep overturned).
Spring break of '76 (well, I think that's when it was), Bob & I had an adventure. We had saved up some money and decided to spend the week on Catalina Island. We got our reservations at the hotel, got our tickets for the ferry, and headed out. When we were checking in to the hotel, and they asked for ID, we were informed that it was illegal for anyone under 18 to spend the night on Catalina island without an accompanying adult. I believe Bob was 17 and I was 15 at the time. The last ferry had already left for the mainland. The hotel guy politely told us we couldn't stay there.
Bob completely freaked out. I had never seen anyone completely freak out before; it was interesting. I just figured somehow God would take care of us. Asking the hotel guy what to do, he suggested we could try a bed and breakfast a mile or so away; perhaps they would be more likely to overlook the rules. We went over to the B&B, and surprisinly enough (it was spring break after all), they had a room to spare and they didn't ask us for ID. We had a great time hanging out in Avalon, playing old nickel pinball machines, meeting other Jesus Freaks on the beach, singing, praying, watching a baptism ceremony in Avalon Harbor. The kind of week you never forget, the kind you write about.
Bob moved to Brentwood, then to Ohio for college. We wrote letters back and forth regularly, then slowly lost touch. I think he came to visit me once in Santa Cruz, my memory is fuzzy on this. It was one of those awkward things where we'd both changed in different directions and couldn't find the way to reconnect. I completely lost touch after that, and spent years never thinking once about the man.
Friendships like the one Bob and I had are a rare thing in life -- a friend so close you plan your vacations together, you write letters and travel miles and miles to make sure you stay connected. Most of my life, I haven't had a friend that close. It seems so unthinkable, that as short as life is, we still have time to forget about the people who meant the most to us.
When I was visiting Bob in Brentwood in '77 or '78 he introduced me to the music of John Prine. John is not a household name, and his music isn't played much on the radio. Most likely if not for Bob I would never have heard of the man.
But John Prine's songs will make you think of old friends. So I googled Bob, and maybe I found him. Someone with his name, a professional musician who lives in LA and went to college in Ohio. It looks like the right guy; the one picture where I can see his right hand, it looks like the ends of two fingers are missing (the definitive sign that it's my Bob). I sent him an email yesterday. I haven't heard back yet. If it is him, and if he responds, what will we have to say to each other after all these years?
For one thing, I want to thank him for introducing me to John Prine.
John is a master of the poignant melody, of the lyric whose words don't quite make sense but whose feeling is unescapable.
I was listening to "Hello in There," which will make you think of old friends. So, like looking up an old friend, I looked up John Prine on iTunes, found a CD he made in '05, and discovered the song "Clay Pigeons," which will make you want to look up old friends.
In seemingly unrelated news, a wildfire on Catalina Island was beaten back by heroic firefighters, before it could engulf the almost-magical town of Avalon. Stay tuned, though -- nothing is unrelated.
In 1976, my very best friend was Bob. For the life of me, I can't remember how we met our how we got to be such good friends. We were 2/3 of a trio, along with Dave (who died in '78 or so when his jeep overturned).
Spring break of '76 (well, I think that's when it was), Bob & I had an adventure. We had saved up some money and decided to spend the week on Catalina Island. We got our reservations at the hotel, got our tickets for the ferry, and headed out. When we were checking in to the hotel, and they asked for ID, we were informed that it was illegal for anyone under 18 to spend the night on Catalina island without an accompanying adult. I believe Bob was 17 and I was 15 at the time. The last ferry had already left for the mainland. The hotel guy politely told us we couldn't stay there.
Bob completely freaked out. I had never seen anyone completely freak out before; it was interesting. I just figured somehow God would take care of us. Asking the hotel guy what to do, he suggested we could try a bed and breakfast a mile or so away; perhaps they would be more likely to overlook the rules. We went over to the B&B, and surprisinly enough (it was spring break after all), they had a room to spare and they didn't ask us for ID. We had a great time hanging out in Avalon, playing old nickel pinball machines, meeting other Jesus Freaks on the beach, singing, praying, watching a baptism ceremony in Avalon Harbor. The kind of week you never forget, the kind you write about.
Bob moved to Brentwood, then to Ohio for college. We wrote letters back and forth regularly, then slowly lost touch. I think he came to visit me once in Santa Cruz, my memory is fuzzy on this. It was one of those awkward things where we'd both changed in different directions and couldn't find the way to reconnect. I completely lost touch after that, and spent years never thinking once about the man.
Friendships like the one Bob and I had are a rare thing in life -- a friend so close you plan your vacations together, you write letters and travel miles and miles to make sure you stay connected. Most of my life, I haven't had a friend that close. It seems so unthinkable, that as short as life is, we still have time to forget about the people who meant the most to us.
When I was visiting Bob in Brentwood in '77 or '78 he introduced me to the music of John Prine. John is not a household name, and his music isn't played much on the radio. Most likely if not for Bob I would never have heard of the man.
But John Prine's songs will make you think of old friends. So I googled Bob, and maybe I found him. Someone with his name, a professional musician who lives in LA and went to college in Ohio. It looks like the right guy; the one picture where I can see his right hand, it looks like the ends of two fingers are missing (the definitive sign that it's my Bob). I sent him an email yesterday. I haven't heard back yet. If it is him, and if he responds, what will we have to say to each other after all these years?
For one thing, I want to thank him for introducing me to John Prine.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
3. Worse than Gone Forever
Remember that these posts show up latest first, so start at the bottom!
I know what you want to say to me.
Glenn, your problem is that you moved to often. For your whole life, you've never spent ten years living in the same city. If you had stayed put, you wouldn't feel so untethered now. Home would be home.
Except that you are wrong. It doesn't matter if you are moving or if you are staying put. The planet moves faster than you do.
For years, I assumed I would spend my whole life in Santa Cruz. Santa Cruz was home (more so than anyplace else before or since). But Santa Cruz -- the Santa Cruz that was my home -- is gone. It doesn't exist anymore. The Santa Cruz that was my home is the Santa Cruz where I would spend time with Scott and Daniel and Marty and Michael and Randy and Rich and Katie and Gayle and Ann and Phred and Melissa and Ricky. Look all you want, they aren't there. Before I left Santa Cruz, it left me.
But it's worse than gone. Because I can go to the place where it used to be, and what I will find there is this creepy doppelgänger of the place that was my home. It looks almost the same, but the loneliness is palpable. My chest tightens up any time I go there. If I hadn't left Santa Cruz, I would wake up with that haunted feeling every single day.
That is why it is best to keep moving. Stay a step ahead of the ghosts that are trying to haunt you until you get to your real home at last.
I know what you want to say to me.
Glenn, your problem is that you moved to often. For your whole life, you've never spent ten years living in the same city. If you had stayed put, you wouldn't feel so untethered now. Home would be home.
Except that you are wrong. It doesn't matter if you are moving or if you are staying put. The planet moves faster than you do.
For years, I assumed I would spend my whole life in Santa Cruz. Santa Cruz was home (more so than anyplace else before or since). But Santa Cruz -- the Santa Cruz that was my home -- is gone. It doesn't exist anymore. The Santa Cruz that was my home is the Santa Cruz where I would spend time with Scott and Daniel and Marty and Michael and Randy and Rich and Katie and Gayle and Ann and Phred and Melissa and Ricky. Look all you want, they aren't there. Before I left Santa Cruz, it left me.
But it's worse than gone. Because I can go to the place where it used to be, and what I will find there is this creepy doppelgänger of the place that was my home. It looks almost the same, but the loneliness is palpable. My chest tightens up any time I go there. If I hadn't left Santa Cruz, I would wake up with that haunted feeling every single day.
That is why it is best to keep moving. Stay a step ahead of the ghosts that are trying to haunt you until you get to your real home at last.
1. The Distant Music of Revving Engines
My home is the road.
Usually I begin to catch the scent of an upcoming road trip, a month or two up the line. At some point, sitting in my office, I am distracted by the distant music of revving engines.
My traveling journals began in 1982 with a trip to Toronto from my home in California. I have four books scribbled with handwriting I used to think only I could read. The entries mostly concern being somewhere else than here. Now I am a blogger, of sorts anyhow. So I'll share the journal and share the journey.
The road trip is still seven weeks away. The details aren't figured out yet. I don't know the route. The destination is familar, though. I found myself there in 1990, 1999, and 2000, a few days each time. You'll find it midway between a giant wooden lumberjack and a giant fiberglass walleye. It is a peaceful place called Bay Lake, and it is as much like home as any other place I've been.
My mind keeps getting ahead of my body. My body will spend the next seven weeks trapped in Tucson. My mind will wander through all the alternative routes that lead from Arizona to Minnesota, roads familiar and strange.
Usually I begin to catch the scent of an upcoming road trip, a month or two up the line. At some point, sitting in my office, I am distracted by the distant music of revving engines.
My traveling journals began in 1982 with a trip to Toronto from my home in California. I have four books scribbled with handwriting I used to think only I could read. The entries mostly concern being somewhere else than here. Now I am a blogger, of sorts anyhow. So I'll share the journal and share the journey.
The road trip is still seven weeks away. The details aren't figured out yet. I don't know the route. The destination is familar, though. I found myself there in 1990, 1999, and 2000, a few days each time. You'll find it midway between a giant wooden lumberjack and a giant fiberglass walleye. It is a peaceful place called Bay Lake, and it is as much like home as any other place I've been.
My mind keeps getting ahead of my body. My body will spend the next seven weeks trapped in Tucson. My mind will wander through all the alternative routes that lead from Arizona to Minnesota, roads familiar and strange.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)