Big Blue And Coyotes

 Pandemic travel is, as noted previously, no longer for the faint of heart or simplistic tourism. Every time I reach for a fistful of those tempting tourist brochures, I quickly put my hand back in my pocket. 

Don't Touch is becoming second nature, quickly followed by a pandemic realised sigh of, they are all closed or some, destroyed. I am a fan of historical monuments. They give me pause for thought, questions and, meaningful conversations with strangers.  I know I can't change the past, but remembering and acknowledging it gives me hope for future change.  I pour an instant coffee, cap it and walk out to Big Blue.

Driving across America is a symbiotic relationship between road, car and, driver. The miles take care of themselves.  They roll out under humming wheels and tick up the odometer. They can pass in a blur of thoughts. For many car owners,  the 100,000 mile moment adds the idea it's time to "trade up" the old model for a newer version.  America is not keen on perceived "old age" value.  It has a determined attraction to a contemporary world with all the shiny new 'bells and whistles".  Classics are for downtown parades.  I might window shop a Mustang or Subaru, but, you don't turn your back on old friends.

Big Blue is not a classic in years, but sh has piled on the miles for me. We have a "thing going on". A kind of loyal pandemic kinship.  She is rolling in at 165,000 with plenty of highway and shared experiences still ahead.  The desert is blowing away in our rear view mirror and the rocky hills grown taller around each curve.

 I tell her not to worry as she drags her weight up another mountain. She pulls her own 3,643 pounds plus me and my stuff in a determined climb, leaving others groaning in her wake.. Blue and I have gotten good at playing with downhill speed to get uphill momentum.  She shifts in, shoulders hunched and makes her 203 horsepower work like 300.  She doesn't like being judged on her age. 

These days,  in "abundance of caution" - (love that phrase, a verbal band-aid you can slap on any topic) my pandemic traveling has stuck itself to the main highways.  The "sensible, safe" route.  And yes, a bit boring. Highways left rural Americas charms to distant byways and faded exit signs.  We exchanged small town restaurants for fast food pit stops.  Social exchanges morphed into instant commercial transactions at the gas stations.

The endless tarmac starts glazing my eyes. The mirages shimmering ahead seem oddly restful.  The coffee bought hours ago is an empty cup of forgotten promise. I know I need to stay awake for a few more hours.  My fingers play across the controls. Music is a must. 

The one grumbly, grudge I bear Big Blue comes in here. Not really her fault, but in 2005 when they gave her a 6 cd disc player, it wasn't up to mega road tripping 15 years later.  After  a nice, rollicking hour or so, it heats up and the music skips to a permanent stop.  Which leaves me at the mercy of the local radio stations. 

Playing "seek' with the radio between vast nothingness and hills is an exercise in patience and an education on the invisible people living out beyond highway sight.  Luck is a spasmodic few miles of cowboy music that turns a corner into mariachi exuberance and then fizzes into some heavy handed preaching. Just when I am about to pray for forgiveness from unknown sins, the cowboys step back up to save me. It's nothing if not interesting. With enough miles ahead, any voice can be better than the voices in my head.

But now, I  need more than crooning cowboys and ranting preachers to keep me awake. Blue and I  started, as usual, at sunrise. It's past lunchtime now. I contemplate a respite from Texas 10 to check out some Caverns along the way. There are only so many massive signposts of promise in the endless mileage of scrub-brush I can take before falling prey to hope. The fragmented sign offer a scenic change from the dusted emptiness. Maybe a walk would kick me out of my auto-pilot zombie groove. 

A last second decision slammed Big Blue from a cruising 90mph to an offramp curve of 35. With a heavy ass, packed with my 2 suitcases, she is not happy when I do this. Her brakes squeal as she is vaguely offended. I open the window to breath the sage smells. Tumbleweeds edge the ramp backed by a single Saguaro cactus. It stands against the horizon, arms extended. A lone, exit sentinel.  The pavement abruptly ends in a scrabble of gravel and dirt.  Our back dust raises a cloud that can be seen for miles.  Is there anyone except the circling buzzards to see it?

Travelling across the country alone, in a pandemic, has weird and sometimes erie moments. Here, stopping in the desert I suddenly remember myCarlos Casteneda books.  My internalised  "what the hell am I doing and where Am I now" questions merge between the  philosophical or, are impacted by my immediate environment. They come at unexpected intervals that my GPS fails to map. The highway hum does not always have answers to these questions. 

Blue and I bump our way down a dirt  road that is suddenly devoid of directions to the promised Cavern. Rusty, twisted barbed wire lines the road edge. The only indication that people have been here.  It's already been 5 miles and I don't seen anything that looks even vaguely "touristy".  I wonder how close I am now to the Border. I start wondering other things...

 Cruising the highway, this close to the border between Texas and Mexico already had me previously passing through Two internal border checks..  

Yes, Internal  border checks . Big gates, cameras , guards. The whole rodeo.  Had a flash thought of "did my erratic GPS just send me into Mexico" when I saw the first one looming ahead.  Would my  Florida orchid plant be considered contraband? I shoved between the trucks into the car lane and inched toward the patrol. 

 In my general experience, border checks imply crossing borders. International borders.  Last I heard, inter-state doesn't count. But here I was facing Full blown camera clicking, border patrol, big gates to drive through border controls. WTF?! Turns out, I was not crossing into another country, not even crossing a state line yet.  Go figure...  I tossed my camera to the floor just in case and rolled down my window with a big smile and was waved through. Weird.

So, now, here I was in the middle of nowhere, on a dirt road. Miles off the main highway. Looking for some caverns that faded bill posts had been advertising for over 50 miles.  Looking around me as we crawled along at 25mph assured me that the only social distancing issues would be with possible coyotes.  Coyote. The minute that word lodged in my head, I said out loud ,"Big Blue, we are turning around and getting the hell out of here". There are more kinds of coyotes than the four legged version.

Even miles of highway nothingness seemed suddenly more attractive and, safer than continuing on this road to some "maybe" caverns. Sometimes a girl just needs to listen to her gut instinct and go with it. Big Blue grunted as we hit another pothole. She seemed to say, "now you think of this?" Reversing her in one move, pretty smooth for a big lady, we squealed back onto the highway leaving the tumbleweeds to their rambling. And any coyotes, to their - well, whatever coyotes do...

Texas faded away into the dust of New Mexico. No border checks, just a "Welcome to The Land of Enchantment" and  a few strips of orchard green that gave my eyes a needed break.  Some neatly lined canals sparkled with water and I could see oranges hanging heavy from the trees. Onward. We kept going. There were miles and hours to go until the next stop.

 With dust painting both Big Blue and me a dim shade of tired, we finally pulled into Phoenix, Arizona for the night. The sun was rapidly being eaten by the desert horizon. 11 hours on the road. Big Blue rumbled down to cool off for the night and I dragged my bag and camera up to my hotel room. Shower,  bed and up with the sun to do it all again tomorrow. Good night Big Blue and, thank you...