Breakfast the next morning, after a night of San Joaquin Valley rainfall, was home cooked at Pam's house. I got a late start, but I did not regret the extra time with the two ladies who had welcomed be back. There was more rain as I drove down Highway 99 to Bakersfield where I planned to cross over the Tehachapis and cut through the Mojave and catch Old Route 66; Barstow, Needles, Kingman, - don't forget Winona, and into Winslow, Arizona.
I called Sue from Winslow, and told her that:
There's a girl my lord,
in a flat bed Ford,
slowing down to take a look at me.
She warned me:
Not to let the sound of my own wheels drive me crazy.
I told her:
I'd like to sleep with you in the desert tonight with a million stars all around...
I did not have the Eagles CD in my audio player, but I didn't need to, I was living it.
I had filled the tank in Tehachapi with exorbitantly priced California gasoline, calculating this might be my last fuel stop in this highly taxed state. I was hoping to make a run through the Mojave and get across the border to fairly priced fuel in Arizona. I admit, I was a bit concerned; checking frequently the 'estimated range' readout on my dash. Do I stop and pay the price in Needles, or do I push to get across the Colorado River border and save some coin? I estimate I have a limited amount of fuel, maybe 20 more miles or less. I roll the dice and go gentle on the accelerator. I coast into cheap gasoline at Mile Marker 8 in Arizona. I am relieved.
Now fueled and flying into the lingering twilight of the eastern sky, I find that I-40, stretching through parts of Arizona, was unfortunately pocked with large potholes generated by a winter of heavy snow and ice. I passed by a few stranded motorists where their low clearance cars had hit these road hazards at high Interstate speeds and had their tires blown out and shredded and their wheel rims bent to hell. It was sad to see 2 or 3 cars on the side of this isolated stretch of road, disabled by the same wicked pothole, waiting for tow trucks to come from miles away. The state Highway Dept. trucks were desperately throwing asphalt patches into the breech. Too late for those half dozen disabled motorists I passed with my larger, high clearance tires as I now zigged and zagged around these pitfalls.
I had snow falling on my windshield in Flagstaff. I remembered camping in Prescott, AZ as a family in March (1970?) and waking to 6" of snow before we folded the tent trailer and headed to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. We stayed in the rim-side hotel and got a wonderful hot bath in a claw-footed tub and I ate 14 pounds of fresh strawberries at dinner that night. Memories were frequent and good all along my route.
I had reservations that night at a basic room in Gallup, NM and was gratified that the gas heat fired up quickly and efficiently warmed my room as snow and sleet fell in the darkness outside.
I text Pam and Carole whom I left in my rearview mirror in Madera at the beginning of the day, telling them I arrived in Gallup, as they had requested. I don't know what they could have done if I didn't make my preordained destination. But, they were kind hostesses to me and I returned the small favor of letting them know I was not swallowed in a desert pothole and was not stranded under a saguaro cactus.
I slept well. Dreaming of being home once again with a wife and a house in need of many a serious chore once I arrived back home in Texas from my home in Washington.
Tomorrow, Gallup to Garland was a doable day. The New Mexico geology is always a beautiful and fascinating trip for me. I'd love to spend winters in NM and bask in the orange sandstone canyons of this part of the country.
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