From AZ to ID

Wednesday-Saturday, August 9th-12th, 2017

It was an odd night… mostly because I was driving. Not that the driving made it weird, but more of the fact that I was starting a trip at ten p.m. Usually I start in the early morning, not at night. Still cruising the smaller streets before I made it to I-10, the hot air over the pavement gently and stifily whisping through the windows and curling up over my face trying and succeeding to raise my body temperature, I realized that perhaps I should try to fix my ac. At least it’s dark, and not the heat of the day. I pulled into a Fry’s station to fuel up for $2.19 a gallon, and then hopped on the interstate. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep… or the side of the road rather. Well, it wasn’t quite the side of the road, and I hadn’t quite fallen asleep, my mind had just more or less entertained the idea of sleeping, with my eyelids wholeheartedly agreeing it would be a fabulous idea. My cognitive faculties thankfully won the contest and I hadn’t closed my eyes, but still, the whole debate within and against myself was somewhat disturbing to me; not the fact that I was arguing with myself, that was perfectly normal, but rather the matter of contention: should I or should I not sleep? The fact that that was even under consideration was quite appalling, for I had just begun a road trip! That’s why I prefer to start in the morning.

At any rate, I made decent time to the state line and proceeded into California, where the roads, unsurprisingly, took a sudden turn for the worse. The bug population was a little high too and they kept splattering all over my windshield. This always annoys me because then you have to keep driving until your next fuel stop to clean it off. The road twisted and winded its way along the countryside, precariously at times, but at least consistently. At long last, we came Nevada, and she was so happy to get there. Why? Because the roads were pristine. Smooth. Perfect even. Flawless. She liked Nevada better with every mile of glorious consistency. I was still tired, and with nobody else to talk to, I started up a conversation with her. “Nissan, how far do you think we should go before we stop to sleep? I am ever so tired.” She thought for a second before replying with a satisfied hum and a measured tread. In other words, she wanted to at least get past Las Vegas. Stop and go traffic is not exactly her favorite. With the matter decided, I settled in for the drive. About twenty-three minutes after three a.m. we came to a nice lonely exit five miles outside of Vegas, who just begged us to stay for a while. We willingly complied, and parked in a little gravel circle right off the highway. I grabbed my pillow and stretched myself as comfortably as I could across the pipes which filled the back, ready for a good night’s sleep.

The sun was still entertaining thoughts of rising for the day when I yawned and woke up from my sweet sleep at five. As we started down the highway she reminded me that she was thirsty and wanted a drink, so we stopped and got her favorite: good ‘ole Octane 87. I also partook of some fuel for the road, in the form of a couple cute little sandwiches, the likes of which I’d never tasted in my life. There was something different about them, and they were good. Sadly, they were totally devoured right then and there, so I never got a chance to see what was in them. And then we were off again, and didn’t stop for a long time. There wasn’t much to say, so we didn’t talk much and mostly listened to the single radio station that we could find. Nevada stretched on and on. The sun rose steadily and the world became bright again. My drowsiness burned away with the morning light and my spirit leapt within me with its oppressor dispersed. Freedom! The road smiled and welcomed us to enjoy the day, and so we did. The sun crept slowly over the mountains to the east, casting oblong shadows over the plains in the valley, which crafted the most intricate web of shadowlands I’d ever seen or am likely to see again: they were gorgeous. And then, it happened.

A line of cars and trucks. A lack of movement. A sign that said, “30 minute delays possible.” Construction. This usually spells doom to aspiring motorists on road trips, but my heart leapt within me at the sight. Nissan took a little nap while I got out and stretched my legs and went for a little jaunt through the brush. I was waking up for real this time, and I knew it. I did some push-ups and sit-ups, preceded by some stretching exercises and proceeded by another little jog. I saw the cars start to move at the front of the line, so I woke Nissan up and we started off through the construction. I made a phonecall, but was then rudely interrupted by some blue lights. What could they want? I hung up and went through my checklist: stopped on the shoulder, hands on the steering wheel, windows down, smile on my face, and then at the right time, “Morning Officer.” “Hey, good morning. So the reason I stopped you is you were on your phone back there. This is a hands-free state so you can’t be doing that sort of thing.” I hadn’t realized this was the case, but evidently it was so. We talked for a little bit and I told him about myself; where I was going, where I had come from, what I was doing in both places, what in the world was up with all that pipe in the back, these being the highlights. It was a little one-sided, I kind of wanted to know why he decided to become a highway patrol officer, but alas, I didn’t get the chance to ask. He took my fancy documents and ran them through his system and came back in a few minutes. “So I went ahead and gave you a citation. Since this is your first ticket it doesn’t count against your license or count as a moving violation, but there is a fine to pay or a court date to appear on, whichever you like. Next time get a Bluetooth, it’s a lot cheaper than that right there.” I thanked him and said I’d be sure to not hold my phone while driving anymore, and we parted ways. He was a pretty nice cop and acted professionally and wasn’t aggressive or rude at all, so I was happy for that. It was my first ticket though, and it was in a construction zone which is a double fine area. That could be bad. It could be a large ticket. I peeked at the paper he’d given me.. only $115! A sigh of relief escaped the inner recesses of my stomach: that could easily have been a $400 ticket. It pays to be courteous and not cause trouble when you get pulled over! Nissan wasn’t terribly happy with me though, for we had lost a lot of time. She was right too. So we carried on and kept driving.

By and by we came to the first fuel station since Las Vegas. With only a quarter tank left, we were happy it was there. We were happier when twelve miles later we passed a sign that read, “No services next 142 miles.” And so we skipped our heels, kicked up the dust, and burnt down the miles. Then there were more orange signs, but this time no line of vehicles. We were the first, and so started the line, waiting until it was our turn to go across the vast expanse . The lady who held the stop/slow sign ambled over and started a conversation, and we chatted about all sorts of stuff until it was time to get going. She was glad because most people vent their frustration with the construction on her, and it does get kinda boring just standing out there all day. Eventually it was our time to get going, so we bid farewell and left. And what more is there to tell? The road kept going on, eventually coming to the bonny fields of Idaho, and finally leading right up to the shining city of Boise herself. It was there I picked my sister up from the airport.

She was so happy to see me, and I her. She gave a deep loving hug, the type only a sister can ever give, and we chatted fifteen minutes or so till we came to the spot her car was parked, at which point the conversation came to a screeching halt. While jumping up and down in her seat and clapping her hands prettily, my sister exclaimed, “Oooh it’s so pretty! Ha ha, it’s beautiful, look at my new car!” So you could say that perhaps she wasn’t too displeased with it. While sis went to the store with Nissan to get a few things for her trip, I changed the oil of her car and checked all the fluids, and generally got it ready for the coming trip. Then we drove both cars to Denny’s and had some dinner and talked about what had gone on and what was likely to happen, and so forth. Then, for she had to make it back in time, sister had to leave. We said goodbye in the parking lot and told each other how we wished we had more time, since it’d been eight months since our last meeting. And with that we hugged once more and she drove away. I pulled up to the nearest Taco Bell and cleared the front two seats for sleeping. The bed was far more comfortable, even with the pipe, but in the middle of Boise it’s a little too risky to be sleeping outside your truck. I leaned myself across the center console, resting as comfortably as I could across the two seats, and drifted off to sleep. Drifted is far too soft a word. I was tired. In the past forty-eight hours I’d slept five and a half hours, chopped up into three chunks: two hours, two hours, and an hour and a half. I was tired. I didn’t drift to sleep, I didn’t even fall asleep. I plummeted off an airplane going mach three about thirty thousand feet above the Grand Canyon with no parachute. Did it hurt much when I landed? I couldn’t tell you, because I was asleep.

Nine hours later, I awoke refreshed. Now, it might surprise you that I only slept nine hours considering how tired I was. Let me tell you something that nobody besides the last travelling mattress salesman to cross my path knows: I cannot sleep more than nine hours at a time. Why? I don’t know. Go ask your doctor. Or your mother. Someone who knows more than me. And when you find the answer, come back and tell me, for I am dreadfully curious myself.

And then, the wait. I had a little more than twelve hours to wait before Jex came in on her flight. If you’re going to be waiting that long, you may as well redeem the time as best you can. Maybe change your oil, or buy a new shirt, or talk to every single person on your phone’s contact list. Or do all of these, like me. (Okay, okay, it wasn’t my entire contact list, just some of them. That’d be a little awkward calling your old boss from three years ago or that random person who insisted on giving you their number on that American Airlines flight ages ago…  Yeah, no. Please no.) I still had about two hours more to wait for the plane to arrive with Jex, and, since I’d done everything I could imagine to do and was tired of it all, there was only one course of action left to me. So I jumped up on a fire hydrant in a little roadside patch of green grass, complete with a cute little picnic table a laundromat near by. I stood there and waited. Presently three young boys, they must’ve been ten or eleven, came cruising by on their bikes. The one up front, bolder than the others, called out, “Hey, can you do a backflip?” I was somewhat surprised at this seemingly random question, until I recalled I was still standing on the fire hydrant. “It’s been a couple years since I did one. Can any of yall do one?” “He can!” two of the boys said, pointing to the third. “Alright, let’s see it!” With all three of us egging him on, he dismounted his bike, took a good clump of grass with his feet, jumped up, and executed a wonderful backflip. “Since he did it can you do it too?” “Well, I’m not as good as him. I’ll have to jump off this picnic table.” They all leaned on the opposite side of it to keep it from flipping over, and waited expectantly. I swung my arms, leapt up and curved backwards… and landed square on my stomach. They all let out a collective “oooh, that’s gotta hurt.”, but I jumped up laughing at my mistake saying, “Oh wow, that was horrible. Let’s try it again.” For the second time they watched expectantly. I swung my arms, leapt up and curved backwards… and landed on my feet. Cheers erupted from the young boys, and with that they said they had to go home for dinner, wished me a good day, and rode off. It was almost time for me to leave to the airport.

At long last, the time came. The cart with the dog crate was pushed into the little room at the airport, and Jex was there. I kneeled down and stuck my fingers through the grate door. She smelt them, saw my face, and erupted into uncontrolled whines, whimpers, kicks, and contortions, rocking the crate on back and forth. Our reunion was a happy one, and you never saw a more contented pair than us late that night. We drove until we found a nice quiet spot, and then went off to sleep. In the morning, before the sun had yet risen, we set off once more. It’s quite a fun drive from Boise to Moscow, and it starts off almost immediately with two lines of mountains on either side. You could almost say that the road ran along between these two lines in the valley, but the space was a little too narrow for it to be a valley, so it was more of a gorge. It was gorgeous. And beautiful too. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, and took the time to stop at all the fun spots. We waded in the river, climbed the hills, walked along the train tracks, and just generally had fun. And that’s about it. We made it to Moscow about half an hour till noon, and the rest is history.