Day 15 --CO

Day 15—
Today was driving in the mountains day. There really were some spectacular views – probably more majestic and much larger than in Utah. Colorado looks very different than Utah. Southern Utah is red. Colorado is gray and green. Utah has spectacular formations – Colorado has immense panoramas. I believe that I have driven to Colorado from Ohio four times before. The furthest west I drove previously was Vail. This is many, many years ago – I was in my twenties I think. My recollection of driving I-70 through the mountains near Vail and of Vail itself was entirely different from today. Think the roads maight have been inproved in 30 years? That and the fact that it was snowing in Vail then and I could barely keep the car on the road. I pretty sure that I once drive out to Colorado in the middle of summer with Leah, the school counselor at the school where I taught science, in a Mazda GLC. Of course it had no air conditioning so driving through the entire width of Kansas was like being in a blast furnace. I distinctly remember that the air coming in the windows made you hotter but it was too suffocating to close the windows.

What brought this to mind today is that I can remember at least a hundred times wondering what was on the other side of Vail. At that point I had never been any further west, and even though I have since flown to many cites west of Denver later in my career, I still couldn’t picture what was beyond the mountains of Vail. Now I know and it is incredible country that I could drive for quite a while before I became oblivious to it like I am to I-75 -- from Flint to Miami. I think the west suits me.

The drive was very stressful as well as beautiful. Descending the mountain passes at 75 or 80 mph in traffic can be a little overwhelming, especially when there is a little thought in the back of your head that there is something wrong with the steering. How ironic to being driving a car that was engineered for high speed, stable cornering and being worried about the safety of that very thing. For anyone thinking “Stop and get it fixed, dumb ass.” let me reassure you that the car is driving perfectly. And the seats are amazingly comfortable.

I took 22 pictures today. Eighteen were of my feet, the ground and the interior of the car. Four were of the scenery that I was pointing the camera at. Photography is a learning process.

So 4800 miles from home I arrive at the Barcelona’s house. It’s been my good fortune to see (my brother) Jerry and (my sister-in-law) Cheryl four times this year and Christmas will make five times. Jerry has been in Colorado for 30 years and it’s long ago become home to him. It’s quite a contrast going from the solitude of a different motel each night to the comfort of being with family. This is a big change for me from the days of my cynical youth and early middle age when I was too cool for my family.

Aw, yes, Leah the school counselor. We met at Watts Middle School in Centerville, Ohio where I taught 6th, 7th and 8th grade science. I was in my second year at Watts and Leah was new. She was very pretty in an earthy way and had very long straight dark hair. I was fairly recently divorced and Leah and I struck up a very brief, very tumultuous affair. Leah was very smart and had some issues – particularly some big issues with her demagogue father. What I remember most is how she got her first name. Her first name at birth was Janet. I had assumed that she changed it Leah as an act of defiance toward her father. When I asked her how she came to be called Leah she said “I was in the mountains and the wind told me to call myself Leah.” . . . My, oh my!

Tomorrow, golf and a picnic.

Day 14 -- UT, CO

Day 14 -- Two weeks on the road. I like it.

I went online to see what the top ten rated National Parks were. Zion, Bryce Canyon and Yellowstone did not make the list, but guess what. Arches National Park in Moab, Utah did (along with Grand Canyon, Arcadia, Yosemite and others that I can't recall) and it was on my way. It was a nice fast drive to the park and since I had already paid $25 times three, I got an annual pass for $5 more. Who'd a thunk. Me a National Parks guy. Within ten seconds you can see how spectacular this place is. Before I even finished driving up the Great Wall (of the Moab Gorge) I realized this was better than the three other parks by a long shot. It was a gorgeous day with sunshine blazing down and temps between 77 and 81F. Again my hiking was mostly curtailed because I couldn't tolerate exertion in the sunshine, but there was a strong wind in most places that made it feel wonderful. My picture taking and knowledge of my own camera are wanting but I got some decent shots. I guess you'll be the judge of that.

My stranger encounter of the day was an exchange of two sentences. Boy am I an outgoing guy or what? And the Hats were back! and the walking sticks. But that's not all. I found out there are yuppie huggers with a child carrier so elaborate that it folds out into a car seat so little Sue can ride on mommy or daddy's back. I'm not talking about a little papoose carrier. No, this was a full fledged car seat for the back. Amazing. And I couldn't quite figure if it was dad or granddad that was preparing to scale the steps with little Sue in tow. Little Sue was about 3 and dad? was gray -- what the hell, he was lean and ready for the challenge.

I saw a couple signs you don't see everyday. One was "Eagles on Hwy" on I-70. Of course, they get your hopes up but there are no eagles to be found. And in the park I saw "Do Not Enter Area When Flooded." I guess huggers are not deterred by a flood. They keep going unless a daunting warning sign stands in their way.

On to Grand Junction, Colorado. The drive was almost as spectacular as the park. But given the speed at which you can drive, it's best not to be looking off to the side of the road much. Being Best Western's new best customer, I checked in and plugged in. I ate dinner in town at a brew pub that was crowed, noisy and had the ballgame on t.v. My idea of heaven. Then why did I have chicken fried steak? Because it looked really filling? It was.

Next stop Berthoud, Colorado. Home of Jerry and Chery Barcelona.

Day 13 -- UT

Day 13 -- Southern Utah. I made it through the night and morning at the Best Western in St. George, UT with falling down and skinning my knees so I considered the stay a success. Next stop: Bryce Canyon. Although I am am slightly OD'd on national parks, I have been chastised by no less than three people that I must see Bryce Canyon.

The ride to Bryce includes Red Canyon which is very nice and gives you a glimpse of what's to come. The so called Bryce Canyon Amphitheatre is what I would call the canyon. It's pretty spectacular and there are four or five view points that you can easily drive to get great views. I was really looking forward to taking one or two of the easy hikes but at 8000+ feet altitude, I couldn't handle it. Just fifty yards of incline brought my to my knees -- actually to my ass since I don't usually sit down on my knees. I was going to pull one of the famous Barcelona "Fuck this. I'm no pussy." and hike it anyway but sanity prevailed.

I got there at lunch time so I wanted to eat first -- which made the altitude effect all the worse -- so I went to the full service or as I called the full shitty service restaurant. As I waited very impatiently to be served I got that pissed off look I get -- you know, my everyday expression. And when Johnny SmartAss, my waiter, made it around he said one of my favorite things "Be with you in a minute, Boss." Boss? Buddy? Pal? Chief? All equally stupid and obnoxious. So Mr. Grumpy ate his lunch. I was grumpy because when I parked and got out of the car, I took my computer backpack with me and it weighs about 30 pounds. The weight, the sun and standing up after three hours in the car really made me out of breath and weak in the knees. But on the plus side I found a wireless signal in the restaurant -- completely unprotected.

At Bryce Point I encountered a bus load of Germans -- who have been at every national park I visited. Germans I mean. Not that busload of Germans. I wanted to try my lame-assed German on them but I was to standoffish. When my picture taking came to an abrupt halt because of dead batteries, I read that as a signal to depart.

I picked a spot on the map - Salina, Utah - and headed out. I seem to be stuck on Best Western's, so I found one and got a room. While I was registering I noticed an overpowering sweet smell which I assumed was the clerk's perfume. When I went to the room I got a blast of the same almost sickeningly sweet smell. I guess either she cleans the rooms or more likely she sprays herself with the same room freshener that they use after cleaning the rooms. Wonder what it really smells like in here?

I ate at Mom's Cafe in "downtown" Salina. Good old American food in a good old American cafe. Built in 1876. It was very good and I was starved. Be sure to get a scone and put Butter and Honey FLAVORED topping on it. De-lish. Made be think of the town in Paper Moon.

I figured out what the hidden zipper pocket in Columbia shorts is for -- money. At the Oasis, I hit the ATM -- a sure winner -- to get cash. I am sure that I pushed the button for $100 but I got $500. Unfortunately my account was also debited $500. So the hidden zipper pocket safely protects me from dropping a wad. And I am really careful not to flip through hundreds of dollars in front of strangers.

I leave you with this. Why to sportscasters and commentators say "The Alex Rodriguez's of the world. The Tom Brady's of the world." Who are these other Alex Rodriguez's and Tom Brady's? I know who A Rod and Brady are, but who are these other ones "of the world?"

Day 12 -- NV, AZ, UT

Day 12 -- Trying to leave Las Vegas again. I must be getting wiser or something because I went into Tuesday with an accepting attitude that I was going to spend a lot of time waiting at the mercy of others. And of course that's exactly what happened. A very helpful young man named Shawn at the BMW dealer in Henderson noted which warning lights were on and tried to get one of the shaman (service advisers) to squeeze me in. Like trying to get a doctor at a clinic -- and they seem to have that same attitude. After an hour or so, no luck, but Shawn was nice enough to get me a name of a guy at the Las Vegas dealership . who could squeeze me in. Butch was his name and he was very pleasant and courteous, if not ultimately helpful. After another four hours there -- I just accepted the wait without too much frustration -- they could not determine what was wrong with the front end but the warning lights were off and the cruise control worked so I considered it a minor success and was happy to hit the road.

While I was waiting a couple of courtroom shows were on the TV and I couldn't find a way to change the channel. Are these people for real? Of course they just want to be on television. I guess the real question is who voluntarily watches this. I'm not afraid to say that I love People magazine, but reality TV leaves me cold. Our lives are reality or something like it, why do I want to see average (or below average ) assholes on TV?

It does amaze me that it's so hard to get a straight answer from the shaman, again like with medical professionals. What I wanted to know was what was the worst that come happen if there was a wheel bearing making a noise. -- Did I mention that their diagnosis was completely different from the L.A. dealership; and there solution, if I left the car all day Wednesday was too bizarre to understand. -- I just wanted the guy to say something comprehensible like "the wheel will freeze up." or "The wheel will turn to fire and the car will explode." Just something. But no. Just "It'll get real loud." No shit. Should I turn up the volume on the radio?

So Mellow Jim departed for Utah with a nagging urge to loose some money before I left Nevada. And amazingly enough there were massive tacky casinos at the NV/AZ border just waiting to serve my need. My thought was that if they fixed my car, that would be such good luck that I would have to hit the slots and watch the winning flow in. Since they didn't really fix the car, I lost -- ya, that must be the reason. The casino was the Oasis, by the way, and it was light years less creepy than Whiskey Pete's.

Back to the Heart of Dixie I went. Remember the big D on the side of the mountain? About 6 blogs ago. Well Erin, the knower of all facts, knew that southern Utah is nicknamed Dixie. And I am back at the same motel where I fell down and went boom in St. George.

What do you on Wednesday? Bryce Canyon? Grand Canyon? Return to the gaming tables? What's a guy to do.

Day 11 -- CA, NV

Day 11 -- Whiskey Pete's, Primm, NV. Yee haw!

We had a day of puttering around L.A. getting me ready to get back on the road -- and we visited Disney Studios. The high point was when Johnny Depp asked for my autograph. He calls me Oogie, you know. We saw Walt and Roy Disney's offices and met some nice people who are co-workers of Cindy. Got my Mestinon prescription with only minor hassle. And got my car serviced. Aside from the oil change that the car was insisting on -- the car tells you, you don't tell it -- I asked them to check the steering wheel because it was squeaking and do a visual inspection of the front right tire because I had run over a curb and gouged the rim. Mentioning the curb thing was not a smart move. The diagnosis was that I had damaged the rack and pinon steering (whatever that is) and two of the tires were in need of replacement. Cost (because these were not warranty items; see stupid comment about running over curb) $3,000. I declined their generous offer and picked it up with the regular service only.

To avoid L.A. rush hours, I left P and C's house around 7:00pm and headed for Whiskey Pete's. Yee haw! On the road again; but oops! Less than ten miles into the return trip multiple warning lights come on -- low tire pressure, some shit about the suspension and something else. Two reactions: one is complete depression; Now I have to go fuck around with this dealer and say "what did you do to my car?" and waste a whole day on car repair; and two, this has happened before and it's not the catastrophe that it appears to be. I eventually pulled over and checked that the tires had air in them. They were fine. Sound obvious, but I have the so called run-flat tires, meaning if they go flat you can continue to drive for 50 miles to a repair shop. There's no spare tire. I know what happens if you drive too much on one and it cost me $400 to find out.

One thing about living for sixty years is that you have had many different experiences and you remember what happens as a result and how things played out. So when my car malfunctioned on the freeway I immediately thought not about what was wrong but about what it was going to mean to my trip. I felt sick not because I was scared or confused or felt out of control. Just the opposite. This was either going to be nothing or it was going to be a big pain in the ass interruption to my trip. I could picture every step of the process and I didn't want to deal with it. Same thing went through my mind when I fell on the stirs in Pocatello. -- Didn't tell you about that, did I? -- As I was hitting the concrete I was not scared about how I might be injured. If anything I was disappointed that it might interfere with the trip. I have fallen and hurt myself badly before. I have lain on the concrete and had people hovering around me while and ambulance came for me. I knew how it might play out and I was pissed. OK, OK. I was scared shitless that my pacemaker would fail! -- I've been "mostly dead" as they say in the Princess Bride, and it wasn't fun or spiritually uplifting.

Back in the car: After debating whether or not to turn around, I continued to Primm, Nevada. An interesting little non-town. It's on the CA/NV border and consists of several trashy casinos and nothing else -- well unless you call McDonald's and gas stations something else. So I am on the 12th floor in the middle of nowhere in a $32 room that looks and smells it. Not that it's a dump; just feels grungy, you know. I'll do my best to have a stranger encounter at Whiskey Pete's so I can amuse you.

Tuesday I head for Desert BMW of Henderson. And then after a brief stay, I hope, on to Bryce Canyon and parts unknown.

Day 10 -- CA

Day 10 -- Van Nuys, California. Sunday was really a day of rest. Phil and Cindy and I just hung out and talked and ate. A perfect day actually. They made delicious pasta for dinner with ham, asparagus, tomatoes, spices and such. We talked about all the social ills of the country and other life altering subjects.
My stranger encounter of the day was a new one for a Midwesterner. A young Mexican boy (I presume) came up to Phil and me outside of CVS and literally pleaded – you know, hands in prayer position – for help, i.e. money. Something about being deserted by his buddies and needing bus fare. What was new was he held his driver’s license out in front of him while he pleaded, I guess to show he was legal. In any event, hard hearted Jim declined to help (that’s twice this trip) and we drove off. Now I could spin off into the underlying social and cultural implications of this encounter, but why?
I did have a couple of minor anxiety attacks which does not happen very frequently these days. I have had panic attacks for so long that I can usually manage them to the point (a) those around me have no idea it’s happening and (b) I can talk myself through it so it passes quickly. Plus I always have Atavin with me and that will clam most of them. I could go on at length describing what it’s like for me to live with panic disorder, but it’s not that interesting in a journal about a journey. Yes, I know it’s part of the "journey of life" (ugh!!) but let’s leave that for another time.
Let’s try this journey. Take your mind to the deepest darkest jungle of Africa. It’s over 100F and the sun is beating down relentlessly on the tops of the trees. Steam is rising from the jungle floor. Are you picturing it? There is a small watering hole in a little clearing in the trees. The sun is beating down . . . Nothing is moving . . . Everything is perfectly still . . . In the middle of the watering hole two hippos are cooling themselves in the water with only their heads above the surface. Everything is perfectly still. Nothing has moved in eons. There is a little dead bird hanging from the ear of one of the hippos. That’s how still it is. Slowly one hippo turns to the other and say "You know Fred, I just can’t get it through my head that it’s Thursday."

More to come.

Day 9 – NV, CA

Day 9 -- Leaving Las Vegas. The daytime personality of Las Vegas is quite a contrast from the nighttime one. As you drive by the casinos during the day they look like misplaced toys in a spoiled child’s bedroom. At night I love the stunning tackiness which is at once obnoxious and alluring. It’s fun to allow yourself to be sucked in while you stand there aware that sucking you in is exactly when the whole environment is designed to do just that. I couldn't believe that I was tempted to stop on the way out of Nevada at one of these massive grotesque casinos-in-the-middle-of-nowhere to gamble. You know just once I’d like to hit a small jackpot. Maybe $1,200 or something like that. Just to feel like I could walk a ONCE with a lot more than I walked in with.

The drive down from southern Utah to Nevada to California gives you a perspective of what and where southern California is than I have never had in a lifetime of watching movies and television. Nothing can replace the feel of actually being there. You drive through a major decent from Utah to Arizona to Nevada and then again about 60-70 miles from Los Angeles as you drive thought another huge decent into the San Fernando Valley. I don’t get how you drive down out of the desert into a valley. I always think of deserts as being the bottom of valleys, but what do I know. So it is educational, but not particularly beautiful by comparison. Had I flown to Vegas and driven down to Los Angeles, I’m sure I would have found it stunning.

The L.A. freeways. Everything you’ve heard and much worse. And I never slowed down the whole way into Van Nuys. I’m as used to driving in traffic as you can get (as a Midwesterner) but it is still really stressful to drive fifty miles at 75-80mph across six lane freeways with fast moving traffic all around you. But I survived nicely and found Phil and Cindy’s house. They are my lifelong friends whom I rarely get to see and who treat me like a celebrity. As comfortable as I am with them (And have always been), it felt strange to “arrive”. The journey was wonderful.

Since my encounters with strangers were nil today, I’ll explain the “Tubby” incident. Many of you have heard it. It happened in Rocky Mountain National Park. My son Rob and I had flown into Denver to drive up to visit my brother and sister-in-law, Jerry and Cheryl. We arrived early and had to kill the day while Jerry and Cheryl were at work. So we headed from Boulder and spent about 17 minutes there before we were bored and ready to move on. I suggested we drive up to Estes Park and on up Trailridge road – which as you probably know is the highest paved road in the country. It was an inferno in the foothills; about 95F and no wind. But at 12,000 ft the temp had dropped to 62F and with the bright sun it felt great. We parked at the store and visitor’s center and got out. I was struggling with the altitude and sun and was very lightheaded – my medicines were not getting it done that day. It was difficult to stand and walk and I could barely see.

So I struggle over to a bench and sit. Rob says "I'll be back in a minute" and heads over to the hundred or so steps that actually take to up to 12,000 ft exactly (really 12,006). Within what seemed like a minute he was standing next to me. Wow! that was fast. – Now remember, I was feeling like shit and really cranky. – I saw a pudgy college kid with a Penn State hoodie on and I said “Why don’t you race Tubby over there? I bet you could go up back twice before he gets to the top.” I said some other uncharitable things about Tubby – he was out of earshot of course. After a moment’s pause, a college kid in a Michigan State T-shirt is standing next to me and says ”I don’t appreciate you calling my cousin Tubby. Why don’t you shut your mouth?” I stared at him in disbelief. In my youth I would have been scared and apologized. After all, I was the asshole in this little theatre. But in my advanced years and cranky mood, I fought back every urge to say “Well fuck you and your tubby cousin too!” The kid started walking away and the best I could muster was “Well excuse the hell outta me.” He told me to shut my mouth. All the while Rob is thinking, I wish this crazy old man would shut up before we get our asses kicked. By now the kid is talking to Tubby and they’re looking back over at me pointing. There’s four of them. I stare them down. Bring it on, punks! Remember I’m a sixty year old man who has a bi ventricular pacemaker, autonomic failure and can barley stand. And I’m staring them down! Rob must be dying by now. Well the bunch of pussies walked away. Rob and I laughed – not at them, at me and my incredibly brazen stupidity.

I guess I think I’m invincible because I can always say “Are you going to hit a sixty year old man with a pacemaker?” Hope I don’t find someone who answers yes to that.