8-23-12 ROAD LESS TRAVELED
I woke refreshed Thursday morning, despite the groggy encounter the night before that was still trying to find some order in my muddled memory. One benefit of sleeping in the car was that the sun urged me on my way not long after it started the day, yielding a few extra hours of driving and sight-seeing.
Train full of tanks.
I knew I had to be in Tuscon by dinner, but didn't have any other plans for the day, so I cracked open my dog-eared 2006 Rand McNally Road Atlas and traced a basic route through southeastern AZ's Coronado National Forest and Chiricahua National Monument. I was tempted to deviate, however, when I reached a fork in the road with one of its arrows leading to Paradise, AZ. The other arrow, leading to the National Forest, pointed down a narrow road that squirmed its way out of sight between two mountain ranges, and looked like the next best thing to Paradise.
The road continued to wind into the valley, the pavement gradually giving way to gravel. The gravel began to rise. And rise. Up the mountain I climbed, with switchbacks and hairpins whitening my knuckles. Signs began to inform me that I was on my way to "Rustlers Park", and glimpses of the road further up the mountain let me know that "Rustlers Park" was very high up. The road was ablaze with wildflowers, red, yellow, purple, as if to mock the charred skeletons of fir and pine, standing testaments to nature's fury.
And then it leveled off. A still and cool meadow lay atop the mountain, and for the intrepid motorist, respite. Rustlers Park is a National Forest campground at 8,500 ft with views clear into Mexico, and a destination for bird-watchers and solitude-seekers. I walked around for awhile with library quietness, and listened to the whoosh of wind in the canopy and took in evidence of last year's 365,000 acre wildfire. In the early 1900's, outlaws used the meadow to hide stolen livestock, but these days the folks up there are probably hiding from cubicles and cell phones.
Down the mountain, I followed signs for Chiricahua National Monument, a small green blob in the atlas that caught my attention. The bulk of its trails and scenic drives were closed for repairs (more wildfire victims), so I wandered around a historic ranch property; one of those mile-long educational hikes. An ominous cloud crept into the valley, and I took that as my cue to move on.
On to Tuscon, and an old-time friend I hadn't seen in seven years. We got re-acquainted as his two gargantuan black labs slobbered on me, and then met up with another high-school friend for dinner. Thankfully I didn't have to fight the dogs for the couch when we got back to the house.
[a note: Wouldn't it seem that anytime one of us hits the road, without much concern as to itinerary or destination, we take on the honorary stole of 'Wandering Philosopher'? Poet, soothsayer, minstrel; drunk on asphalt and solitude. Steinbeck, Kerouac, Heat Moon, Miller have all preached the gospel of the road, the absolute truth of white letter on green field. I suppose they set the precedent for this modern meta-character, the Vagabond Sage. All this to say: please excuse me if I attempt to wax eloquent or lend undue gravity to the mundane. I am not immune to the intoxication of the road.]
8-12-12 DAY ONE STUFF
I don't think it's a stretch of the imagination to say that no one would call the drive from Knoxville to Pensacola, FL glamorous. Not when you stay predominantly on interstates, at any rate, and I didn't really have the time to explore backroads on my way down. I left town around 11am after coffee with friends and a great send-off. Nine hours later I pulled into my friend Joey's driveway, and there honestly isn't much else to say about it. Hopefully I'm not overly romanticizing the western portions of this trip.
Miles: 480
MPG: 40
Track of the Day: Ludovico Einaudi - Dietro Casa
8-13-12 THE DOLLHOUSE
It's hard not to slip back into old relationships as if we were still in high school. Joey and I went down to P'cola Beach for a few hours, then got dinner at a locally famous Irish pub, McGuire's, where he bought me their signature drink, the Irish Wake. I guess it was about 6 shots of whiskey with orange juice and green food coloring, all mixed together in a big mason jar. Didn't really hit very hard, considering. The house Joey lives in with a handful of other Navy officers looks like a giant dollhouse. Got a little sunburned, all is right in the world.
Miles: 0
TOTD: The Goat Rodeo Sessions - Here and Heaven
Disclaimer: I do not play the guitar.
8-14-12 THE STARS AT NIGHT
If it's raining at the beach,
it'll be worse on the plains.
You'll catch every red light out of
Alabama when all you want is Texas.
Do ten hours of stop-and-go
make up for two years of off-and-on?
Have you ever felt soreness in your eyes? By the time I got to Longview, TX tonight I could barely focus on anything. Dusk driving is the worst. Crossed the Mississippi today, I guess that should probably be a landmark of some sort, but I've hopped over it too many times to give it much pomp anymore. More importantly, I broke 1000 miles today. Just the tip of the iceberg, but still momentous.
Miles: 546 (Total: 1026)
MPG: 33 (red lights + AC)
TOTD: one hour of silence (hey, your ears need a break now and then)
