Grand Canyon Road Trip, Part 3 - Homeward Bound
The allure of the waffle machines from the previous morning was too powerful to overcome, despite my insistence on being a French toast man when it comes to the griddle (or iron in this case). I had also come to the realization that while I wanted another English muffin for the marmalade, waffles and marmalade could also mix. So waffles it was. Thus fortified with our continental breakfast we struck out for our return trip. While the basic route was known there was still room for improvisation. Cruising down the highway, each exit passing by as a tantalizing gateway to some other unknown destination, some other potential adventure, an opportunity to discover some other hidden gem – but all gateways that would need to be saved for another day when time was not an issue. Ash Fork, Seligman, Kingman, countless invitations to leave the much traveled interstate and explore the mother road - Route 66, all of these passed by. Referencing the map at every exit, calculating how much of a detour each tempting town would be. I resist the call of the exits. It’s probably better that I am not driving at this point. The exit for Giganticus Headicus passes by. I debate with myself – weighing the extra time it would add to the trip against the likelihood of passing this way with extra time in the future. I’m torn, knowing that it is a sight better left for another day, but unable to admit that to myself. I resort to the coin toss, or more appropriately the pull the coin out of the pocket and see which side is up. Heads would be the obvious choice for Giganticus Headicus. It is tails. I breathe a little sigh of relief. I can listen to the coin and don’t have to continue my internal debate. I don’t have to rationalize some other way and go against the will of the coin. Besides, I know that soon enough an exit will come that we will take. We are heading to Oatman. The birthplace of my grandfather. But perhaps more importantly for this trip, the current home of burros and gunfights. The town has become a tourist trap over the years, which makes it a fantastic bit of roadside kitsch. We are not disappointed in either the burro or gunfight departments. I spare a thought for the last time I was here and we head out again.
Spending time with a proud Oatman resident…
Back on the road. More exits pass by. We leave Arizona and I brace for the showdown we are about to have. I see us as a modern day Bonnie and Clyde – a criminal couple for whom the road played an important part in their lives (and deaths, but better not to think about that right before we pull off our criminal plot). Our illicit fruit has been carefully concealed, impossible to find, brilliantly hidden underneath a coat. We roll up to the checkpoint…and are disappointingly waived through without even a question as to what we might be carrying across the border. Where is the NSA when you need them? We continue with our crime free existence.
Another exit comes and with it an involuntary opportunity for criminal activity – perhaps we will have our day as Bonnie and Clyde after all. We decide to try for a little ghost town exploration, exit the interstate, and immediately become killers on a large scale. It appears the apocalypse is upon us as we find ourselves in the middle of a swarm of locusts. While swarm may be a bit of an exaggeration, the constant drumming of locusts hitting the front of the car and countless new smears appearing on the windshield left us feeling as if we were in a locust slaughterhouse. We were the locust apocalypse. Thankfully we were shortly thereafter given the karmic opportunity to atone for our decimation of the locust swarm when we came upon a turtle in the road. While destroying many, our saving the one could lead to our own salvation. And so Shelly (my recently picked name for our little turtle friend) was moved to the side of the road and left to continue on her merry way – our good deed done for the day. Further down the road as it deteriorates into a much rockier back road we determine that the ghost town is not in our future and so turn back to face round two of the locust carnage. Knowing that we would need another karmic boost, the universe saw fit to place Shelly II (try as I might, no other turtle appropriate name comes to mind) in our path, and so with turtle once again at the side of the road and out of harms way, we mow down another trail of locust destruction and make our way back to the ever present road.
Shelly…
Locust destruction…
Feeling the call of tradition (and to clear the carnage from the front of the car), we exit at Ludlow for a Dairy Queen treat. I also want to pay homage to the source of my love for the road. The ice cream goes down well and the birds are delighted by our offering of ready to eat locusts which we leave in a considerable pile in front of the car. We cross the highway to the abandoned gas station – one of many places that I discovered because of my father, and one of the few places on the many roads we traveled where I can pinpoint a space that was occupied by him. I don’t know exactly why this is important, but somehow it is. I allow myself a bit of melancholia as I reflect on the roads of life that brought me to this moment in time. I am thrilled to be sharing this passion for the road that was shaped by him with someone new, someone special, but at the same time am saddened that she can only ever know him through my stories. It is time to get back on the road.
Ludlow - a point of connection…
At some point DeVotchKa takes up the ever changing soundtrack to the road, haunting and ethereal. Pieces of lyrics taking hold. I imagine a life on the road, no limits to where we could explore. I glance over to the drivers seat and Queen of the Surface Streets suddenly becomes very appropriate – “you’d be my only preoccupation on our permanent vacation.” I am romanticizing the road and I know this. Another lesson learned while reflecting on the call of the road. Part of the allure of the road trip is that it is not constant. It becomes another argument in the philosophical debate of the necessity for both good and evil. Without evil what do we have to measure good by? Without a life at home what do we have to measure the road trip by? Without life at home it is just life on the road. The home life can be paused but must eventually be resumed. And so the road continues to roll by, each mile a mile closer to the end – but also a mile closer to a new beginning.
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