The Mother Road

On darkness:

We rarely gave in to our fears, though. We never slowed to a 40mph crawl in hysterics. We could have inched our way through the twists of the black desert and the nothingness of Kansas plains. But we didn't -- maybe stupidly, maybe naively, maybe in that youthful spirit of immortality. And in the end we always made it to daytime again.

On tourism:

Amanda, who had planned to use her debit card to pay-at-the-pump throughout the trip was already confounded by gas stations in general. Her card kept getting declined because of a held check. So this was beyond our tolerance for non- consumer-friendly gas stations. And maybe it sounds overly dramatic, but that was the first time I realized on the trip that even a gas pump could be alien.

The man who came out of the gas station looked sun-worn and calm. He filled the tank without fanfare, showed Amanda how to use it, and was surprised when she tipped him. Amanda took a picture of the pump as we pulled away. Tourists at a gas station.

On Oklahoma City:

Of course we remember, they said when I asked what they were doing that morning, everyone remembers. Everyone remembers driving to work or making coffee or sending the kids off to school, only to hear a noise that shook the windows for miles. One man pulled off the road. He thought he'd blown out a tire. No, a wall of a building was now missing, gone.

The fence along the monument, bright with tokens, beaded bracelets and plastic flowers and laminated poems, stands as an invitation to memory for those who pass by. But sometimes the memory comes without warning, they say. We will never forget.

We will never forget how the sky came down, not of God's will, which we could understand. But of a man's will. And with intent he brought down the side of an office building, the parking garages and apartment buildings nearby, an earthquake that sent good people out of their homes. A homicide in one blow that left families forever empty of their children.

We will never forget the endless day and night of aftermath, one stretch of horror, our faith in humanity thrown into belief and disbelief again and again.

We saw the Red Cross, the fire department, the doctors and the nurses who accepted the call to come and save. We saw how they never quite recovered from the sights. Because people were not injured. They were in pieces. This was a war, with no victor, no purpose. And now the war zone sits peaceful, a monument. A reflecting pool spans between two gates which mark the explosion's beginning and end. Empty chairs sit on a lawn, one for each killed. And trinkets on a chain-link fence wave in the wind.

On time:

So we decided to take our time. We stopped for breakfast at Dean's, a diner with a breakfast of perfect coffee, scrambled eggs and hash browns. Then we spotted the Tucumcari mesa, a mountain with its top chopped off that loomed over the motel-and-gas station town. By that time we knew a little about mapless naivigation. We could use a compass at 80 mph, and we knew that roads' names often meant something. So we started down "mountain view" road, and hoped it would lead to the mesa.

The dirt road wound through the burnt-orange hills, past a field of slow, furry cows. And it did, indeed, lead to the mesa. We obeyed a "keep-out" sign, but took pictures of it, and then, on the way back, a cow wandered in our path. Loping and the brown-red color of the New Mexico soil, it stared at our approaching pick-up. And as we kept driving, unsure whether cows charged like bulls or not, its friends in the field, safely behind the fence, mooed us away.

Later that day we followed the twists of what used to be Route 66. Our guidebook seemed intent on getting us lost even as it seemed knowledgable about each town and landmark. But we stopped feeling flustered about the neverending doubt. We made sure the tank had enough gas and we were pointing west. And we eventually came across a hunched, empty building on the edge of a tiny town. The faded white paint almost swallows the writing, but not quite. The front says: "CAFE: KATHY, NEW MEXICO." -- a place nowhere on record. An abandoned cafe in a non-existent town.

Journal pieces:

My stomach hurts from the plane ride... A connection means double the take-offs and landings... ugh. Met Amanda's family and finally understand (to the only possible degree) where she comes from. No wonder school in Chicago sucked at first... We all felt the same detachment of emotion and experience. But coming from a place infused with romance and life to the Windy City and a conglomeration of close-coated Northerners... yeah, no wonder. I guess tho that I was right about not wanting to move to the south. It really IS different. A lifestyle of flourishes and packages. That's why I'm amazed Amanda went to school at NU. For me it was just a shift in economics and people. Buffalo is essentially midwestern. But no kidding -- Miami? Very different. Wind chill warnings on the TV news if it gets below 30. Not -30.

We stocked up on munchies, gallons of water, pretzels, Sun Chips, PB&J. I wonder of course if we'll get along... Living together for 3 months is not the same as actually WORKING TOGETHER towards a common goal. I guess we'll see, eh?

Still queasy... Amanda's dogs are fighting, it's hilarious... they're actually just really big puppies, they're so young still... gnawing on each others' jaws and eyes. And I'm fond of her family's bonsai. C'est tout pour maintenant.

Jan. 10

So this morning I took a shower while feeling like I was outside (one-way glass right by their backyard waterfall), talked to Amanda's brother about computer animation, played with the nutty dogs, had coffee with Amanda's mom... Then watched her leave Miami behind. We're in Gainesville, in Chris's empty apartment. Going to sleep now. P.S.: Feeling very un-me. Like I'm watching me.

Road note: Passed Cafe Risque: The truck stop for the trucker who wants some coffee and a stripper.

Jan. 11.

This morning, we couldn't figure out how to work the shower. It looked like it'd been used, shampoo and soap on the shelf, lime deposits on the shower head, towels... but I couldn't figure out how to make the water come out of the shower not the tub... pulled and twisted every fixture, tho. So Amanda tried, failed, and woke up Chris, who said he just takes showers at friends' houses because he never figured out how to work it. So I took a sort of splashing bath instead... when he woke up for real as we were leaving, he told us that he never said such a thing. Of course he uses his shower. You just have to pull down on the faucet. Yeah, Chris, easy. Breakfast at this really cute local place that served great bagels. It was cool because they take your first name with your order, so they call out your name when it's ready, like they know you. Not like some generic restaurant announcement of your name, like "Hey, Lindsay, here's your bagel".

Radio: 99X New Rock (Beck, 3 Doors Down)... Exit 261 in Georgia off the I75: Life University. They're playing 'Rosalita' on the radio... Sign: "Don't wait for 6 strong men to take you to church." ... I try to walk in a Texaco and push instead of pull on the door... Three or four men in hunting caps and camoflage stare at me as I make an "Oh! Duh!" face. I'm tempted to buy a Slim Jim. For the street cred. ... Suddenly mountains, Appalachains, night... death! Crying... Team driving... Stopped for dinner at Perkin's where the woman had big hair and the tables all had telephones, and had eggs and pancakes. Made it to Adam's where it felt so, so good to see him again. People are important. He gave us his bed, nice boy that he is. In the morning, we had O.J. and donuts from the Big K down the street, and then he was off to work, and we were on our way, too short.

Friday

Kentucky: Ice flowing from clay roadcuts... horse farms... Louisville: Stopped to take pictures of falling-down fences, ate at a Subway and found Central Park on the map, and a picture of our old local library... Missouri: Misery. Buffalo gone bad. St. Louis looked gray. Listening to: U2. Ate: Pizza Hut. Lost in Kansas City, we ended up in the parking lot of a corporation, and some security guard led us to our exit... Tara followed the journey as we talked on our cell phones, watching our path on her floor-sized map.

SATURDAY

Lunch with Tara and Manda at Manny's (fake-Mex place)... Lost in KC again, had a talk about the future. No one knows much. Left at 4-ish, made it to Wichita after a minor battery/tire/allignment scare. (I ran over a raised part of cement, Amanda checked all the tires and found one low, and the truck wouldn't start for a while). Night driving at 90mph. Bad idea, but needed taillights to follow. Found a Hampton Inn... it didn't fail us. Desk-boy Clay took our info, told us I was monstrously tall, and that he's going to Seattle, met some people on mIRC and they told him to play the coffeehouse scene. We both went to the Big K to look for a bathing suit for Amanda so we could swim in the hotel pool... But they didn't have any. Can you believe it? We tried to rig some lingerie combo together, but gave up... Then we found "Route 66" gear, the KMart brand, but what the hell... We each got t-shirts... and picked up Moby, a CD I've wanted for a while. Got back and checked out the leftovers from Pizza Hut yesterday... we'd left them in the cooler and the water soaked through the bag, the box, and the pizza. So Manda went food-hunting, I had a long phone call with Pat, then Manda came back and told me she'd been chatting with Clay. Eventually she found manicotti... And Clay knocked on the door with his band's info. Sigh.

sunday

From some Goldie Hawn/Kurt Russell movie on TV last night... "You've had the rare opportunity to experience life from another point of view. Most people are only born into one situation."

U2: Beautiful Day.

BNL: Try to scream it only comes out as a yawn...

Past Wichita: What are these gnarled, twisting trees? Cottonwoods? They look frazzled and old... ancient. Flat. Could see the earth curve if it weren't for the trees. Listening: Moby. Land: SO FLAT. Weather: Sun shining from the east... I can see how pioneers would feel overwhelmed here... an ocean of land. OK City: 117 Miles. "So we didn't pay anything until we got off last night, right?" --Amanda, on tolls... Gas pumps are odometer-style, the owner spit on the ground as we talked and pumped the gas, Amanda and I had no clue how to use the pump... Spotted a weinermobile... Pulled over by an Oklahoma cop at 85mph... That was the slowest Amanda was going all day. She's been averaging, oh, 95. I could only see his huge chest. He asked if we could go 70, and let us go with a warning... Road sign: "Vasectomy Reversal Services: 1-713-REVERSE."

We picked up Route 66, finally, and took pictures with the road signs... looked for a red rock, the dirt here is that bright-red Gone with the Wind color... and ate at a Perkins, where I stole a fork for Deanna. I felt a little tiny bit bad about it, because the cashier might have been watching, but oh well. The menu was kinda funny, it had things like porkchops and gravy for breakfast. Oh boy. The town was a just this little suburb, speed limit like 35... dunno how we're gonna take this thing the whole way... picture taken with gigantic blue hippo outside a carpet store. Hit OK city and tried to follow the route. Ha. These cities loom up from the highway, like we're swooping down on this maze of road-confusion as we come in from some peaceful little stretch of nothing. We almost drove ourselves, literally, insane. Amanda was driving, she takes the cities usually, and we had to go up and down different east-west highways and north-south highways, and we missed exits and the turns weren't clear... if I have one piece of advice for anyone driving this route, it is this: DO NOT EVEN ATTEMPT TO FOLLOW IT THROUGH METROPOLITAN AREAS. the good stuff is probably gone, and you'll go nuts. But, this being our first day driving it, we had no idea. Finally we made it to the memorial... talked with some lady in a cow-hide cape and cowboy hat for a while... and some woman handing out brochures, and this group of tourists... might write about it for an article? ... the monument just shook both of us. It's so huge, so imposing, the gates are probably the size of the original building, and inside it's just this expanse of reflecting pool across to the opposite gate. One thing that really got me was the parts of the original building walls that were still there, along the chain-link fence... and the fence itself... people left these poems and colorful things they could hang, all along this thing, it looks like a graveyard for childhood things, with all the toys and bracelets... we both got back to the car with a renewed sense of calm. We'd been so, so frazzled. But seeing something so powerful knocked us into a new perspective.

The rest of the day we followed 66 through corn fields and past cows... it was really cool to see everything so much more intimately than from the highway. The road was dirt and gravel, but the pickup could take it... we didn't go very fast, stopped to take pictures whenever... and soaked up the Oklahoma-ness of everything... The twirly wind-monitors and the little ponds and the random road signs stuck into the corn fields (one said "love"). We got lost quite a few times, but I had my compass pointing us west, so we knew if we were off track. And we definitely got off track... we followed 66 (sometimes called Frontage Road or the Business Loop of the 1-40, for some reason) until we hit this little tiny rural town that looked like it hadn't changed since 1932. We were trying to find this little abandoned stretch of 66 (the thing about the route is that it jogs all over the place), so we headed down this gravel stretch and ended up in a neighborhood. Saw some kids in camo, slightly scary, and this adorable little kid on rollerblades trying to get up this embankment (is that the right word? a slope from his yard to the road). He fell down pretty bad as we were waiting at the corner right by him, so we rolled down the window and asked if he was ok. "Yeah," he said. "You guys can go." On our way out we got pretty lost tho. What basically happened was I knew we couldn't go straight west, but I couldn't tell from the map where we were, so I didn't know if we needed to backtrack and go south east, or go forward, south west. Picked the wrong one. And ended up almost running out of gas as the sun was setting in the middle of nowhere. Most scared for our lives that I've been. Tennessee was frightening in an adrenaline way. This was just horrifying. I was ready to strangle the author of our guidebook, tellling us to look for the wooden bridge and the tree lined path...yeah, buddy.

Luckily we found a gas station, and the highway, before we were totally out.

Didn't stop until Texas, where we ate at an honest-to-goodness truck stop. Some acne-fied kid was flipping burgers and making fries in this little convenience store with a few booths and some Texas souvenirs. We each had a grilled cheese and some sodas from the truck's cooler, and we people-watched: The women all had Barbara Bush-hair and droopy chins. And the men wore cowboy hats. No joke. One had a huge eagle feather stuck in the hat band. And one woman came in with a picture of a wolf-head that looked like it was jumping out of the back of her sweatshirt. The bumper stickers they sold were a little frightening, of the don't-mess-with-Texas variety. Amanda and I bought little mugs that said Route 66, cuz they were cheap... and I was looking for presents for my Danish host fam.

We made it out of Texas that night, because we weren't about to spend more time than necessary in that state where we felt threatened, inexplicably but tangibly. We made it to Tucumcari, a little town that's basically just a strip of hotels and gas stations, but a huge, bright, Vegas-looking strip that just comes out of nowhere in the middle of the desert. Where to stay, where to stay... We changed drivers so Amanda could navigate the strip. The stars peppered the sky, so many more than you'd even think existed... And we ended up at a Comfort Inn or something, with a nice girl behind the counter who chatted with us about where we were off to. The room was decorated with southwest colors, and I noticed right away that those were actually the colors of the southwest, not just some cheesy decor scheme. That pale green and the burnt red and soft brown and coral pink... I used to hate those colors in hotel rooms, but here they were actually appropriate. The colors of the land. I called Pat, who was dead asleep, and went to bed pretty fast. Found out later that Amanda was up like the entire night.

Monday...

Took our sweet time today because Amanda was sick.... New Mexico turned out to be pretty cool, with MOUNTAINS, gorgeous mountains, where we'd be driving along, following the route, and suddenly we'd realize that we were going straight through some mountain chain. It was absolutely breathtaking, watching the altitude signs rise, and the road curve up until we were in snow country... We did a little off-roading trying to follow 66, over some abandoned train tracks and almost onto some guy's ranch. Little puffy bushes and red dirt and wicked prickly bramble... our pick-up didn't get stuck, though. And we made it out and back onto the road. Listened to Native American chants on the radio most of the day... Ate incredible burritos and had a cherry soda at Jack's.... bought a southwestern blanket for the host fam... the food and music just fit with the scenery. Wound through a reservation, and for some reason forgot that it would look like it did, a little village of modern houses in poverty. They were selling chocolate-syrup flavored condoms in one of the gas station bathrooms... don't see those often.

Didn't make it out of NM because it started to snow, so we stopped in a little town maybe an hour from Gallup, NM. We were at each others' throats by this point, because it didn't look like we were going to make it to L.A. in time, and I was depressed, and we were both exhausted, and sick, and sick of driving, and sick of eating at Subway, which is where we pulled into for dinner. I was in a trance of a severe kind, and Amanda was ready to kill me for spacing and being whiny, and she was just being bitchy (we have this all figured out, it's why we're such good friends). We stopped at this Best Western (and I have a natural hatred for Best Westerns) and we were ready to fall apart. She called her mom and cried, I called Patrick and cried, it sounds very girly and weak, but we were just maxed out. Her mom said I could come back a day later and they'd help pay to change my ticket. Little did we know that hey, you also have to pay for the price difference if you change a ticket, and this price difference was approximately 2,000 bucks. After we found that out, we got it together, in true Lindsay and Manda fashion. All differences were set aside. We planned, hard-core, to see if we could make it through the rest of NM, all of AZ, and most of Cali. It looked like it was going to be 13 hours of driving. We were ready.

Tuesday

Woke up at the butt-crack of dawn, as Manda says... and ate the hotel breakfast with a bunch of truckers (huge, bearded, loud and friendly) also headed towards Gallup. There was supposed to be snow, but we wanted to take the route anyway, to follow alongside 66 even though we'd actually be on the I-40. And how bad could the snow be? Well. The truckers said they'd look out for us, since they'd be a little behind us. We got on the road, I was driving because I insisted on driving in the snow since darkness freaks Amanda out, and the road was disappearing into white-outs and squalls. Luckily, very luckily, there was a huge red truck ahead of me. If it had been white, I would have been in trouble. The prob was the high elevation of the I-40, we could have gone south first and then west and avoided it. Instead, right into the storm.... I drove for almost 5 hours, my longest stretch yet, made it to Flagstaff, AZ, the most amazing town and someplace I'd love to live. It's in the mountains with pine trees and cabins but desert is just a few miles away. We stopped at an Arby's, where they gave me water for hot chocolate, so I got my dollar refunded. Met another friendly old gas station attendant who checked out our tires and washed the windows for us, no charge. The windshield wiper fluid kept freezing up on us, so we could barely see for some of the time... we'd pull off to check it, and Amanda would pour more in, and it'd freeze to the bottle. After Flagstaff, which was blanketed in snow, the rest of the drive was pretty easy... We stopped to take pictures of the gigantic jack rabbit outside some tourist stop. I guess it's Americana, been around since the good ole days of 66... No one was in the lot, in fact at the turn-off, it was basically a place for cops to watch for speeders, bet no one goes back there...

Amanda took over and drove til the Cali border. Did you know they check your car for illegal fruit when you cross into Cali? Like it's customs or something. Found more mountains we never knew existed, and desert, the Mojave.... can see why Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas sets a messed-up trip out here, if you were on something, you'd freak out... it looks like another planet... Only one gas station in the whole thing, charges $2 a gallon. But they do have a DQ, so nice... There was a sign on the bathroom mirror saying that these people had run out of gas, and now they were in the parking lot playing music, if you can help in anyway they'd appreciate it, peace and love... Amanda and I wanted to stop and chat, but she played the practical one (her usual role) and said we had to get going.

Found some boys to chase on the highway, there were two of them and hey -- two of us, so why not play along... I accidentally looked at them too noticeably (because I have no style) and Amanda was fake-mad... we decided to follow them and not get off at our exit. Unfortunately they got off at the exit we were SUPPOSED to get off at, and we weren't ready to exit and missed them. Sadness. But we kept on until L.A., listening to good radio and watching the sun set. Pulled into the city and I was driving, had maybe 2 1/2 hours till my flight out. Oh yes. So we didn't see much of L.A., just the endless stretch of red tailights in every direction on the 12-lane highways, missed a few turn-offs because the road just magically turned into something else (a problem the whole trip, actually). But it felt like L.A., definitely. The pink neon and the palm trees and the white houses. I've never driven in so much traffic. I used to honestly be afraid of Transit Road, which is three lanes on each side, speed limit 45. Here I could barely see which way the road curved, and I was boxed in by people going 85 in really clean, new cars. But I did get to listen to KROQ on the radio. That was cool. Finally I gave up and we switched drivers before I went too insane, and I navigated us to the best of my limited ability to the L.A. airport.

We dug out my stuff, my huge backpack, the gifts, my smaller bag, the hat I bought for Patrick at some cheesy tourists shop (hung it off my backpack cuz I had no room to pack it, so I looked a little southwest)... We dragged everything to my gate and sat down in a California Pizza Kitchen (funny, because we went once in New York to find it closed)... I drank a huge soda, I was so thirsty, and we just sank back and talked about the trip... I can't believe I won't see her, she's off to Ghana, I'm going to Denmark... Sometimes we talk about how we've been through hell and back together, hating each other, having so much fun, but this trip, I swear, was the hardest thing I've ever done. Driving so long it all becomes a giant video game. Moving every day. Navigating constantly. Sometimes with just a compass. Finding food, gas, and a place to sleep... the things we needed to keep going. And doing it with the enormous time pressure, sick and sick of each others' respective flaws... Apparently Pete Rose was on my plane, I never saw him, I slept instead. I dreamed we were driving. And every time I woke up, I thought we were driving. And it was a new shock to realize that Amanda wasn't next to me.