Arizona Part 1: Buckeye to Four Corners
The Trail of Tears began as our landlord, Pear Boombalati, insisted on coming late-or, if up to him, not at all-to inspect our apartment the night before our big getaway. When he did finally show up he only gave us half our deposit and said that he needed to consult with his “business” partner. Josh and Bob were nice enough to clean up things that he deemed to be unfit, which, in reality, had been broken or grubby before we moved in. Granted, this has been three years we’ve lived there, and we had supplied him with tenants that have afforded him almost no down time in vacancies. Nevermind all the mindless chitchat I had to make with his fat body over the years. As we were leaving he whimpered, “I don’t want you to hate me.” Are you serious? I hate your fat, bloated, cheeseburger-stuffed guts.
After staying up late with that fat bastard, we went to my parents’ house and got a late start the next day, assuming that it did not matter much; it was going to be a very long drive. Terri drove my old car and I drove the car my father donated to the cause. Nearing Columbus, I made a very misguided attempt to meet up with Andy and Sparks and have lunch with Ksturd. It was too early in our trip and too late in Andy’s. Instead, I ended up in the backseat of Kevin’s car-no joke-as the skies opened up above us. It was the only rain we saw in Ohio, and it made for a very romantic last hurrah and grope on top of clothes as Terri waited in the other car. Okay, that last part was made up. Not the part about the rain but the dry humping with Kevin. It was more of an undressing of each other with our eyes. Sexified.
Once out of our former prefecture and making good time, we passed the sleepy town of Terre Haute, Indiana, thinking nothing of it except that its residents have been stricken with a really dumb and unfortunate name (What are they, French or something?) and made our way into Illinois. Then as Terri and I were discussing world issues (code: making new slang words according to billboards, such a Budweiseaur-pronounced like dinosaur) on the walkie talkies, her car stalled and stopped. Gas pump.
The tow truck guy, besides being generally odd and from Indiana-I think it’s something to do with being so close to the changing time zone, like living in an alternate universe or at least living under power lines, was nice enough but still seemed hesitant about giving me my dollar back as change after fleecing us with his cruel tow truck rates. Then, the lost day in Terre Haute.
We shacked up in some motel that had a shower that took me back to my dorm days. There was a pool, but because of the ground rules of Travel Lodge Inc., we were not allowed to even dip our toes in. You see, I had had diarrhea in the past two week and Terri had been in contact with me and had been contaminated-and that’s not even considering all those open sores I have...It’s all right there in black and white. There is a reason why those rules have been made.
The next day we went to see You Me and Dupree and perused the local Super Wal Mart, as I am sure many pre-teens did on their first dates, perhaps that very same day. Ah, to be young and in love. And that is Terre Haute, the awkward growth that should be lanced from the right ass cheek of the Indiana/Illinois boarder/butt crack.
Off we went again, seeing those “darn arches” in St. Louis. No tiny band-aids under eyes or St. Lunatics were sighted. Southern Missouri was rather beautiful. As my father’s car inched up the hills, hesitating and largely scaring the shit out of me, it seemed that the horizon was over each incline and we would fall into it. It is here that you can tell that you are getting into the South. Billboards proclaim only: Jesus Christ. Graffiti on overpasses that tell you to trust Jesus. Giant Indians selling cars, fireworks, anything.
As a rule, Oklahoma blows. I see no reason why the last statement is not emblazoned on every license plate or currency that references the godforsaken state. Little kids who collect quarters, if there are still any that have not been beaten to within an inch of their lives, would propose: “I’ll trade you an ‘Oklahoma Blows’ quarter for a ‘Nebraska: Excrement Alive!’ twenty-five cent piece.” Stayed for a couple hours in Oklahoma, in the car. It was too humid to sleep with the windows open. And Amarillo, Texas; don’t even get me started. Fuck that place.
We got into New Mexico and the trip seemed worth it after all. It makes sense where some boarders are made. Rivers are great markers. Here, we have another great place for demarcation. No rivers, of course. But here, flat, barren wasteland juxtaposes with dark red mountains in the distance. Rising mesas. Unusual circular shapes cut into the opaque rocks to show the cloudless sky against a pure blue backdrop.
We had to stop in New Mexico to sleep and recharge. It was still quite a distance before our goal. The counter guy at our motel was odd. He would keep popping up at unusual times. It seemed like a Borak sketch from Ali G.
Finally we reached Arizona. We drove down 17, through mountains. The terrain in the north is very similar to Colorado with pines and larger mountains, but as the road flattens out a bit, the desert landscape shows itself again.
When we finally hit our destination we prayed that we could find the apartment manager because we had lost an entire day with the car foul-ups, and the office was closed on Sunday. We finally got in the apartment and unpacked, then realized that the toiley didn’t work.
I accidentally wrote “toiley” instead of “toilet” in that last line but kept it in because it is fucking funny. That is a little gift for anyone who actually read the whole thing. Well, that was the trip for the most part and it is a good place to stop for now. There is plenty more to tell when I get around to it, both fun and frustrating.
After staying up late with that fat bastard, we went to my parents’ house and got a late start the next day, assuming that it did not matter much; it was going to be a very long drive. Terri drove my old car and I drove the car my father donated to the cause. Nearing Columbus, I made a very misguided attempt to meet up with Andy and Sparks and have lunch with Ksturd. It was too early in our trip and too late in Andy’s. Instead, I ended up in the backseat of Kevin’s car-no joke-as the skies opened up above us. It was the only rain we saw in Ohio, and it made for a very romantic last hurrah and grope on top of clothes as Terri waited in the other car. Okay, that last part was made up. Not the part about the rain but the dry humping with Kevin. It was more of an undressing of each other with our eyes. Sexified.
Once out of our former prefecture and making good time, we passed the sleepy town of Terre Haute, Indiana, thinking nothing of it except that its residents have been stricken with a really dumb and unfortunate name (What are they, French or something?) and made our way into Illinois. Then as Terri and I were discussing world issues (code: making new slang words according to billboards, such a Budweiseaur-pronounced like dinosaur) on the walkie talkies, her car stalled and stopped. Gas pump.
The tow truck guy, besides being generally odd and from Indiana-I think it’s something to do with being so close to the changing time zone, like living in an alternate universe or at least living under power lines, was nice enough but still seemed hesitant about giving me my dollar back as change after fleecing us with his cruel tow truck rates. Then, the lost day in Terre Haute.
We shacked up in some motel that had a shower that took me back to my dorm days. There was a pool, but because of the ground rules of Travel Lodge Inc., we were not allowed to even dip our toes in. You see, I had had diarrhea in the past two week and Terri had been in contact with me and had been contaminated-and that’s not even considering all those open sores I have...It’s all right there in black and white. There is a reason why those rules have been made.
The next day we went to see You Me and Dupree and perused the local Super Wal Mart, as I am sure many pre-teens did on their first dates, perhaps that very same day. Ah, to be young and in love. And that is Terre Haute, the awkward growth that should be lanced from the right ass cheek of the Indiana/Illinois boarder/butt crack.
Off we went again, seeing those “darn arches” in St. Louis. No tiny band-aids under eyes or St. Lunatics were sighted. Southern Missouri was rather beautiful. As my father’s car inched up the hills, hesitating and largely scaring the shit out of me, it seemed that the horizon was over each incline and we would fall into it. It is here that you can tell that you are getting into the South. Billboards proclaim only: Jesus Christ. Graffiti on overpasses that tell you to trust Jesus. Giant Indians selling cars, fireworks, anything.
As a rule, Oklahoma blows. I see no reason why the last statement is not emblazoned on every license plate or currency that references the godforsaken state. Little kids who collect quarters, if there are still any that have not been beaten to within an inch of their lives, would propose: “I’ll trade you an ‘Oklahoma Blows’ quarter for a ‘Nebraska: Excrement Alive!’ twenty-five cent piece.” Stayed for a couple hours in Oklahoma, in the car. It was too humid to sleep with the windows open. And Amarillo, Texas; don’t even get me started. Fuck that place.
We got into New Mexico and the trip seemed worth it after all. It makes sense where some boarders are made. Rivers are great markers. Here, we have another great place for demarcation. No rivers, of course. But here, flat, barren wasteland juxtaposes with dark red mountains in the distance. Rising mesas. Unusual circular shapes cut into the opaque rocks to show the cloudless sky against a pure blue backdrop.
We had to stop in New Mexico to sleep and recharge. It was still quite a distance before our goal. The counter guy at our motel was odd. He would keep popping up at unusual times. It seemed like a Borak sketch from Ali G.
Finally we reached Arizona. We drove down 17, through mountains. The terrain in the north is very similar to Colorado with pines and larger mountains, but as the road flattens out a bit, the desert landscape shows itself again.
When we finally hit our destination we prayed that we could find the apartment manager because we had lost an entire day with the car foul-ups, and the office was closed on Sunday. We finally got in the apartment and unpacked, then realized that the toiley didn’t work.
I accidentally wrote “toiley” instead of “toilet” in that last line but kept it in because it is fucking funny. That is a little gift for anyone who actually read the whole thing. Well, that was the trip for the most part and it is a good place to stop for now. There is plenty more to tell when I get around to it, both fun and frustrating.