On the Road

One day in February Teri read a blog post. It was about some must-see destinations in the U.S. One of them was so magical, so eccentric, that she knew we had to visit it, and she started planning a trip right then and there. 



After three months of planning, and telling everyone but me what the final destination would be, we headed out. Some people who know me know I love a road trip. Growing up we'd go to California or Washington or Oregon. Why go east when there's so much to explore out West? In college we sped to Mexico, Lake Havasu City and the wilds of Mormon Idaho. Teri and I have made trips to Utah and Iowa and Albuquerque. Ask any of the people who went on those trips with me, and they'll tell you about a man who never wearies, who needs only some good music and a never-ending highway to quench his desire for travel. 



As far as I knew, we were going to Yellowstone, or Austin, or St. Louis, or Mexico, or L.A. But early on in our trip I got my first clue. We were headed south on Santa Fe Drive out of Denver, and we'd be following that historic trail south of the border...all the way to New Mexico!

Our first stop was Albuquerque, a pit stop with my brother and his family. They took care of us, and after spinning some day care kids around til I nearly barfed, we hit the road again. We continued our course to the south.

Teri informed me that we weren’t in a hurry - we could stop anywhere and explore. Yes! Already the best road trip ever. We stopped in several New Mexican pueblos along the way, like Belen (wicked green chile burger) and Hatch (Wha!? Green chiles grow on trees!?) and ended up in Las Cruces. Well, that's not quite accurate.

We got to Las Cruces, saw the sign pointing to El Paso, and set our sights on the border. As a social worker, Teri had worked with hundreds of immigrants, mostly Mexican, and most of whom had crossed into the U.S. via the bridge (la puente) in El Paso. This crossing had achieved legendary status in Teri’s mind, and she wanted to see it. You might be asking yourself "Don't people get tortured and beheaded and dropped in vats of acid in El Paso's sister city, Juarez? Why yes, yes they do. But when you need a picture in front of a big ugly border crossing, you will do anything to get it. After getting our adrenaline rush and checking out some faux Nikes (Mikes) and other footwear, we hit a Mexican restaurant by the army base (for extra protection) where Teri had the best smoky red chile she's ever tasted.

Besides some incredible rock formations and an overpriced, trying-to-be-cool breakfast restaurant, we didn't find much else in Cruces, so we hit the road again, this time heading West. We had a delicious cool treat at Dairy Queen in modest Deming (the Hispanic kid at the counter had a crush on Teri), then moved on. As the landscape became more desolate, I grew confused. Was I going to be like Billy Crystal on City Slickers? Were we going to help a “coyote” smuggle immigrants? Was Teri going to drop me off in the desert, then hunt me for sport? 



After dipping onto an even more barren highway, we headed south again, and Teri gave me a hint. Finally! It was my Grandpa Grange's hat. What? What's this supposed to mean? My grandpa's hat? What? That didn't help at all. She put on a long flower-print bandana. Headwear? Are we going to a hat factory? Could be neat, I suppose. 



We hit Douglas, AZ, right on the Mexican border, and my mind drifted to fine handicrafts only to be found in Olde Mexico, like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle marionette and a Hard Rock Cafe poncho. But just like that, we darted north. Teri informed me that we were getting closer. What? This place is a nightmare. Oh well. 


After passing through our sixth immigration checkpoint (at which they simply glanced inside our car and said "Thank You" - maybe we should be coyotes, we’d be really good) we pulled into tiny Bisbee, Arizona. Immediately after getting to town, we pulled into our final destination. It was...wait for it...an RV park! But, friends, this was not your standard RV park. No, this RV park was occupied only by the finest specimens of the RV's golden years: The Airstream. Beautiful, aerodynamic and chromed so completely it would shame Denver’s Cinco de Mayo parade. Each RV had its own relentlessly green astroturf lawn and 50's lawn chairs.

Why a 50's themed RV park? Since Teri and I purchased our first home, a 1954 ranch, we've been curious about this decade, the golden years in which our parents were born, and our grandparents raised their kids (hence, my grandpa's hat). Don't worry, we're not freaks about it. Teri wouldn't be caught dead with red lipstick, and I prefer music made post-1994. Anywho, the RV was furnished splendidly, right down to the record player, linens, and a Bisbee yearbook from 1952. After relaxing on our lawn for a couple hours, we hit Bisbee, a weird little town that we could've explored for days. It got dark and chilly though, and we headed back to our RV. Our tiny curved bed was not comfortable, but it was worth it. For breakfast we hit Dot's Diner (an actual 50's diner moved to Bisbee from L.A. 40 years ago) and then shot north out of town.

From this point, the vacation was wide open, I was told. Where should we go? Scottsdale? The Grand Canyon? The San Juan Mountains? How 'bout all of the above. I was excited to visit Phoenix, as it was the only major western metropolitan area that I'd never visited. But this first experience would get derailed before it started. As we passed through Tempe and navigated the iPhone to find interesting neighborhoods and restaurants, Teri saw it. An enormous blue box with big yellow block letters. Design only a Swede could conceive of, indeed. It was IKEA. And it pulled us to it like a tractor beam. We pulled off the highway, entered the yawning edifice, and exited three hours later, dazed and deprived of many a dollar bill. We put the back seat down in Teri's small sedan, filled it with hundreds of pounds of affordable yet contemporary home furnishings, and tried to figure out if we had enough time to eat anything but fast food if we were to make it to Flagstaff by dark. 



Since we had to pass through downtown Phoenix anyway, we decided to look for a sandwich place. The place Teri picked was super-chic, and I was ashamed of my matted hair and goofy tourist grin. But she convinced me not to worry since we'd never be back in this furnace of city again (it was 97 degrees...in early May). After lunch, we struck out for the Northern Arizona mountains. Not much for height, but excellent forest, I must say. Our night was spent in Williams, a town an hour south of the Grand Canyon. A bus-full of Dutch had just arrived, so we had to wade through countless throngs of capri-wearing men to reach our room.

The next morning, it was off to el Gran Canon. This was Teri's first time seeing the spectacle, and she really soaked it in. I also enjoyed it. Once again our Dutch friends were everywhere, but they were pale and unthreatening, so we avoided fisticuffs. Teri took a hundred million pictures, but wished we'd been there either really early in the morning, or at dusk. That's the money light, she said. We hit about 99% of the viewpoints on the South Rim, then exited the Grand Canyon, into the Navajo Nation.

I was very curious about this leg of our trip. It was barren and desert-like and beautiful. The communities were fascinating, all with their collection of trailers, water tower, and tiny LDS church. I stopped the car half a dozen times to take pics of Navajo (urban, illegal, guerilla) artwork. Legal or not, I had to smile knowing that there was a native american kid in his garage, not playing video games and eating Burger King with all his friends, but creating giant wheat paste posters featuring the heroes and villains of Navajo people to decorate the bleak landscape.

We crossed into Colorado, and headed up a gorgeous valley toward Silverton, a town that is all but cut off from the world throughout the winter. The drive up to the town was harrowing, following a winding narrow road with no guardrails in pitch black. Teri didn’t take a breath for 50 miles. After Silverton, it was another frightening incline and descent into Ouray, the Switzerland of the Rockies. While we were only 30 miles from Montrose, we decided not to push our luck, and we found a room the village. It was a great, uncommercialized mountain town, the kind you can't find along I-70.

The final leg of our trip was on, and while we both could have done a few more days on the road, we were anxious to see Isabel. Only a short stop in Gunnison, just another town too irresistible to fly through, slowed our return. Despite having covered more than 2,200 miles in five days, we both felt refreshed and energized.

A road trip is so much more real than flying. You not only see Denver and Phoenix, but Socorro, Elephant Butte, Bisbee, Tuba City, Cortez and Poncha Springs. You really get how preposterously huge our country is. And you realize that there are people living and working in other places, some just a speck on the map, and they like it. And you see them liking their nook of the country, and then you kinda like it. Awesome.

Thanks for the best road trip ever, Teri.