Our mission was simple. Get out of Dodge. See some country. Visit some old and valued friends. Try not to gain ten pounds eating road food. Not inflict any life-threatening injuries on each other. I'm happy to say we accomplished each and every one of our goals.
We set out on Sunday, December 19th hoping to avoid weekday, Portland rush hour traffic. Other than the fog and driving rain our departure went exactly as we'd hoped for. We made it to Mount Shasta.
Winter had already arrived, but not enough snow had stacked up to cause Big Red to slip and slide. We drove on in wintery conditions to Susanville. 14 degrees, but no ice on the road.
We stopped the second night in Tonopah, Nevada, where, at Carolyn's insistence, we didn't stay in the Ghost Clown Motel.
Apparently, the whole John Wayne Gacy thing
soured her on clowns forever. Geez, let one guy in white face paint, big shoes and rubber ball nose go off the tracks and slaughter some children and they ruin it for all of us with fond childhood memories of Bozo, Buttons, and all the rest of the good guy clowns.
Speaking of jokers and clowns, on to Las Vegas.
We stayed with Mike's best friend Michael and his wife Mia. We had a great visit with our Goddaughter Kiri and her teenaged kids Alina and Michael. All of us attended a performance of the Van Gogh Experience. Multi-media, Virtual reality and certifiable mind-blowing. We also took in Fremont Street in downtown Vegas, which combined bright lights, laser graphics and street performers of all kinds. Up until that moment, I'd never seen a bonus size hooker in an ultra-tight-and skimpy Santa outfit. Ho, Ho, Ho, Ho!
We set out for Albuquerque on day 8, stopping in Winslow, Arizona to pay tribute to one of The Eagles finest moments.
Humming "Take it Easy" all the way out of town, we outran the snow and eased into Holbrook, Arizona. After driving by the Mesa Italian Restaurant, we asked the desk clerk at our motel if it was any good. He said it was the only restaurant in town he'd recommend. We ate a terrific meal there.
On Monday, we made it to Albuquerque after an easy morning's drive and stayed with our friend Faye. Carolyn went with her to help her buy a new car the next day. Carolyn (who has a track record of bringing car salesmen to their knees) warned Faye not to show too much enthusiasm in front of the rep. After getting behind the wheel of a Ford Eco-Sport, her first words were: "I love this car!" Carolyn still managed to negotiate a good deal for our friend. And she loves the car.
We caught up with many friends from our days in living in the Land of Enchantment. On the third Sunday of our journey we left Albuquerque and stayed the night in Willcox, Arizona. On reflection, I'd say Willcox was a great place to be leaving the next morning. Monday we arrived in historic Tombstone, Arizona.
Mike was able to stand outside the O.K. Corral and go all Doc Holliday.
We later found out the actual line Val Kilmer was supposed to say was "I'll be your huckle-bearer!" (pall bearer) but the actor got a little carried away with the dialect he was using for the Doc. Next up was Bisbee, another old historically preserved town, but very artsy-fartsy full of itself. We stayed in Sierra Vista that night (motto-we're sprawled all over the damn desert) and visited more friends.
Tuesday, we pushed on to Lake Havasu.
Some years ago, someone got the bright idea to buy the London Bridge (they were building a new one) dismantle it and move it to the middle of the desert. Despite wondering what they were smoking, you have to admit it was a successful endeavor. It drew millions of tourists and a bazillion sunbirds to the area. A local recommended La Vita Dolce for Italian food and Carolyn once again satisfied her unquenchable hunger for great Italian food.
Our beloved Garmin (We nicknamed her Geraldine) guided us to a lovely off ramp in Fresno. After escaping with our lives, we moved two more ramps up the road and found a less seedy place to spend the night. We have profound hopes that our lives will never send us back to Fresno. Ever. Ever, ever.
Getting the "We really want to be home" bug we made it to Ashland, had dinner with Mike's niece Jodi and her spunky daughter Megan and looked forward to our last two days on the road. We detoured to the Oregon Coast via Elkton and Arlene's Cafe. Mike first came here with his father when he was 8 or 9 years old. The chocolate cream pie (we split one piece, honest) is to die for. After chowder and clam strips at Mo's in Lincoln City (burrrrp!) we had to detour around much of Tillamook because of standing water. Slow going but we made Astoria, our final stop before zipping home the next morning.
Mike and Carolyn click the heels of their ruby slippers together.
(in unison)
"There's no place like home! There's no place like home!"
In closing, let me say our journey was made easier by the master packing job, my wife and traveling companion Carolyn did. She planned for every eventuality. She helped me get rid of a year's worth of badly worn underwear and socks, left knotted in the wastepaper baskets of motels across the Southwest. I can only imagine the conversations by the maids of those places the next morning. But, bottom line, we had everything we needed and more. I'm not sure why she packed a pressure washer and half a dozen hand grenades, but I've learned not to ask.
It was a great trip. Mission accomplished.
