Motels Only Gonzo 8 -- Estimates For Arrival
Blasting south to Kingman, Arizona at 95 mph, following a State Trooper, we felt unstoppable. After waking early and packing, the valet brought out our car at 7:30 am. Although we would lose two hours to Pacific time and Mountain time, it was worth it. On the way up the time gains made the hour long wait to see the Hoover Dam a wash and allowed for an extra hour of walking Santa Fe like hobos. Still, it was early, and we felt the radical idea of driving all the way home in one long drive was alive. It was not practical, but perhaps it was possible. The ride through the main Vegas strip didn't help the early departure, but again, it was worth it. The decadence, the famous places, the tragic. The Grand Canyon of Gambling and so much more. We felt good about our choice to stay in the Fremont district 8 miles away, but we were glad to see 'The Strip", as its known. Kingman was close. From there, we would begin east. My daughter had a rap concert to attend in Dallas. Travis Scott. Not much of a rapper name. Never heard of him, but she seemed to think he was the most legit rapper going right now, and his Houston roots were compelling. West Coast, East Cost, its been done. Detroit is yesterday, Austin is the center. Nashville has embarrassed itself. Townes, Stugill, Willie, all rejected. Not invited in. Unconditionaly, anyway. We sped east.
Again, the truckers of America are the best truckers. Their communication collaborations, their passing accommodations, even their trucker stations. Tidy, organized, ethical. Aware. We flew. Left lane driving, making good time. We lost the Pacific hour way back, it was late morning. We gassed up quick, nothing needed in rickedy old Ash Fork, AZ. Earlier we had coffeed up and hash browned up. We were fine, making good time. Near Flagstaff, we talked about fresh Grand Canyon memories. It will never vanish. Our two rocks and pine cone, tucked in the back, hidden, were only being loaned to us. Perhaps we'll bring them back one day, borrow a couple more. Reminders of our smallness, our good fortune, our brief opportunity to exist. The terrain was striking as we drove along, destinations seen for miles. Towers, power plants, walls of rock on both sides. Huge landscapes. Elegant, rough, weathered, angles. Mountain shaped horizons in every direction. Wind.
On the other side of Gallup, NM, we checked the time and ran the calculations. Then and there we decided to complete the radical 1,226 mile drive to our front door. The girls at home would be shocked, they would hear nothing of this. Estimates for arrival were in the 3am range. At this rate, we'd be in Amarillo by 10pm, Texas lay ahead. In Albequerque we found a Sonic, we passed the Santa Fe exit discussing Georgia O'Keffee and what her eyes saw. In Santa Rosa, there was no stopping. Once in Texas, we fueled up and in a dazy, caffeine starved rush, we walked right out if the truck stop without paying for a large coffee. It never occurred to me until my daughter pointed it out. "Go on," she said. "No one saw." Wild eyes., like Bonnie from Bonnie and Clyde. It was cold, I was tempted, we went back and paid. I was a bit wired.
Driving west of Amarillo, eastbound, the shit gets real. Burgers, Steaks, Ka-Bobs, leather shoes, purses, boots, milk. The cowshit smell is justified by all these blessings to the world, but we were thankful we were driving through. Forget that shit. We sped on, into the Red River Valley. Claude, Childress, Chillicothe, Quanta, Electra. The towns on 287. Witchita Falls, Larry McMurtry county. He is a fine writer, I explained to my daughter, her eyes wavering. She nodded politely as I told her of the Last Picture Show and Lonesome Dove. Her exhausted boredom was magnified by the darkness and the continuous book-on-tape reading of Hunter S. Thompson's Fear And Loathing On The Campaign Trail '72. The reader delivered the book in the way it was intended. Irreverant, direct, unapologetic, quick. It was insanitized writing. Gonzo writing, shock and truth. Much has remained unchanged in politics since Thompson's account of '72. It is gutter inspired, cash dependant, and ridiculous to intelligence. Politicians are unworthy of the hope they are given. Unprepared. They lie and lie to maintain a hollow dignity. Manipulations and shallow concerns. It is unchangeable, voting is sketchy, somewhat pointless. Way too many humans involved. In fact, robots could take over huge parts of our government. Sooner the better. Reliable, fair, untempted. Without the bribes, without the smirks, without the smoke. We know blockchain solutions will one day solve all administrative functions. Public and private sector paper pushers will be gone. My daughter agreed. I talked and talked, the radio stations were crackling and inaudible. She sighed, her positive nature was tested. We entered Collin County at 3 am, hesitant to declare our radical victory until we parked the car. At 3:15, we were home, our family reunited. They were shocked. And happy.
In the following days, we attempted explanations, we created picture collages, we remembered. We told others of places, food, sights, people, and the land we drove. The towns and cities. The murals. We gave away souvenirs. My daughter made her rap concert later that night with her sister, rested and refreshed after sleeping in her own bed all day. They missed each other badly. They are of one soul. Now, I have a song stuck in my head--Easier With You from Bob Schneider's recent album called Blood And Bones. In it Bob comes clean, "Just trying to make it in this mad mad world, just trying to make it through. It's not an easy thing, it might be easier with you."