September 20 & 21

Caroline in Buffalo

I was supposed to leave the next morning (Tuesday) to go back Joshua Tree—where not only the streets have no names, but hopefully I can find what I’m looking for. Karen asked why I had to go so soon? The only logical answer was I didn’t want to be a disruptive pain in the ass. But I really didn’t have any place to be. She asked me to stay and hang out—RJ didn’t work on Thursday and when he was off like that during the week he typically grilled steaks, played DJ and cut loose a little bit. Food, drink and tunes—all my pressure points and with really great people. I was in.

September 22

Ugghh!!!

Since I never do any touristy L.A. things when I come here it was decided before I left RJ would take me for a ride through the Laurel Canyon. Laurel Canyon had been a great creative space in the late 1960’s for the likes of Crosby, Stills and Nash, Jackson Browne, Joni Mitchell and others. So, about mid-morning we made our way from Eagle Rock to Hollywood and drove along Hollywood Boulevard which has the most stunning and neatly lined collection of palm trees, along with a giant population of homeless people, which I was not prepared for whatsoever. But there they were sleeping on the Walk of Fame among the sightseers’ snapping selfies. It was surreal.

September 23

The morning worked out perfectly. Just as I had hoped there was a good deal of shade from the awning and a cool nip in the air. For a short time I had on my skull cap and jacket while I sat outside sipping coffee. There were a few vehicles in the area that weren’t there when I went to bed the previous night.

This was a trend I was noticing at these sites—the late camper that would pull in after dark and leave early the next morning. These were mostly young people who I suppose pushed themselves to the limit trying to wring as much out of the day as possible . . . and smartly didn’t saddle themselves with writing a blog about their experiences. Now that I’m thinking about it I don’t think I really saw any people my age at these BLM sites besides Steve, the birder/ The Environmental Toxocologist with VW Eurovan at Sage Creek outside of the Badlands. The older people were at the RV parks with their  fancy toilets, satellite dishes and reruns of the Golden Girls.

September 24

Baking

 It was hot all night and hard to sleep at the North Joshua Tree BLM site where I had been camped out for about thirty-six hours—like ninety-five degrees hot when I got up. For the most part I had gotten away from my every other night wake up at 2am thing and was back to my regular schedule but it was so unbearably hot during the night in the van I got up and sat outside in just my shorts for a long time without much relief. I did doze off in my chair for bit and was awoken by the sound of howling coyotes—I think they were saying: “We got a fat one here. All hands-on deck.”

I went back inside and slept restlessly for a few more hours. When I got up my pillow was wet with sweat. I opened up the van hoping for a little respite from the inferno that was the van. The shade was there but unlike the previous day there wasn’t a trace of coolness in the air. Like with the flies outside I was going to have to accept the heat and be Zen about it. I again got on my jacket and skull cap and sat outside to fend off the bugs. That didn’t last long though because the heat was just unbearable.

September 25

I was ready to be done with North Joshua Tree BLM when I again woke up in a pool of sweat Sunday morning. Today though, I would be reentering society after forty-eight plus hours of unmitigated sweating and took my second van shower since hitting the road at the end of August. Of course, I had showered at stops along the way wherever possible, but this was to be my second official van shower. Doing the van life thing you learn very quickly to use your water as if you had to walk five miles to a well to replenish this heaven-sent life sustaining resource. Conserving this precious resource, you learned to get by with baby wipes and generally be dirty. You also have to accept wearing dirty clothes and washing your dishes with just a few drops of this liquid gold

September 26

I took a quick run around the Joshua Tree one last time and still didn’t find what I was looking for or Cap rock, which was perfectly fine with me. The real highlight of the morning was a second chance to ride that wonderful, desolate desert road Rt. 62 out of Twentynine Palms going east this time.

Sepember 27

It was a cool beautiful Arizona morning with temps that called for my warm-up jacket and skull cap. Sipping my coffee I watched the sun rise above the mesa and fill the valley below with a god-sent elegance. A curious dog from a site across from me came over to where I was sitting outside my van and let me pet him. The dog’s name was Charlie, and he was some kind of lab mix. The dog’s owners were a few young people—two girls and a guy—traveling in a minivan and a small retro fitted school bus with solar panels. The young guy apologized for the intrusion and called the obedient dog back to him which really wasn’t necessary. I would have liked the company of the friendly pup.

September 28

Today was going to be a travel day. My ultimate destination was the BLM site Six Mile Canyon in New Mexico which was a touch over four hours from FR-525— which I really hated to leave. However, I was going to add about three hours to my ride with detours through Rough Rock, Arizona and Canyon De Chelly in nearby Chinle, Arizona.

September 29

Throughout the night I heard the bugle calls of some horny elk and in the morning saw some quizzical looks on the faces of the black cows outside the van. I’m not saying anything happened but I’m probably not the first guy to think an elk/cow burger wouldn’t be the worst idea—some jalapenos, pepper jack cheese and splash of sriracha. Yowzah, as Ritchie Cunningham might say.  

Today’s little odyssey came with a Texas twist. My brother Joe is a big shot at Cooper Natural Resources, and though he wasn’t going to be there he had arranged for me to stay at the company’s hunting ranch in Brownfield, Texas, just south of Lubbock. This west Texas oasis is used to entertain clients and is normally unoccupied, but as fate would have it, I was passing through the area at the height of dove hunting season.

September 30

I was up early the next morning working on this blog. At this point the blog has evolved into a never-ending homework assignment . . . that I gave myself. Even though it’s all my own doing, I get annoyed when people ask: “Did you quit your blog?” after not posting for a few days. I want to come back at them like some insufferable tortured artist and ask if they know what it's like to do all this traveling while producing what essentially is a thousand word essay everyday. Do you? . . .Do you? . . . But then I remember—o, yeah I did this to myself and lashing out would also be kind of an asshole thing to do. Plus, the homework aspect of it makes it seem like  something that would go on my permanent record.

October 1-5

Tom Landry's Fedora

I headed to my brother Joe’s house in Arlington early Saturday morning on Rt. 380 out of Brownfield. Turning southeast on Rt 84 you’re greeted by more desert, ranches, wells and hundreds and hundreds of windmills. Given that Texas has traditionally been ground zero for fossil fuel production in the U.S. and is very conservative all these windmills were quite the sight to behold. Being of the progressive persuasion I’ve had a certain image of Texas in my head that made me think the place was crazy scary—from the gun laws to anti-abortion bounty hunters—and of course they’re all goddamn Cowboy fans. But, away from all the outside noise, these windmills and my experience at the ranch, where I found common ground with guys who hunt doves, let’s just say my views about the Lone Star State might be amenable to change.   

October 6-8

If the hundred-mile stretch of burning desolation on Rt 62 out of Twenty-Nine Palms, California near Joshua Tree was the best ride of my trip, the ride out of Arlington on Rt 30E was the worst. Google had alerted me that just outside the city there would be a thirty minute delay due to an accident. These Google Alerts had been pretty good at predicting slow downs in densely populated metro centers but not so great in more rural areas. They nailed this one to the minute as I set out on my eight hour ride through northeast Texas and Arkansas toward Memphis.

October 9-11

Kev, Me, Rich H.

My last stop on this nearly two-month journey was to see my old pal Kevin McNamara at his homestead in Charlotte, North Carolina. Kev is a Buffalo guy like me, but we met at Brockport State in 1980 where we were both aspiring college washouts. In fact, Kev was my main partner in failure. Together, we’d skip class, watch reruns of M.A.S.H., drink cheap beer and hang out as if the world would stand still while we got our shit together, which it didn’t, at least not at Brockport.

October 12-13

 

This was it. The last leg. Ten-hours north to God’s Country—Buffalo. Technically I could have done it in a single day, but there was no reason to push. What was one more day without me for Donna? In fact, when I called her that morning, she was like, “Oh tomorrow, I thought you were going to be home next Wednesday.” 

Truth be told, I could have made another week on the road with ease. Of course, I would’ve had to figure out where to go. Virginia Beach in mid-October sounded like a good detour, maybe some museums in D.C. or  the Monongahela National Forest in West Virginia. One big takeaway from this trip was this itinerant road life was very agreeable to me. I’ll talk more about that in a summing up conclusion post.