Endless miles of open road.
Rolling plains.
Towering mountains.
Desert and snow.
My mind raced with the pace of our speeding car.
Yet my words are no where to be found.
___________________________________
For months, I had been meticulously mapping out the road.
Highways, bi-ways, interstates and dirt paths.
I wanted to leave no stone unturned.
But that was an impossible feat.
So I did the best I could with the time I was given.
My journal fails to reflect the images collected on the road but my mind is blistering with the heat of the experience.
This brief account from the road is what I am sharing with you now.
Like a fine artist filling imperfections in streets, use your imagination to fill in the holes.
_____________________________________________________________
Dec 30, 2011
The plane is packed but I spot his ring.
His long, hardened hands hang over the seat and the reading light glistens off of the brilliant red stone.
It's unmistakable.
A 1983 Philadelphia Phillies World Series ring.
He spots my cap and shouts out to me, "You a Phillies fan?"
'You know it", I reply.
He holds the ring up to my eyes and smiles.
I walk back to my seat shocked and in awe.
Who is he?
His face doesn't seem familiar at all.
Even though he got that ring the year I was born, I have studied the faces tirelessly yearning for "the glory days".
Midway through the flight, he stands in the aisle and hands me the ring and says "Hold on to this for a minute. I'll be back."
I rolled it over and over in my hand.
My eyes like lasers, I examined every nook of the precious treasure.
The name becomes clear-
Ozzie Virgil.
An unsung hero of Philadelphia's past.
We land in Phoenix and hit the hotel.
A quick shower and Christian is at the front desk.
The next morning, we hit the road.
Dec 31 2011
For months, I had been meticulously mapping out the road.
Highways, bi-ways, interstates and dirt paths.
I wanted to leave no stone unturned.
But that was an impossible feat.
So I did the best I could with the time I was given.
My journal fails to reflect the images collected on the road but my mind is blistering with the heat of the experience.
This brief account from the road is what I am sharing with you now.
Like a fine artist filling imperfections in streets, use your imagination to fill in the holes.
_____________________________________________________________
Dec 30, 2011
The plane is packed but I spot his ring.
His long, hardened hands hang over the seat and the reading light glistens off of the brilliant red stone.
It's unmistakable.
A 1983 Philadelphia Phillies World Series ring.
He spots my cap and shouts out to me, "You a Phillies fan?"
'You know it", I reply.
He holds the ring up to my eyes and smiles.
I walk back to my seat shocked and in awe.
Who is he?
His face doesn't seem familiar at all.
Even though he got that ring the year I was born, I have studied the faces tirelessly yearning for "the glory days".
Midway through the flight, he stands in the aisle and hands me the ring and says "Hold on to this for a minute. I'll be back."
I rolled it over and over in my hand.
My eyes like lasers, I examined every nook of the precious treasure.
The name becomes clear-
Ozzie Virgil.
An unsung hero of Philadelphia's past.
We land in Phoenix and hit the hotel.
A quick shower and Christian is at the front desk.
The next morning, we hit the road.
Dec 31 2011
Odometer reads 32365
We pile into the car after a tasteless breakfast.
-Rt 17 to village of Oak Creek, Sedona
Our first encounter with a fellow traveler leaves us laughing and questioning the sanity of people who base their lives around the theory of "all existence is just a vibration and nothing is real". His name was Syd.
-89A North through the mountains
We come across the first Native American roadside sale. We exchange pleasantries and history of stones with the women as they swipe our cards over and over.
-17N to Flagstaff
-40W to 64N
We arrive at the Grand Canyon just before sunset. We take in it's immensity as the sky turns red, yellow and orange.
Our cabin is small but perfect. It sits perfectly at the edge of the South Rim.
We have a small fire going and all is at peace.
After a light dinner, we head back to the cabin where Christian sings us songs.
We are all asleep before midnight but a disturbing phone call wakes me at 11:50pm. By the time I am settled, people are screaming "Happy New Year" into the canyon and the echoes surround the entire rim.
Jan 1 2012
Odometer reads 32601
It's a new year and my bag is on fire. The smell of burnt plastic is gagging.
Christian and I set out in the pitch black along the icy trail looking for the perfect vantage point to watch the first sun of the new year.
We stop at a spot that is over 3.5 billion years old and listen to the wind power through the raven's wings.
Magic.
The sun peaks over the mountains at 729am.
We hiked 1.7 miles up in the dark to hike 1.7 miles down in broad daylight.
We are back in the cabin packing up by 930am.
-64SE through Little Colorado River Gorge
We take a break in the small reservation town of Cameron and meet a few amazing Navajo peoples.
Their voices are soft and their eyes have a dark glow to them.
They tell us tales of the reservation, the old days, and how they "earned their feathers".
-89N to 160N through Tuba City
We pass a place advertising "Dinosaur Tracks" but we dont stop.
We take 160N into Kayenta and through Monument Valley.
We reach the small stables and mount up on our horses.
For the next 2+ hours we live a completely surreal experience.
The red rocks, the giant buttes, our Navajo guide singing us traditional songs, the smell of Christian's horse's ass, the mile wide smiles on Lauren's face...
This was a special day.
We return the horses just as the sun retreats and paints the sky.
The road takes up to Chandler and to "The Hill".
A peace pipe awaits on the reservation.
But soon the paranoia sets in and I find myself flying through the darkness completely unaware of my surroundings.
By the time the gas tank is empty, we are at a Super 8 in Blanding, Utah.
Jan 2 2012
Odometer reads 32967
We have a late start, shaking and spitting.
The breakfast was tasteless again and we are on the road by 11.
-191S to 262SE across Montezuma Creek
-162W to 191S across Montezuma Creek again
-160E
Two women are standing on the side of the road with their thumbs out.
We drive past them and debate whether or not to turn around.
We do.
I ask them where they are going.
"Shiprock", they call back.
I tell them we are heading to the Four Corners and they can hitch a ride if they want.
They hesitate but agree.
Clara and Cindy. A Navajo mother and daughter.
They explain that they are heading to a Trading Post to try to sell the rug they have just completed.
We talk about the road, they teach us words in Navajo.
We arrive at Teec-Nos-Pas ("big round tree" in Navajo).
Stretching and shaking, we head inside for an hour.
A man on the side of the road is selling wild Mustangs that he catches and breaks in a matter of 2 weeks. He is young and has no fear.
We pile back in the car and head to the Four Corners Monument.
It's underwhelming but exciting that we made it there.
We dance between the states and eat Navajo Fry Bread in the warm midday sun.
-160NE to Dolores, CO
We find the small town that shares my mother's name. The Dolores River is frozen over and the streets are empty.
Within 30 minutes we are in Cortez and checking in to the Tomahawk Motel.
At Tequila's we feast on enchiladas and burritos.
Jan 3 2012
Odometer reads 33156
With icy breath and a smokey room, we head out at 10am.
We stop and have breakfast at a diner that is filled with Navajo eyes.
They scan us up and down and giggle as we pass.
Our waitress looks like a professional wrestler and tells Christian he has a "girlish figure".
-491S to Shiprock
-64E to Bloomfield
-550S to 25N
We stop in Santa Fe and stumble upon the studio of American folk artist, Ed Larson.
We welcomes us in and we chat for awhile as we browse his works.
He is painting a giant orange fish made from scrap wood.
I buy a print of Sitting Bull and shake his hand.
He is a true American.
-25S to Albuquerque
We post up at the highest point in the city to get a grip of its size.
It's glamour in the night is negated by it's violent streets.
We go to a Brazilian all-you-can-eat meat spot and gorge ourselves.
Jan 4 2012
Odometer reads 33497
Showering off the meat sweats, we have one last smoke and climb back in the car.
We stop by "Cowboys & Indians" downtown and are awestruck with the amazing treasures inside. I buy a kachina of the Zuni Sun God and a 48 star flag that used to fly in Texas.
-40W (over and about on rt66) to 53W
We spot an interesting sign 30 minutes outside of Zuni Land:
"Bandera Volcano and Ice Cave Ahead"
A no-brainer, we stop.
We hike the 15 minutes to the ice cave then 30 minutes up the mountain to the volcano.
Glad we did it but underwhelmed, we hike back heaving in the high dense air.
Christian entertains us by taking dares and running up the steep, snowy cliffs.
Back on the road, we stop at a trading post and meet two young hippies who explain the allure of living in the area.
We follow rt 53 into Zuni Land and post up at the Inn at Halona.
The warm fire and Pendleton blankets welcome us.
We have dinner at Chu Chu's (the only restaurant in town - rightfully so, it's delicious).
Jan 5 2012
Odometer reads 33668
Sharing stories with fellow travelers and eating blue corn pancakes, we start the day just right. We pack the car and head into town.
Stopping several times, we learn more about the Zuni culture and the people.
We collect treasures from here and there and head out of town around noon.
There is a long road ahead of us.
We're headed for Tombstone.
366 miles later, we arrive.
The sky is black but we take to the streets.
We wander around the OK Corral, Fremont St, and Allen St.
We walk the boardwalk planks along the strip of shops.
Big Nose Kate's Saloon (formerly The Grand Hotel) has music and laughter pouring out of it's doors. We enter the swinging doors and find cowboys and cowgirls laughing and singing and drinking and yelling.
It's as authentic as it could be.
We pound drinks and head down the street for food.
After a quick meal, we are back in the saloon and Christian is on stage singing.
We kick the dust and smile as we walk back to the Tombstone Motel and drunkenly fall asleep.
Jan 6 2012
Odometer reads 34030
We rise early (but not as early as Christian).
We wander the streets that are now filled with tourists and cowboys on horses.
Men in old west costumes tell us about this tour and that tour and this gunfight reenactment and that reenactment.
We find our way into the Bird Cage Theatre, then a big breakfast, a few shops, and over a small sarsaparilla stand on a dirt road.
Johnny One Dog and his friends, The Artist, The Blacksmith, and the manager of the OK Corral share their stories and jokes. We sit and laugh and soak it in before heading into the historama about the town narrated by Vincent Price.
When the lights come up, we head into the Corral to watch a reenactment of the world famous "OK Corral shoot out".
It is painfully bad but had some redeeming qualities when we realized that the actors think they actually are the famous cowboys.
The mid day sun tells us it's time to hit the road.
We hit the highway and get Lauren to Tucson early for her flight to Bakersfield.
Once she is in the air, we head into town to meet an old friend.
Schroeder and his girlfriend proved the best hosts and for the next 2 days.
Day drinking, night laughing, white wine and poodles were all we needed.
Jan 8 2012
Odometer reads 34136
We wake up early and pack our bags.
Hauling them into the car, we hit the road to the airport.
Little did we know, we were headed for the wrong airport.
An hour later, we figure it out and speed to reach Sky Harbor just in time to catch our flight to NY.
With dirt under our nails, grease in our hair, and memories that will last forever, we boarded the plane and headed home.
Final Odometer reading - 34249
Total miles traveled - 1884
__________________________________________
The road teaches us many things.
The treachery of man and Earth.
The beauty hidden within us all.
But most importantly, that there is always something that we must see.
Something we must do.
Somewhere we must go.
And the open road that stretches out in front of us is there to carry us from one memory to the next.
[this road never ends]
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