That Time I Spent A Lot Of Money On Gas Part 14: Houston to Moab And The Part Where I Finally Drive Home
Start at the beginning.
I’m on the last line of the song. But I’m on the last part of the story, so that works out well.
So there I am, sweating profusely, wondering if it’s going to ebb enough for me to bother changing clothes before meeting an acquaintance’s girlfriend who was nice enough to offer up this stranger her couch. Her and her beau happened to be walking through the garage at that exact moment, so it appreciably truncated my decision making process. I was leaning over my open trunk when I spotted them and briefly considered jumping in the trunk and hoping they’d walk past. I probably would have done it, but they spied me as I weighed the options of head- or feet-first. As they approached me, I did my best to pretend I wasn’t still running with sweat. It went something like this: Hi! I’m running with sweat! They were about as gracious and charming as two people can be and I spent the next 23 hours drinking water non-stop before I was even able to pee again.
After an additional day of recovery, I was ready to hit the road again. Since I lucked out with camping in a hobo town, the hitchhiker, the heat exhaustion, and the potentially exploding car, I was going to skip Juarez, Mexico figuring even I can only handle so much death potential on one trip. It also cut half a day’s worth of driving, and by this time, I was itching to sleep in my own bed.
No editing or framing; that’s what I opened my eyes to in Moab.
Off I sped, north, skirting Dallas and then Oklahoma’s border (where the wind comes sweeping down the plain) until scooting along west on Historic Route 66. I did not get any kicks. I did get caught in a doozy of a thunderstorm through New Mexico, but everyone was pulling off to wait out the storm so I kept going since there wasn’t anyone left on the road to crash into. Smart, I know. I camped out in Moab. Not on purpose; the timing was lovely with that one. I was just zooming along in the dark, found a rest stop and the next morning saw how gorgeous everything was. I took 3 or 4 whole minutes to let it sink in and then continued zooming along northwest through Utah and across Idaho. I had my eyes peeled for hot springs in Idaho (because I guess I wanted to smell like rotten eggs on the rest of the way back), but all I saw were dust devils. Smelling like rotten eggs is one thing, but I draw the line at dusty rotten eggs, so I kept driving. As I passed into central eastern Oregon, I was somewhat chagrined to find after driving roughly 7,400 miles, that the most breathtaking place in the continental U.S. was only 400 miles away. As I continued northwest, I was jealously wondering why eastern Oregon is so damn pretty until I hit Washington. Southeastern Washington is damn pretty too. Also the speed limit’s higher, so if a tie-breaker is to be had, that’s it. About 20-minutes from home, I was elated to get into the Seattle-area only to be greeted with a traffic jam. At 11:30 on a Sunday night. I hadn’t seen a traffic jam since St. Louis, and that was mid-week at 6:00 p.m. when you’d expect to see a traffic jam. As much as I missed my bed, I did not miss Seattle traffic.
The road trip took about half as long as I expected. Writing about it took about twice. I’ve been riding the bus a lot since then. I think I’m ready for my next road trip.