A road trip proved to be exactly the diversion I needed to wrest control of my thought processes away from my obsessively preoccupied brain, Brain, and the time it would take to reach the town of Williams, Arizona provided me with seven-and-a-half exquisite hours of escape.
It was a clear, hot, cloudless August day. The drive east bound on I-10 from Palm Springs to Blythe, on the California/Arizona border was uneventful. The drive north along US 95 toward Needles and the junction of I-40 was positively otherworldly.
The two-lane, nearly one hundred mile stretch of route 95 undulated across some of the most barren remote desert lands I’d ever seen. I drove for countless miles without seeing another vehicle of any kind, the radio blaring the signal from a massive FM station located near Lake Havasu.
As this part of my drive paralleled the Colorado River and countless small resort communities, swollen with members of my generation who’d been able to keep their finances intact over the years, I was treated to the greatest hits of the 60s, 70s, and 80s throughout most of the day.
About twenty miles into the drive north on route 95 I began to notice a towering mushroom cloud growing larger and higher as I made my way toward Needles. There was an out-of-control wildfire making its way across the ranchlands of Mohave Valley, California headed directly for I-40.
It was now a race to get to the freeway before the fire.
Escaping the closing of the freeway, the forestry service managed to build a break between the fire and the highway, I spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the early evening enjoying the climb from the desert floor to the mountainous region of northwestern Arizona.
I began to notice a towering mushroom cloud growing larger and higher as I made my way toward Needles.
I pulled into the town of Williams around seven that evening and suddenly realized in my haste to escape a weekend obsessing about my love life in my small apartment, I’d completely forgotten that my little three-day getaway would require a place to stay for two nights.
Additionally, this was early August and tourist season at the Grand Canyon was still in full swing. Did I forget to mention Williams, Arizona is the gateway to the south rim of Grand Canyon National Park?
By this time the “mad money” I’d set aside from my accident settlement was rapidly running out. I found a Wi-Fi hot spot, brought up AARP Travel, and found an inexpensive two-star motel, which appeared to date back to the days when The Mother Road, Route 66, was the only way in and out of Williams.
After checking in, I walked down the main drag of Williams, which was brightly lit by a rainbow of neon lights gleaming from a wide variety of tourist related shops, clubs, and restaurants. After dinner on the patio of a local barbecue tavern, I headed back to my hotel room, not before stopping along the way to pick up a liter of one of my favorite Napa Valley beverages.
Back in my room, braced by a walk in the pine-scented mountain air, I poured myself a paper cup of wine, sat down at my computer, and typed out Waiting For God, And Then This Happened. I spent the better part of the next two hours setting down thought after thought and memory upon memory of the preceding four months.
I woke up Sunday morning feeling better than I had since returning from Toronto but still mulling over the thoughts of Jon and his nonbreakup breakup with me.
“It just doesn’t make sense,” I’d say, both to myself and aloud, time and time again.
I walked down the main drag of Williams, which was brightly lit by a rainbow of neon lights gleaming from a wide variety of tourist related shops
Over breakfast I used my iPhone to access my cloud account and review the three pages of story notes I made the night before. It helped to break the feeling of being a hamster caught in the wheel of a giant thought cycle.
Breakfast over, I headed out for my main objective, Grand Canyon National Park.
As spectacular as the park and the Canyon are, I had a hard time appreciating all the beauty and wonder around me, for I was surrounded by families, groups of friends, tours, and, worst of all, couples all enjoying the majesty of one of the crown jewels of America’s National Park system.
I could not escape the fact that I was alone among these hundreds of people who were speaking languages from all over the globe and enjoying themselves and each other’s company.
Nature intervened to help take my mind off my sorrows. As I headed back toward the visitors center the skies darkened, the temperature dropped dramatically, and the winds began to pick up.
August is monsoon season in Arizona, and at nearly 7,000 feet above sea level that doesn’t just mean occasional afternoon showers. Along with dozens of other people, we raced back to our cars as the rains began first to shower down upon us, and then to pour.
Within minutes of making it to the safety of my car, gale force winds began howling ferociously enough to rock the car back and forth the rains came down so furiously as to completely obscure all vision beyond the windshield of the car. Then came the lighting. It struck all around the parking lot but did not appear to strike within its bounds.
And, just to round out the afternoon’s entertainment, the rain turned into hail before finally settling into a steady downpour.
I was trapped in the parking lot for nearly thirty minutes until the storm abated enough to be able to see clearly enough to drive back to Williams.
Back in my hotel I did some more writing. By late afternoon the skies had cleared, although it was still unseasonably chilly. I took one last stroll through Williams, had dinner, returned to my room, and made an early evening of it all the while enjoying the odd sensation of obsessiveness turning less and less from madness to a sense of longing and loss.
Since I awakened early that Monday morning I decided to take the long way home. I would keep going east on I-40 until I arrived in Flagstaff. There I would transition to I-17 and make the drive down from the mountains into Phoenix. Once in Phoenix, I’d take I-10 west back to California and Palm Springs, which may or may not have been a good idea as the local radio station I tuned into was still reporting on the search for suspects in the I-10 sniper attacks.
The Phoenix leg of the trip notwithstanding, it was another day of cruising through a spectacular countryside full of amazing vistas of mountains, rocks, bluffs, and unimaginable geological formations. I was truly beginning to find peace of mind.
Too bad it wouldn’t last.
I got home and posted some of my pics from the Grand Canyon trip to Facebook.
I got home and posted some of my pics from the Grand Canyon trip to Facebook. At the time I thought it best not to disappear from social media. Truth be told, I didn’t want to fall out of Jonny’s sight and therefore out of his consciousness.
Apparently Jon didn’t feel like disappearing from social media either. Both he, Brodie and several of the friends they’d spent Fierté Montréal with had tagged one another in the photos they posted of their weekend together in Montreal.
I had my brother’s visit to begin preparing for, although this time the apartment wouldn’t require as massive a cleaning effort as it did prior to Jon’s earlier visit. This did, however, leave me with some idle time on my hands.
I spent part of that time not continuing the story of my adventures thus far this year but rather, to write an apology in response to Jon’s earlier message in which he rightfully took me to task for embroiling Brodie in things and had ended by saying he’d talk to me later.
After several drafts and rewrites, I sent my response apologizing once again for taking my frustrations out on Brodie and begging for forgiveness for my selfishness. I concluded by saying,
If I’ve learned anything in the 26 years longer I’ve been around than you it’s that continuing to communicate is the most vitally important thing people can do. I hope to hear from you again soon.
Completely ignoring that timeless piece of advice to be careful what you wish for, after about four rewrites I sent the message off to Jon on the morning of the second day of my brother George’s visit.
Edited by
Kenneth Larsen
Join us again on October 17 for: Déjà vu All Over Again
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