The trip started on a Saturday with a last minute plea to my neighbor Kaye to give me a lift to South Station, where I would take the bus to the airport at Providence, a key to the extremely low airfare behind this trip. My bags were rather heavy, as they tend to remain mostly packed for lengthy, complex trips. Above and beyond the call of duty, Kaye drove me all the way to the airport, and we had a lovely couple of hours to chat and catch up. The flights to Chicago and Los Angeles were mostly uneventful, although the departure from Chicago was delayed as they tried to figure out if a dent in the plane at the service door was problematic. The arrival in Los Angeles was complicated by a wild goose chase between terminals six and seven looking for my flight's luggage. I quickly figured out that Dad wouldn't be at terminal six baggage claim, and had no trouble finding him in terminal seven. United's signage about this is atrocious for passengers arriving terminal six, where UA has a minority of the gates. After we searched all the way to terminal five and back, the bag eventually popped up in terminal seven with a couple of significant gashes. I filed a claim, which still needs to be resolved with UA in Boston.
As usual, Hertz Gold had a car waiting for me completely unlike what I requested. Worse, they had few options when I went to correct the situation, and I ended up using my upgrade coupon to get a low-end Taurus. I've driven some nice Tauruses, and this one lacked their amenities. It did, however, get us across more than 4800 miles without trouble, and with gas mileage averaging about 27 MPG. I had really hoped to get a Neverlost car, with the GPS navigation system. Instead, we used software on my laptop, but it was very hard to read in daylight, so we often fell back to my old, trusty road atlas, mentioned several paragraphs below.
We spent the night visiting Dad's cousin Marion in Inglewood, and she took us to a delicious deli breakfast in the morning. I hadn't had Matzah Brei in quite a while--what a treat! From there, we headed over to Sandpiper Drive, on the coastal side of LAX, for a ceremonial West Coast departure from Dockweiler Beach. We drove the new Century Freeway, which seems to no longer have that name, and zigged our way up to I-10. We stopped to connect a dot at Brackett Airport, and then worked our way onto I-15, up to the high desert. We got caught in the first of our two amazing traffic jams, this one past the Barstow I-40 split, caused by an overturned bus. It took a couple of hours to get through that stretch, which aside from stop and go traffic (more stop than go) was a fairly desolate climb through desert mountains. We eventually crossed the border into Nevada, and soon thereafter stopped in Las Vegas for food and fuel. We crossed the border of Arizona at dusk, for the spectacular ride through canyons in the state's northwest corner. It was dark by the time we crossed the border into Utah and came to the well-lit civilization of St. George. About an hour later, we arrived at our night's objective, a Motel 6 in Cedar City.
Monday brought us to some of the most spectacular scenery of the trip, driving I-70 across Utah and Colorado. Words can hardly hint at the beauty along the highway outside of several national parks in Utah. Beyond the desert, the road follows the Colorado River across much of the Rockies, literally squeezed split-level on terraces along the banks of the river. East of Aspen, we came to the second amazing traffic jam, this time caused by an overturned fuel truck. The accident was miles east of the Eisenhower Tunnel, yet the jam started a couple of miles west of the tunnel. There just aren't many paths between Aspen and Denver. Past the problem, traffic flowed smoothly into and through Denver, and we located our second Motel 6 in time for an easy, early supper at a nearby barbecue place. Afterword, we made a brief visit to cousins Peter and Jenni, who were both tightly scheduled between travels and gigs. Peter was about to head off to Aspen, where he played in the music festival. The two of them recently returned from a vacation in Barcelona, where Jenni was celebrating her newly completed MBA. As usual, time with them was scarce and I was left looking forward to my next chance to see them.
Tuesday included the rather zen driving experience of traversing Kansas. There's just little to grab one's attention, aside from the highway patrol, who pulled me over twice within three hours to warn me about speeding. I was within 10MPH of the 70MPH limit, and they led us to suspect our speedometer was miscalibrated. Much later in the trip, I checked our calibration and found it to be right, leading me to question either the law enforcement or laws of physics in Kansas; nowhere else did the highway patrol show any interest in us. The reward for the day was an overnight visit to my old colleague Bill and his family outside the outskirts of Topeka. Bill and Joanne gave us a splendid taste of cattle country with steak and potatoes. The hospitality was wonderful, as usual, and I only regret that they live so far from my usual path.
Wednesday took us briefly through Leavenworth (Hi Rich!), across the nearly flooded Missouri River into Missouri, where we refueled at a candy store. Who'd expect to find nice salt water taffy and other confections at a gas station? We stocked up on gifts for the visits ahead, and drove up I-35 into Iowa. Heading east out of Des Moines on I-80, we stopped off at Trainland USA, an impressive model railroad museum I discovered on a prevous drive. This got us talking about train sets, and I told Dad about the differences between my big boring trainset built on his clever winched base and the small, meticulously charming trainset my friend Andrew built down the street. Not only did his represent an English village better than mine represented anything, but his focus on completed detail compared very favorably against my incomplete, but expansive layout. It wasn't until I visited England that I realized the ideosyncracies of his railroad village were an authentic representation, as opposed to design blunders on his part; Andrew and I used to argue about them for hours!
We crossed the Mississippi into Illinois, and I noted that we would need to refuel soon. We switched to I-88, and I expected to see a gas station someplace after the river. We fell into a discussion about Dad's experience as a radio mechanic in the Korean War, which was so engrossing I forgot to search for fuel. The fuel warning light lit about twenty miles west of Dixon, with no services anywhere in sight. We managed to make it into town on fumes, and bought a rather complete tankful. Three tollbooths later (I detest toll roads!) we headed into Wisconsin and I felt like I had a new relationship with radios. We spent the night visiting friends David and Mark, where I showed David how well used (worn) and appreciated his gift atlas was. David served us a fine chicken and pasta dish on the back deck, and Mark demonstrated his recent professional training by giving me a haircut after dinner.
Mark and I told Dad about a ceremony we improvised the previous week at the grave of Mark's grandmother outside Boston. Because of decisions by his sisters who left him out of the process, there was no funeral or grave for his mother who died last year, and he was suffering a missing sense of closure with her. We buried the burnt remnants of a copy of a photo as a token of connecting her to her mother's grave, so Mark could have a place to have the sense of visiting them both. Mark eulogized his mother and we read 23rd Psalm and Kaddish. In addition to giving Mark another chance to remember his mother, the conversation served to demonstrate to Dad that different people have different needs related to funerals and graves. Although he has expressed the desire to be cremated and sprinkled over Monterey Bay as he did with his father's remains, I believe he now sees that his children might be better served having a grave to visit when he's gone. Whichever way he indicates, I intend to carry out his eventual wishes.
We got an early start Thursday, heading into Chicago, where Dad spent childhood. Our first stop was a visit to his mother's grave, which I had never seen before. Ironically, this was just a couple of miles from my friends Margot and Malia, whom I visited in March; I had mentioned to them during that trip that I wondered where my grandmother was buried and wanted to find out. What I hadn't expected was that her parents were buried next to her, leading me to my first encounter with any of my great grandparents. My great grandmother Josephine had a photo on her headstone. The photo was disintegrating, and was loose, so we took it with us to see about restoring or replacing it. After the cemetery, we drove through one of the neighborhoods of Dad's childhood and then connected with Malia for a delicious Mexican lunch nearby. We got a brief tour of their house, and a last glimpse of the bathroom that was about to be gutted and replaced. Dad was impressed with her construction skills, and got to take a souvenir doorknob set to use back home. We drove out toward Lake Michigan, and through another of Dad's childhood neighborhoods. This time, his former home was still standing. I started getting a headache, but we had neither the time or place to do much about it, so we carried on to meet his cousins Eileen and Paul, whose new office for their translation business was an important milestone on our itinerary. After a quick briefing and tour, we headed over to their house, where I was mercifully given pain pills and excused to sleep off the headache. Ninety minutes later, I was back in business, and we had a wonderful dinner in their exquisitely manicured garden after Paul gave a demonstration of his clavicord. He has recently written music for a friend's upcoming wedding, and we had the pleasure of hearing some samples. Eileen served a splendid salmon after a round of appetizers and drinks. I don't recall the name of the Scandinavian rye liqueur, but the flavor was fascinating. As always, time with Eileen and Paul flies by much too quickly, and I'm ever ready to visit them again.
In the dinner conversation, we mentioned the day's cemetery visit, only to be told that Dad's other set of grandparents (shared with Eileen) are buried at the same cemetery. In the morning, we drove back and visited all four graves with camera and camcorder. We also solicited a bid for a headstone for Dad's mother's grave; that bid is, to my knowledge, now overdue, but what's the need to rush? We drove out I-55 toward St. Louis, where we visited Dad's cousins Claude and Joan. There was a huge Shabbat feast, with several of their married children and grandchildren in attendance, as well as family friends Polack and Dalia from Israel who gave me a bit of practice with my rusty Hebrew. This is a side of the family that I hardly know, but would definitely like to get to know better. I first made their aquaintance a few years ago when I had a cancelled connecting flight in St. Louis. I phoned Dad and got Claude and Joan's phone number, only to end up reaching their daughter Jane, with whom I hit it off. I took a couple of subsequent trips to visit Jane, her then-husband, and their kids, and last year's visit to their cabin in the Ozarks (combined with the low fare to LAX and my past delight with driving trips) was the inspiration for this entire tour.
In the morning, Claude's brother Don joined us for breakfast at the house. He and Claude are a few years older than Dad, and they were able to tell us some of their early recollections of Dad's parents. We showed them the photo from Josephine's grave, and Don told us he has the original. Claude mentioned that Joseph (Dad's and their grandfather and husband of Josephine) previously had a photo on the headstone, but it had been taken by vandals years ago. Don agreed to send a copy of the Josephine photo, so we could attempt to replace the weatherworn headstone copy. Don showed us some poetry he wrote, and some drawings he made of his stroke-stricken older brother Bud. Don uses his drawings as a way to express his love and spend time with Bud, who can no longer speak. The effort and the poetry are moving, yet light. I very much appreciate and admire the creativity of Don's approach.
Joan packed us up with delicious leftovers, and we headed off to the cabin to visit Jane. Once again, Dad and I fell into some wonderful conversation, which was so engaging, I missed our turnoff by a long shot. I believe we were talking about Israel and my experience there during high school. Dad decided last year not to take advantage of his first opportunity to visit Israel, for a convention, and I believe the next time he has the option he will choose differently, especially now that he has Polack and Dalia to visit. We devised an alternate route to the cabin, stopping at one of the first Wal-Mart Supercenters where we picked up provisions in their grocery section. We arrived at the cabin in the heat of the afternoon, and Jane and crew were already off enjoying the river. After unloading the car, I changed, grabbed a floating chair and headed down to the river to cool off. Dad sat at the side of the river, but wasn't interested enough in cooling off to jump in. Alas, he was put off by the noisy crowd on the other side of the river, so he suffered the heat while I lazily chilled out. Jane and friends (with three big dogs) soon floated down the river, greeted us and headed up to the cabin to start supper. It turned into a fine, varied feast, and the heat mellowed in a light breeze after we ate. The dogs provided entertainment and plenty of starters for conversation. We blundered into some fun stupid pet owner tricks, and one of Jane's friends departed later in the evening, easing the person-to-bunk ratio.
Dad and I agreed to skip a day at the cabin and bypass a proposed Memphis stop in favor of a newly proposed stop in Tucson. We left on the morning of 4th of July for the 760 mile drive to Tucumcari. After we finished a couple of hours of two-lane roads, we got on I-44 and headed west. I finally stopped monopolizing the driving, and let Dad drive a majority of the westbound trip. We passed through Tulsa (Hi Bob!) and Oklahoma City, where we switched to I-40. We supped along Route 66 in Shamrock, Texas, and made it to the last Motel 6 of the trip in time to see fireworks in the distance.
Monday's drive through Albuquerque, down I-25 to Las Cruces, and across the continental divide on I-10 brought us to Tucson in time for supper. Dad was delighted to find in a Lordsburg gas station his old favorite candy bar, a Zero Bar, which he hadn't seen in years. I hadn't seen anything like the dust devils and dust storm we passed through after Lordsburg. I still wonder the difference between a dust devil and tornado after seeing some dust devils reach a couple of hundred feet high. Arizona had reached the monsoon season, which I had never seen before, and it was dramatic. Dad always sung the praises of the dryness of Arizona's heat, but this time he admitted it was as bad as Florida. News reports that night told of tornados in the general area those dust devils had spooked me.
Tuesday I relaxed and did some reading for school. My step-mom Jean and I dragged Dad to the movies in the evening, where we saw Ten Things I Hate About You at the cheapie theater. After we got back, we found a snake slithering around the front door. Was it a diamondback? I don't know. Dad shooed it away with a stick or something.
Wednesday, I went shopping. Tucson has an excellent, giant used bookstore, Bookmans, and a giant used record store, PDQ. In addition to books, they sell music and software at Bookmans. I bought a couple of books, a couple of music CDs, and some software. Then I headed over to PDQ and shopped for more music. PDQ is about the size of a supermarket, spread between two old buildings. The CDs are under a metal roof. As I shopped, I hurd a slight pitter patter for a few minutes. Then suddenly it got real loud. I glanced outside and saw a torrential downpour. This was one of those famous desert thunderstorms, and the street flooded in minutes. Clearly there was only one thing to do--continue to shop! I ended up buying something like eight discs by the time the flood let up. The folks live up in the foothills, and I was a bit concerned that the washes would not be passable. It turned out the only problem was puddly streets in the flatlands and traffic signals out of service with power outages. For the first time, after a few visits to Tucson, I saw water in the Rillito River! I got home in time to demo some software to my step-sister-in-law Marylin (think moderately close relative I've hardly gotten to know) before we sat down to a big family dinner where I was called on to recite a Motsie for the mostly Mormon assemblage. I sat next to the newlyweds from my May Tucson trip and heard stories about all sorts of folks from that side of the family. I am yet again impressed, and I'm delighted Shawn and Chris chose each other.
Thursday morning found me hurriedly demonstrating more software to Dad and Jean before my departure. I took I-10 through Phoenix and on toward Los Angeles. I drove through a huge downpour just before I reached the Colorado River, and was surprized how the rains managed to stay to one side of the path or the other for the rest of the drive. I connected dots Riverside and Corona as I arrived in the greater LA area and continued back to Sandpiper Drive. I picked up some Cherries Garcia ice cream for Marion and headed back to her place. We talked for a little while, and then headed to sleep in anticipation of an early morning.
We caught breakfast at a nearby IHOP (how'd she know I had a craving for flapjacks?) and continued the conversation about family and travels. I made it back uneventfully to Hertz LAX, and comfortably caught my flight to Chicago. I started reading a scifi novel my school friend Dan lent me, Sharon Lee and Steve Miller's Agent of Change, and it devoured me for most of the flight. I did look out the window every now and then, recalling what a particular section of the landscape looked like from the ground the previous week. The flight to Providence left O'Hare on time, only to get stuck in an unusual traffic jam over Michigan. A line of thunderstorms from Maine to New Mexico had completely screwed up air traffic, and Toronto, Cleveland and New York Centers shut out all incoming domestic flights for almost an hour. It was amazing to listen to air traffic control issue holding patterns to flight after flight as everyone waited for the traffic to clear. Several flights near us gave up on holding and diverted to Detroit or Chicago. Since we took off with a good fuel load, we simply outwaited the problem, circling in fine weather. Almost an hour later, we were cleared to resume course. We ended up leaving course only a couple of times to avoid the storms, a surprizingly modest amount considering the size of the disturbance. Our arrival was uneventful, and Judy and Matt were there to collect me. I got home, where I barely unpacked the necessities before hopping into bed in anticipation of another early morning of school. As I write this now exactly a week later, I need to do the same thing.
edit timestamp: $Date: 1999/07/17 01:38:14 $