Month: January 2021

I’m sure that you are all familiar with the scene in the movie Cars, when Lightning McQueen gets lost off of the Interstate (I-40), and winds up in the little town of ‘Radiator Springs’ whose main road through town was the old Route 66.  

          I am here to tell you that Cars is a true story.

          Maybe not the Lightning McQueen part is true 😊 but the ‘Radiator Springs’ part is definitely true.

          We drove through there.

          On Route 66.

          There isn’t another road in the Country, maybe even the world that is as iconic (and I don’t use that word lightly) as U.S. Route 66. Immortalized in song, verse, and film, this road has always captured the imaginations of past and present travelers.

          In the mid-20^th Century, it was the way west, out to Los Angeles, when freedom was just around the next bend. Back in the day, before President Eisenhower proposed the Interstate Highway System, there were major U.S. highways that bisected the Country from North to South, and East to West.

          Route 66 was the Queen.

           We left Lake Havasu City, and drove north to take Interstate Route 40 towards points east and eventually back to Texas.

          Then, there it was.

          Route 66, the Mother Road.

           I couldn’t pass up this opportunity.

           We were about 30 miles into this leg when we came upon the town of Kingman, and a big exit sign read Historic Route 66. Kingman is one of the towns mentioned in the song, (Get you kicks on) Route 66 and the start of a section of Route 66 that is still in existence. Route 66 was ‘decommissioned’ and finally stripped of its title in 1985, after the last section in Williams, Arizona was finally made obsolete by I-40. It had served its purpose and was no longer needed to convey travelers back and forth.     

The Interstate did that more efficiently.

          But not better

          At Kingman, the highway diverges from I-40 and winds its way up and through some of the prettiest nothingness scenery anywhere.

          And through this nothingness, a few little towns spring up just because, that’s where they were formed. We were happy to be on the actual road but there was a small price to pay in mileage, time, and a slight case of the melancholies.

          I can not help but wonder what these small oasis’s separated only by miles, were like back when they were thriving outposts, places where, that weary traveler would stop and fill up both their stomachs, and their tanks before proceeding on their way. Many of the buildings are still there, vestiges of their former selves, preserved by the desert, as only it can.

          Think ghost towns.

          Back then, they did not know that they would someday be labeled iconic, all they knew was that they existed, like the rest of their contemporaries, to do a job, take care of customers, raise the kids, and hopefully save a few bucks for themselves.

          They were real.

          Today, these places are either abandoned, or the lucky ones have been rehabilitated to serve as a second generation of their ancestors, giving travelers a place to stop, not necessarily to fill their bellies and tanks, but more so, to fill the gaps left from before, when, the Interstate robbed us of all our local flavor.

          Before the homogenization of America.

If it weren’t for the Colorado River there wouldn’t be any Phoenix or for that matter, any significant development in the Southwest. The water used and electricity made from its flowing waters is what powers and slakes the thirst of this hot and dry section of the country. As a matter of fact, so much water is stored behind dams and used up for general use and irrigation, that the Colorado dries up before it gets to its mouth at the top of the Sea of Cortez, where it used to flow freely to.

          That brings us to a city on the eastern bank of said river, actually on the shores of Lake Havasu. Lake Havasu City is quite young and owes its existence to Mr. Robert McCulloch, who with his forethought and expertise, basically hand-made this mecca for outdoor enthusiasts. You may recognize Mr. McCulloch’s name from his chain saw line of products. In the late 1950’s he and his company purchased a total of about 20,000 acres of land and finally on September 30, 1963, Lake Havasu City was born and it was formally incorporated in 1978. His crowning achievement was to acquire the London Bridge from the City of London when they needed to replace it. He bought, disassembled, and re-assembled it here in 1968, connecting the mainland to a sizeable island which created the nucleus for a ‘river’ and its environs. Today it is the second most popular tourist attraction in Arizona, shadowed only by the formidable Grand Canyon.

          Lake Havasu City was our second destination on this particular leg of our trip.  Our first being the little town of Quartzite. We departed Tucson, heading west on Interstate 10.  Quartzite’s claim to fame is centered around three things, RV’s, ATV’s, and wintering folk from the North.

          The largest RV show in the nation has been held each January here for the last 37 years. The number of motorhomes that converge on this place is staggering. We were like vermin, you couldn’t go one block without seeing multiple motorhomes, all towing their little cars or their four-wheeled ATV’s. The desert was littered with boondocking RV’s, to the extent that it appeared to be one gigantic Motorhome Resort. According to the local’s, the show this year was a little disappointing, but under the circumstances, I’d have to give them an A for effort. Many exhibitors chose not to participate because Cousin Covid was still around. Still, we had a pleasant stay at a small campground, which, fortunately for us, was one of only three that had paved roads in it. The dust that hung in the air around there during the day was reminiscent of photos of Los Angeles smog. Between the ATV’s running the desert and the motorhomes getting back and forth, it’s no wonder that an Air Quality Alert had not been issued! But in reality, the air is awesome, the skies could not have been bluer, and the stars clearer if they tried.

          We left there having purchased a flagpole that affixes itself to the stern of our traveling home so that we can fly the Stars and Stripes when we’re in port.

          We departed the area on Route 95.

          Who would think that there were two Route 95’s converging in the area?

          There are a gazillion other numbers to choose from., but no, they had to use the same one for both US 95 and Arizona 95. The difference now is obvious, especially when we found ourselves headed west into California, instead of north to Lake Havasu. Slightly delayed, and a bit more aware of the roads, we finally headed north through the desert. We were not alone. All of those other motorhomes either came with us or their friends were heading southward to join them.  Back east, we can drive all day and not see another RV. Out here they (we) are so common as to not even being worthy of a passing glance.

          The drive northward was without any drama, and only took about two hours. The sights were typically Western, lots of desert and distant mountain vistas, until we crested a hill and saw Lake Havasu spread out before us. The name Havasu is taken from the Mojave Indian word for blue, which turns out is the perfect name for this body of water.

          Lake Havasu is considered Arizona’s Playground and one can see how this would be, especially in season. Their busy time is from roughly March trough October. These months of the year see temperatures that are more conducive to outdoor activities, especially when water is involved. Even though winter temps are moderate compared to the North or East, it’s summertime when this place comes to life. Major boat racing and Jet Ski events are held here each year including the International Jet Ski World Championships.

          One of the more notable attractions of this area are the 27 replica lighthouses that are built around the city and its environs. These are all painstakingly organized, built, and cared for by a local Lighthouse Committee and a plaque is affixed to each one identifying it with it’s more famous and larger brethren and also the family that sponsored it. These light houses are functioning because the genesis of this committee was to provide better navigational lights for the lake, which as you may imagine, being in the desert, has few lights that identify prominent shoreline features.

          I can see where a trip back here in season would be fun. Now there are just enough business and activities that are taking a rest from regular hours and Covid, to make the place seem “quiet”. There are still activities to do and toys to rent, but the true nature of Lake Havasu comes to life in the spring and summer. One of the things that brought us (me!) out here was its stature as a high-performance boating mecca and that would be something that I could never get enough of!

          We shall see.

Just when you thought that you knew every reason to visit a place, something jumps in your path and you find that the most obscure items become some of the best memories. Who would have thought that everyone needs to take a trip to Tucson, Arizona to experience the world of tiny things at The Mini Time Machine, Museum of Miniatures?

          Well, now you know what you must do!

          This is a classic case of stumbling onto something that you will be forever grateful that you did. Before you cast a disparaging eye on this experience, please consider that it is impossible not to be filled with awe at the precision, imagination, and dedication to making everyday things so small and with such detail as to not be able to tell if they are the real thing or not, except if there is something next to it to give it scale.

          The following photos will demonstrate this effect much better

than I can.

          First, I will tell you what this is not.

          It is not an example of dollhouses, made for children to play with. Although there is some of this, and it would be ingenuous not to include that aspect of miniatures, the primary drive behind these creations, is to replicate in miniature, either actual rooms and houses or, as maybe an architect would, design something just for itself.

          The museum touches on technique as well as materials and also includes various methods of model making and even the art of carving very tiny sculptures on the tips of lead carpenter’s pencils.

          The layout of the Museum is well planned. It brings you through the history of early miniatures, mainly from the 1700’s, through some of the latest trends of both homes, and whimsy, namely the world of gnomes, wizards, and castles.

          Even Waterford Crystal got into the act. One of their retired Master Craftsmen makes miniature Captain’s Decanters and other pieces for use in Dining Room scenes!

One of the primary purposes of the Museum, is to capture these examples of ‘Time’, as each miniature was constructed with this in mind, to freeze time and be able to gaze upon an example of a classic Victorians Kitchen as if you were there.

It achieves this with a finesse that is hard to describe.

Mission accomplished!

The lyrics go like this,

          “You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone”

          I submit for your approval, an additional thought,

          “You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til you find it.”

          Do you ever look out the window of the airliner as you cruise at 33,000 feet, peer down, and wonder what life is like in that little town that you just passed over? I do it all the time. I also wonder if someone else is doing the same as they pass over regions and towns that I’ve lived in. I imaginarily say to them, “Come visit here! There’s tons to do, we have magnificent trails, great local museums, wonderful restaurants, and many ways to enjoy your particular form of the arts. You just don’t know that it exists.”

          Cases in point, The Arizona Desert Museum and Saguaro National Park. Both of these entities are located in the Sonoran Desert, which stretches from  southern California to just east of Tucson and then south into Mexico.

          Biodiverse? How about more species of bees are here than anywhere on the planet? Or let’s take the Saguaro Cactus.

          This is the preeminent symbol of the West, even though it grows only here. You’ll remember this cactus. It was made famous in many movies and the quintessential cigarette commercial, Marlboro and the ‘Marlboro Man’ using the theme music from the ‘Magnificent Seven’ movie soundtrack. (Listen to Erik Kunzel and the Cincinnati Pops for the best version) It’s a classic.

          The Arizona Desert Museum was founded in 1954, a great year, because that was the year I was founded too! 😊 Anyway, this place is nothing short of enchanting. The common thought of the desert, that there is nothing out there except rocks and sand, could not be further from the truth and it is a good thing that there is a place like this to illustrate the incredible flora and fauna that exists in what most would consider a void.

          It is a relatively short drive from Tucson, way out on a windy road that has you wondering, ‘where are they taking me’?

          Well, the answer is simple, you are going out into the middle of,               “The Desert”!

          Nestled on the westward-facing side of a hill, you really can’t see it as you drive up. The buildings that house some of the exhibits, galleries, (More on that later) and essential services are woven so nicely into the landscape that they are not intrusive in any way. The whole place reminded me of Disneyland. Not because of any aspect of the amusement or boisterous atmosphere of there, but because they have managed to discreetly separate all of their outdoor exhibits so well, that you really don’t know that they are relatively close to each other. Similar to the way that Adventureland backs up to Frontierland and when in one, you don’t even know that the other one exists. It is an art form that takes forethought and planning to say the least.

          Some of the exhibits are, a butterfly garden, hummingbird enclosure, underground burrow displays, prairie dogs, the obvious reptiles, and the not-so-obvious stingray touch tank.

          Stingrays?

          In the desert?

          I wondered this and I was prepared to be disappointed that they had ‘sold out’ and had a random exhibit just for the fun of it, when I was gently reminded of my geography.

          Of course! the Sea of Cortez (or Gulf of California) runs right up into this region because the Sonora Desert leaps across it and covers a great deal of Baja California. In theory they could have had a whale tank with California Gray whales and Humpbacks because they winter and breed there. But that would probably be stretching it, but not by much!

          There are some wildlife exhibits also, and depending on the time of day, and season, you may be able to spy some of these denizens of the desert. The museum takes great pride in their role with these inhabitants. Most are there because they are in some sort of rehabilitation due to accidents, etc. and are no longer suited survive in the wild. Others are rotated in and out, being repatriated to the open spaces when their ‘Time’ is up.

           I was going to just post photos of these critters and tell you that they were obtained at incredible expense of both life and limb, climbing to elevations great and roaming deserts wild in order to capture such magnificent animals with my camera but decided that you all would know that there’s no way that I’d be able to climb to 9000’ feet or tromp that many miles into the desert and be stealthy enough to acquire such photos.

          But here they are anyway, it’s just me and my cell-phone camera walking around the Arizona Desert Museum.

          I mentioned before about the galleries. One in particular, the Iron wood Gallery, has a series of art classes that look to be both interesting and very well attended. The particular exhibit that is there presently is one using the medium of Scratchboard. This technique uses a white board covered with India ink that the artist ‘scratches’ away with various scraping tools. The finished product is breathtaking. There was one of a Bobcat that had I not known better, I would have tried to touch its fur, it was so realistic!

          After the museum, we went on a hike in Saguaro National Park located in, yup, you guessed it, the middle of the desert.

          It wasn’t a long hike, only 18 miles or so.

          Actually, it was 1.8 miles, what a difference a decimal point makes! Our goal was to get  a photo of Paula with her new best friend Charles the Cactus, or in Spanish, Carlos el cactus.

           He was very obliging and stood stoically still for this photo.

          Unfortunately, Paula inadvertently had a brush-up with a cactus that looks very soft, but in fact, has needles that are like porcupine quills and stick into you with microscopic barbs. It is called a Cholla, but  it is also demonically known as a, “Teddy Bear Cactus.”

          They pulled at her skin as they were removed. I would have taken some photos, but I thought that it would appear a bit opportunist of me and thought better of it. When I mentioned it, she respectfully declined to go back and have some more needles inserted into her skin.

           And I thought she was a team player!

          We’ve been here for just two days and have already found enough to do and see. There is not a doubt in my mind that if any one of you said to your respective families,

           “Let’s go to Tucson for vacation!”

That first, your comment would be met with some number of incredulities, but then, when you were getting ready to fly back home on that airliner, your family would thank you for dragging them out to,

“The Middle of the Desert.”

Welcome to sunny Tucson where there is no snow, and the temperatures are a bit warmer than anywhere we’ve been in the last few weeks. We were supposed to be way down at the bottom of Texas, on South Padre Island, but when we checked the forecast, the weather was not going to be good enough for a week on a ‘sunny, tropical island.’ So, we looked for another spot and headed to Arizona. We are at a KOA in Tucson and it couldn’t be nicer.

           Finally!

          As we get more experienced with travelling around and staying at different RV Parks and Campgrounds, you can tell which ones are run nicely and which ones are just an afterthought.

          This one is run very nicely. Just as you can tell when you go to buy a used car or a house, you can tell when something has been maintained properly and that the owners took pride in whatever they had. This place looks brand new but, in fact, has been here for probably 20 years or so. Our site has this nifty raised deck/shaded underneath structure complete with a fire pit and very nice outdoor furniture. If you were here in the Summer, I can see where being in the shade would be a necessity. Now it’s better up on top, where the sun heats nicely. The temperatures are warm, but when in the shade and the breeze is blowing it can actually be a little cool.

          Yesterday we visited the Titan II Missile Museum. This is the last remaining Titan II ICBM site still in its original condition, all the rest have been destroyed and filled in. There were three main areas in the USA: Kansas, Arkansas, and Arizona, each with 18 silos spread over many square miles, for a total of 54 silos. The Titan II was also the booster used to propel the Gemini Program into space in the 1960’s.

          Our tour was fascinating, kind of in a sobering way, when you find out that just one of the warheads on these missiles was the equivalent of three times the total ordnance dropped by the Allies during WWII. This was part of the Mutually Assured Destruction deterrent policy that kept everyone from pushing the button. It’s interesting to note that the acronym for that policy is M.A.D.

          “Fit’s it to a T”, I’d have to say.

          Enough of that.

          The engineering alone for these sites is fascinating as are the stories of the men and women who served in them. I highly recommend the Museum if you ever get out this way.

          Our next stop was the San Xavier del Bac Mission, which unfortunately, was temporarily closed due to Covid. The grounds were open, and the day was incredible, so we did take advantage and strolled the grounds. This is an operating parish, one with a long history. It was founded in 1692 and the present church was constructed in 1783, with the help of the local Native American tribe, Tohono O’odam, a tribe with ties that go south to the Aztecs. As you can see, it is nothing short of magnificent.

I think that we did something to offend the Weather Gods.

                    We have yet to start a trip that did not have to be scheduled or delayed because of a weather anomaly.

          How about that snow in South Texas!

           Yea!

           It was great  ☹

           (If you wanted a very infrequent school delay!)

          Not if you were starting a trip to Arizona.

           There was enough snow to make snowmen and have the roads be a tad slippery (especially if you are a Southern Driver with little experience with the slick stuff.)

          Being from the somewhat-not-desirable-inclement-weather-Northeast,  we have a significant amount of driving skills acquired over thousands of years (or so it feels like) of driving in Winter.

          Not in Texas!

          While snowfall is not impossible down here, it is so infrequent that they do not have any type of snow removal equipment available, and rightfully so. Listening to locals talk about “Road Conditions” is quite amusing considering what we are used to. I guess the phrase, ‘all things are relative’ would explain this nicely. The ‘horrible roads’ here would barely qualify for a conversation up north. But in all fairness, I’ve always said that the Metro Area folks should all be required to spend a winter in Buffalo, Vermont, or Maine and then we would really know what a winter was and quit complaining about some slush on the road.

          We started this particular Odyssey on a Monday morning. It had snowed all day on Sunday, leaving several inches of heavy, wet snow. Being totally new to this type of event in a motorhome, we neglected to bring the slide-out sides in before the snow accumulated on the top of them. When we went to bring them in, the snow on top just bunched up and made it impossible to retract.

          So, it’s 5 AM, very dark, and as you can imagine, still quite cold outside. I dragged the ladder out and went up with my headlamp on, to scoop all of the snow away. Mind you, when packing and downsizing for a winter spent (hopefully) in warmer climes, the need for any ‘winter’ apparel is thought to be superfluous!

          Hah!

           Needless to say, my snow clearing experience left something to be desired. When we finally were able to retract the sides and pull out, we entered he second phase in the ‘getting ready’ process. This was going to be the first time that we had towed the Honda behind us since we brought it home from where we had the whole shebang set up for towing, with the correct towbar, electrical connects, and the all-important Brake Assisting Guy.

          So, getting all of this hooked up correctly in the dark and cold was a little disconcerting, even though we practiced this process the day before, in order to make sure everything worked correctly.

          Which it did.

          Sort of.

          See, there is a very detailed process of starting, and then moving the transmission though all its gear selections before putting it in Neutral and leaving the key in Accessory I so that the steering wheel can move. Among the detailed instructions was ‘Put the Parking Brake on’. This was so that the transmission and its movement through the gears could be done safely.

          The list did not include ‘Remove Parking Brake’.

          Common sense would dictate that. And where I do believe that I have a sufficient amount of the aforementioned, when you are trying to follow directions and are nervous already, well, strange and uninvited things can happen.

          This particular scenario did not rear its ugly head until we were about a mile away. Evidently I did not have the parking brake on enough to drag the wheels when we started out because we could detect  no issues, the wheels rolled right along. But, when I went to ‘test’ the brakes and applied a significant amount of force,

          Screeeeeech!

          The right rear wheel locked up, smoke, et al, occurred as the car skewed itself to the right.

          Panic set in.

           All of the question’s that we did not have the answers for popped up. And we were leaving the next day on a 2000-mile round trip to Arizona and back!

          Hugely disappointed, we just disconnected everything and drove both vehicles to the holding tank dump station, where we were originally going to. Thinking along the way , I determined that the issue is not with the system, it has to be the Honda because the system can’t apply the brakes to just one wheel, besides, there is ABS on the Honda. 

          This was further illustrated when we got to the dump station and Paula got out of the Honda and asked….. here it comes…..

          “Did you have the parking brake on?”

          Gulp

          “Ahh, yea, oops! Ha-Ha! Must’ve forgotten that! Ha-Ha! (sheesh!)

          Well now that explains everything! A feeling of relief swept over the Expedition Leaders as we realized the mistake. We hooked everything back up for the ride back home and Paula volunteered to ride in the towed car (yes I know it’s illegal, but it was on a deserted road and it was her idea!) as we exited the Park where the dump station is located. The access road is wide and feeling relatively comfortable that it was ‘safe’, she rode in the Honda and we were connected by cell phones.

          Me: “Going to put the brakes on”

          Paula: “Looks good, the pedal went up and down nicely!”

          Me: “Ok, this time I’m going to put it on harder”

          Paula: “Ready!”

          Paula: “Worked great again!”

          Paula: “Now get me  outta here!”

          We stopped before we got on the main road and Paula got back in the motorhome for the rest of the ride back to our parking spot. Relieved that the system worked nicely, we were able to put that issue out of our minds. Good thing we could because the weather was getting dicey and that was enough to worry about all by itself.

          All in all, we spent about an hour between the snow on the roof and hooking up the Honda. Then stopping relatively frequently in the next hour to get out and check things made us were run later than we had wanted to. The morning got better as we drove along, and we stopped at Bucees (!) to fill the tank and our bellies with fuel and Breakfast Tacos! (we ate the Tacos; the fuel was for Big Foot).

          The rest of the day was spent trying to get out of Texas.

           It’s hard to get out of Texas.

           Unless you live relatively close to a State Border.

           Otherwise,  it takes days to exit. We made it to a rest stop on Interstate 10 in West Texas by 4:30 pm after driving almost 600 miles, and we still had an additional 200 miles to go before we got to New Mexico! Incidentally, this is the same stretch of highway that just last week, I spent an inordinate amount of time stuck on because of….. SNOW!

          Maybe we should have planned to winter in Alaska.

Next Post will be from sunny Tucson! (Hopefully!)

or

How I spent New Year’s Eve with Tom Bodet at Motel 6

I seem to have an affinity for finding Terrorist Organizations to hold me hostage.

          I think that my definition of a Terrorist Origination would be apropos here. In my mind, that Organization has a power that they wield indiscriminately and without any caring. You are at their mercy, and powerless to do anything about your situation as an individual. They may strike at any time. Usually, with an outcome that is less than desirable, and for which, there is never an apology, for in their eyes, they have done nothing wrong.

          The first, and most obvious one, is the NJDOT, with whom I had the displeasure of dealing with when we sold the Chatterbox.

          My latest hostage crisis commenced the day after Christmas at the airport in Houston. I was innocently waiting there to board an aircraft that would take me to Denver where there would be an hour plus layover before the next leg of my journey that would hopefully end in Durango. I say hopefully because there was one time, a few years ago that, had I not informed the Flight Attendant that we were going the wrong way, we would have landed in Grand Junction, Colorado instead of Durango.

           How could this be, you may ask?

          The answer is simple, but scary.

          I was sitting at the gate where there was one of the flight crew waiting also. Another member of a different crew showed up and I was able to overhear their conversation. It seems that here was to be a change in their assignments, namely, Grand Junction and Durango.

          Don’t know why and don’t really care except that someone forgot to tell somebody about something.

          Sounds confusing?

          Hey, I’m just the guy sitting and listening. Mind you, I have no idea at this point that what I’ve overheard will have any bearing on my situation. We board the aircraft, a smaller regional jet because the flight takes only 45 minutes from wheels-up to landing. I always get a window seat on the right-hand side of the aircraft because that offers the best view  flying southbound from Denver to Durango. There are nice valleys, the Flatiron Range is pretty to see behind Denver and then  the peaks of the San Juan’s  come into view. We took off and started to fly due west. I know this because we were immediately over the mountains, none of the usual scenery unfolded below me. Maybe they are going different route and will turn southward soon, I said to myself.      

Nope.

          Westward we fly.

           I now recall the conversation about the crew swap that I overheard at the gate. These guys think they’re going to Grand Junction! That is the only logical explanation.  By now I’m getting agitated because I can just picture the scenario in Grand Junction:

          “Good afternoon Ladies and gentlemen, there has been a slight mix-up and we are now in Grand Junction instead of Durango. Unfortunately, we cannot take off and deliver you to Durango, because this aircraft needs to be delivered back to Denver for its next leg. The airline will be happy to arrange whatever alternative transportation you would like for you to get to your final destination of Durango. Thanks for flying the Friendly Skies and we apologize for any inconvenience”.

          That is what I was afraid of hearing as I watched the unfamiliar landscape unfurl below as we flew further and further westward over the Rockies.  I said to my seatmate, “We’re going the wrong way.” He just kind of looked at me as I tried to explain what I thought was happening. He was mildly interested or amused; I can’t tell which.

          I finally couldn’t hold it in  anymore and signaled for the Flight Attendant. I told her we were going the wrong way. Her look was a tad on the incredulous side as you may imagine. I explained about the conversation that I had overheard at the gate. She looked at me with a “What do you want me to do about it,” look on her face.

          I asked her just to please, check with the Flight Deck and confirm that we are indeed in route to Durango, not Grand Junction. She breathed that “Ok, just to humor you” sigh, and walked to the front and picked up the phone that communicates with the cockpit. I saw her glance back at me as she spoke intro the receiver and they had a back-and-forth conversation for a few minutes. About 30 seconds after she hung up, we banked and turned 90 degrees to the left and headed southward. I know the geography over that way from driving that part of the state. I watched Telluride slide beneath us as the course correction was made . We came into Durango over a half hour late and our approach was from the West.

          I don’t know.

          Somebody has to pay attention to what is going on!

In the immortal words of that sports guy on TV, “You make the call.”

          Anyway, as you can tell, my confidence has been severely eroded.          As I stood there waiting for my first leg that would get me to Denver, the Gate Attendant got on the PA and announced, “Good Morning. Flight ### to Denver will be delayed for a few minutes as we are awaiting the arrival of one of the Flight Attendants. We are not permitted to start the boarding process until the full complement of crew is aboard. We apologize for the delay, and we should start the process soon.”

          As you can imagine, the collective groan from the Gate was definitely audible. The first thing that goes through your mind, at this time, is my ‘connection’. That dirty word that gives us all a reason for Xanax.

          We all wait patiently.

           No that is a lie.

          We all waited impatiently for the next announcement. In the meantime, I receive an auto-text from United. ‘Hi! We’re excited to have you on board with us today. Unfortunately, there will be a slight delay in your boarding time. We will have you on your way shortly. Thanks for choosing United.’

          What a load of crap.

          Now the next announcement from the overly-friendly-not-really-sincere-because-my-shift-is over-soon gate attendant “Good morning, Unfortunately, we have not yet located replacement for the crew member. We anticipate that there will be at least another half-hour delay. We apologize sincerely for any yada-yada-yada…..”

          Then another text message from Miss Auto-United-Text-Maker.

          This post is already too long and there is still a way to go so I’m going to ‘cut to the chase’ Two and a half hours later, they finally scrape up, twist as many arms as needed, or threatened other crew members from arriving flights to work this one. It turns out that, in the beginning, there were zero flight attendants for this flight on board.

          By now, I’ve taken my Xanax because I’ve definitely missed my connection to Durango. So now there is no way that I’m going to trust anyone to re-book me. They’d probably send me to Grand Junction. I got on my phone, located the next flight out of Denver to Durango and booked it. I would worry about the refund for my original flight later. I just wanted a seat!

          We finally board our aircraft, usual process, and are now waiting to push back from the gate. Mind you, this plane has been sitting there for two plus hours and everyone on the ground crew knows that it is late.

          Here it comes: “Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, it seems that Murphy is working against us today. Someone on the ground crew reassigned the tug that would normally have pushed us back to another flight. It shouldn’t be long, maybe ten minutes or so and then we’ll have you on your way. Thanks for your patience and understanding. We apologize for any inconvenience.”

          You can’t make this stuff up.

          I looked at my watch and tried to do the math with a one-hour time difference. It’s going to be close. We landed in Denver and with Covid making disembarking a different process, my turn has to wait. I finally get onto the concourse and start the jog to my next gate which, of course, is at the absolute last, ‘end of the world’ gate.

           It always is.

          I flag down one of those jitney drivers and implore him to ‘step on it’ as I regale him with my tale of woes. His reply was re-assuring, and he was possibly the only person that I encountered that day with any sense of urgency.

          “Don’t you worry Sir; I won’t even stop for anyone else. This is a direct non-stop flight to your gate!” Horn beeping, old ladies and their walkers jettisoned, and passengers being run over, we zoomed through the crowds in a way that would have made Moses proud as he parted the Red Sea. Screeching to halt in front of my gate I hear, “Durango! Durango! Hey, you goin’ to Durango?  I tried my best to get the boarding pass up on my phone as the groundcrew guy waited (?) to push me forward. As soon as I boarded, he closed the door and saluted the crew.

          I was aboard.

          Thankfully, the days spent with my daughter Lorelyn, and her husband, Travis were really nice. It was a great visit, I helped with some projects and was able to get an ‘Ancestral Puebloan’s’  expedition in. There will be photos in a subsequent post.

          Five days later I am back at Durango Airport to get my next flight to Denver. The day is cold and crisp, not a cloud in the sky, perfect for flying. We are the first flight of the day and fortunately , we don’t have to wait for an aircraft to arrive to get us. The last flight from the previous night is still there, waiting patiently for us.

          With frosty wings.

          I looked out at it basking there in the morning sunlight and said to myself, “We are going to have to be de-iced.” A fairly normal procedure.

          We boarded without any issues and waited.

          You know what’s coming next.

          “Good morning ladies and gentlemen, there will be slight delay as we get de-iced. It should only take about ten minutes or so and then we’ll be on our way. We apologize for any inconvenience.”

          Now I’m not worried much, yet. I have 90 minutes between flights, so I should be ok. Now mind you, no one flies from Durango to Denver for fun, they all need to make … here it comes…. ‘a connection’.

          As we watched the de-icing guy do his thing, I wondered why the delay. I knew it need to be de-iced, why wasn’t the crew ready to do this process sooner? Who knows?

          When the de-icing was complete, we just sat there.

           Ok, now what’s wrong?

          We sit there a while longer.

          Now the Captain gets on the PA, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we seem to have a small mechanical malfunction in the starter motor for one of the engines. We’re going to cycle through the start-up sequence again and see if that fix’s it. If not, we will need to call on of our on-call contactors or fly someone in on the next flight from Denver to fix it.”

          Ok, that’s it, I’m done.

          The passengers started talking amongst ourselves, and the lady across from me asked, “If I was going to drive to Denver” I guess hoping to get a few of us together and carpool. I replied, “No mam, I’m going to rent a f##king car and drive to Houston.” She just nodded.

          The flight attendant, sensing that a riot was about to break out, tried her best to keep cool. She looked at me and I said to her. “Just get me off of this plane.” There was not a smile or anything like it in my voice. She gulped and nodded also.

          Inside I went to the Gate Attendant and said, “Cancel my flight and give me a refund.”
 Five minutes later I was at the Enterprise Rental Counter.

“Good Morning Sir, how are you today?”

          “I was fine until United screwed me for the last time. Do you have any Maserati’s or Lamborghini’s to rent? He laughed, “All I have is a Nissan Versa”

          “I’ll take it.”

          I got into my new best friend, Miss Versa, and went back to my daughters’ where she set me up with snacks and supplies for the two-day drive back to Texas. If you have only lived on the East Coast and driven around there, you have no concept of how gigantic some of our Western States are.  To drive across Texas is a two-day affair, its 1000 miles from East to West. This particular trip was 16 hours of driving.

          I started out at around 11 AM and drove down into New Mexico, finally on my way back home. The drive southward was just incredible, see photos attached.

There was a time that I drove for 75 miles with no one in front of me or behind me. I took this opportunity to play ‘Slot-Car Driver’ and stay in the exact middle of the road, leaving plenty of room on either side for unanticipated course-corrections. There are no lights, and it is REALLY  dark!

          I finished the day in Roswell, home of the infamous UFO sighting in 1947, at around 7 PM New Year’s Eve. Tom Bodet was at Motel 6 waiting for me, yes, with the light on.

          I awoke at 3 AM and was back on the road by 3:15, obviously with the road all to myself. I hit Interstate 10 in Texas at 8 AM, sailing along at 80 MPH, which by the way, is the speed limit. The weather was just gorgeous, not a cloud in the sky and a brisk 14 degrees. But apparently a swift-moving system brought about 10 inches of beautiful white fluffy stuff down the night before, please note how nice it was in the photo.

          The only downside is that they are not really skilled at clearing the roads from inclement weather down there.

          Screeching to halt about 20 miles onto the highway, I could sense that this was not a good scenario.

          I was correct.

          You know, when you sit on a highway, not moving, you notice lots of things, like the poor lady in front of me that probably had way too many cups of coffee that morning and never intended to spend that much time without a bathroom. Yup, she needed one three times! Her husband would judiciously open both driver-side doors and stand guard as she went in between them. Or the truck driver who decided to clean out his rig while hanging out of it. He was not the only thing hanging out, check the accompanying photo. I couldn’t resist.

          After sitting in the exact same spot for 3 plus hours, we finally started moving. Up ahead, the carnage on the road was still evident. 18-wheelers all askew, one car upside down, and numerous other vehicles just parked and left there.

          But it was still a beautiful day!

          Needless to say, a three-hour delay never turns into 3 hours on the other end. For some reason it always seems to work like high school math and at least square itself. I finally rolled into Brenham a little after 8 PM.

           I was scheduled to arrive in the early afternoon.

          It kind of reminded me of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.

          I’m not sure if I was Steve Martin or John Candy.