Outtakes, Leg 1

Lovely, lovely Houston

Houston, Texas
Where I learned about the most mean spirited toll roads ever, offering no options but to exit into the unknown...and you might just get a ticket in the mail (which I did not, thank goodness). This is also the last place toll roads were included in my map searches. Turns out you can travel 9,000 miles without hitting a toll road at all.

Rootin Tootin Dallas Ft. Worth

Houston, Texas AirBNB
My most gruesome injury of the trip, a Florida shaped bruise up my leg, from splatting on the floor, trying to find the Host to let me out so I could visit my libraries. There are few things I can do as well as I did as a young teen, but it seems I can still fall like a massive, wet, green frog, much like I did at our first dress rehearsal of Alice in Wonderland when I tried to sprint across the stage in flippers. I was 14, a Frog Footman, and furiously humiliated. It seems the muscle memory is the same, as I blushed madly all these decades later even though there was no one there to witness my clumsy shame.

Chic and shiny Austin

Big Bend

Pretty, pretty Roswell

Bottomless Lakes Campground
When I drove up to the campsite host trailers, no one was at the On Duty station, so I rolled to the second, where an older man was sunning right by his Off Duty sign. He looked at me and mouthed something awfully not nice, but was willing to help after he realized the other host was MIA. It's funny that anyone would think the average person couldn't lipread MOTHERFUCKER. But I can.

Magical New Mexico

Magdalena, New Mexico (AirBNB)
When I shopped for supplies at the Albuquerque Wal-Mart, I was so overexcited by the idea of having a kitchen and endless, luxurious time, that I bought a week's worth of food when I really only needed a few days. Like, what did I think I was going to do with an entire box of Frosted Flakes?

Canyons de Chelly, Forests so petrified, doggy butts

Grand Canyon, Meteor Crater, Flagstaffian Library Lodge

Grand Canyon Campsite
I blame the children, always. But in this case, it is definitely their fault since they distracted me. The family that came in the night before I had to leave were up bright and early and the kids were climbing the trees around their campsite (and mine) as I busied myself with breaking down the tent and packing up. We started talking about climbing trees, visiting the canyon, and where they were from and planned to visit on the way back, and I totally forgot I put my flashlight, pill case, and ax on top of my car...until I took the first hard turn and all but the ax (sturdy, heavy thing) went flying off the roof and smashed to the pavement. The flashlight survived. The pill case did not. I spent the rest of the trip taking medicine from individual pill bottles like an animal.
Flagstaff, Arizona
Home of Assholes on Bikes Who Do Not Look Where They are Going and Giant Falcons or Perhaps Pterodactyls Who Crap on Your Car in the Night. Not really an "outtake" as much as a state of existence. A pretty but perilous place.

Cali 1

Arizona/California Border
I cannot explain why, when asked if I had fruit in the car, I felt compelled to tell the truth (yes), but then lied (saying I had one apple when I had two) and then lied even further (when he said, oh from a Flagstaff hotel probably and I said yes even though it was from an Albuquerque Wal-Mart). As though I'd been caught with live parrots tucked in my bra?

Cali 2

Post Flagstaff
The Cooler of Shame and Failure. I tried keeping up with the ice, but it wasn't enough of a priority and also makes that one jar of grape jelly go from a somewhat reasonable price to the most deluxe, gold flaked tumbler of Smuckers to ever be acquired at auction. It works best if you are camping a lot and know you are going to go through your goods in a matter of days, but it is not a long term option. I ended up trashing more than I'd care to remember and, as you can imagine, any kind of waste during these post-employment months is irritating and regrettable. I do admit that 90% of the problem is me!

Toothy Utah

All States, Including Mental
Car Sleeping--it can be done! And quite peacefully and effectively. But it took me awhile to build up the nerve to do it at all and I did opt out a few times when I planned to sleep in the car and either chickened out or thought it would be too cold. Considering the savings, I would obviously far prefer car sleeping over everything else. I am sure there are other sub-outtakes in this category, all likely involving nearly falling into toilets at 3 a.m., sleep blurry and freezing, or trying to guesstimate how many people saw me with my mouth agape and nose pressed against the back window, but we'll have to leave that to our imagination.

Rocky Mountain HIIIIIIIGH, Colorado. I really did think I'd see people smoking pot out in public but no dice, man.

Flagstaff, Arizona to Black Rock Campground (Joshua Tree National Park, California) - 354 mi. +

I wasn't really bummed about not getting to sleep in the tent one last time for this first leg of my mega trip. I can now put up the tent in 10-15 minutes and the novelty has worn off. As much as car sleeping has its disadvantages when the wind and temp are not in my favor, it is actually very cozy and comfortable and I can sleep really well most of the time. This is good news since my trip concludes with a trek back through all the states between me and Luna, who I already love (and fams, ya), and only one of those stops is at an AirBNB (Colorado Springs). The rest are car sleeps.

It was far too dark to put up a tent once I arrived at Joshua Tree National Park, so I rolled into my campsite, took the flashlight and toiletries, and headed toward the bathroom to ready myself for a nice, long car sleep. The facility was fine, though more beat up that previous camps, and I ran into several groups of youths who looked like they took a wrong turn from Coachella. I was only at Black Rock that night and left at 6:30 the next morning, but I didn't see anyone older than me while I was there. Oh, and that whole "quiet hours" thing? Not really a thing at Joshua Tree...at least not the one, single, very small sampling so no judgments should be made, night that I was there. There was lots of screaming and cackling and probably fire dancing but I had my barriers up so hell if I know.

Funny enough, the noise fit with the trees in the backdrop and all their creepy tentacleyness--add the stars and the flickering light from all the campfires and it all seemed about right with the cackles and shrieks. Plus it was a long drive and I was tired--it took very little time to fall asleep.

Why was it a long drive? Remember the aforementioned crapfest of Arizona highways leading to the Grand Canyon? I had to take that route again to get to California. I was thinking of stopping by some more sights down near Sedona, but I knew it would take me too long and I would definitely not make camp by nightfall if I tried. So, back on the "rough road" I went, though I guess at least this time I knew what to expect.

The drive is still pretty--lots of mountain forest trees and serene valleys in between all those peaks--but something went awry along the way. Google Map Woman, ever the trickster, told me to get off 40W (a real highway) and take County Route 66, which I did, though I always feel less comfortable on those tiny highways...if you pop a tire on 40W, AAA will find you. If you pop a tire on County Rt. 66, a werewolf will find you.

I drove for maybe 20 miles when I came to the end of the road: Closed for repairs. Take the detour, it says. Remember those freaky stories they made us read in high school, especially the ones where Puritans run amok and do bad things, especially in forests where evil always dwells (cover of night, yadda yadda, see "Young Goodman Brown," Hawthorne)? That was this godforsaken "detour." Of course.

It was as though the desert leeched every last drop of moisture out of the asphalt and it had started to crumble apart, perhaps to eventually crackle back to gravel and then dust. If I managed to pop a tire out here? Forget the werewolf. This was wendigo country. This was Satan with a whip wonderland.

The funniest part of all? It led me back to 40E/W...so, a loop. HA HA HA. Ha. I determined I should just figure out a new way, so pulled over at the next rest stop. After a little research, I decided to go further west to Barstow, then hook south on 247. It would be a longer journey, but I would still manage to make it to the campground before dark, though just barely.

Sooo, Barstow. Ever been? Don't. It was 95 degrees when I stopped in Barstow to get gas, and every surface looked sun blasted and bleached of all life. Remember my Sim City 2000 seminar? Barstow is a town that appears to be 80% industry...chain link fences, long warehouses, and debris, debris, debris. It instantly reminded me of the way Stephen King and Peter Straub described Oatley, New York, the fictional town our young hero, Jack, gets waylaid in on his journey across the states in The Talisman.

It is as though some places are out of tune with the rest of the world and the minute you arrive your hackles go up and you can't help but be on high alert. Just like there are "Feel Bad" movies (Eraserhead, Dead Ringers), there are "Feel Bad" towns. I am sure King and Straub were thinking of specific places when they made up "Oatley." Very considerate, not naming names.

Barstow: Avoid. Not sorry at all.

By the time I got to Joshua Tree there was just enough light to check the main board at the Black Rock ranger station to figure out where my camp was...after I finished up in the bathroom, and nodded goodnights to the firedancing hooligans, I settled in for the night and vowed to find a Starbucks the next morning, touchstones and talismans in our little worlds.

Flagstaff City-Coconino County Public Library, Flagstaff, Arizona

Can we all just agree that everything should be made in the image of a ski lodge and have done with it?

As a certified victim of Terrible 80s B Movies, I totally bought into the idea of skiing and all its accouterments to be the summit of human achievement and acquisition. If you and your family ski, have skied, or go skiing on the reg, you have Made It. And also I hate you.

I've recovered from my venomous jealousy honed to stabby perfection back in the 80s (especially at Isely, a place I loved but taught me about Jordache Jeans, Tupperware lunchboxes, and a level of covetousness so depraved there should be a supervillain conjured in its honor. I suggest Envious Evy, "She'll Bitchslap that Bubblegum Lipsmackers Right Off Your Face"...we'll work on the tagline), but I'll never really be over that ski lodge aesthetic, especially since it often combines with my much beloved Tudor designs.

The Flagstaff City-Coconino County Public Library is huge and very, very lodge-y. With snow capped mountains in the distance, it makes complete sense, and as a library I was very into it. I found a space near the window to set up shop and stayed there for several hours. I was pretty tired (as I've mentioned) but the act of writing managed to perk me up a bit and, no doubt, that lovely building made a difference, too. I got so used to the Barnes & Noble but especially Borders aesthetics that the oldster lodge feel seemed fresh and new.

Since Flagstaff itself is a sort of international house of pancakes (I haven't heard such a wide variety of languages since leaving NYC), it stood to reason that I would not be the only tourist utilizing the space. People from all walks were there to take advantage first and foremost of the free wifi, while many others were set about research, writing (like me), or looking for books or DVDs to borrow (locals). It was a very busy library.

With it's temperate climate and influx of tourism and dollars, it should be no surprize that Flagstaff has a burgeoning homeless population. Almost all of the indigent people I witnessed were very, very young, as well--early twenties and teens. They were stationed at the usual spots (by entrances/exits for freeways, Wal Marts, food shops) but there was also a small group gathered at the library. This particular group seemed to know each other and were, at least in part, representative of kids living, half-living, or fleeing foster situations. One girl in particular was looking for a place to stay that night and seemed to know a lot of people that came and went that afternoon. She looked about 16, but as a person who looked 30 at 16, I couldn't really say for sure.

I am staying with my mother while I figure out my Next Chapter (yes, we must say it in caps), and my licence says I live at her address, so technically I am not "homeless." But I am aware that this is a temporary situation completely dependent on my mother's good will and whatever decisions I make next. I don't have a mortgage and I don't pay rent. And right now, my car is my home in many ways. It probably sounds dorky as hell, but I am grateful for it every time I unlock the door and get behind the wheel. It is an incredible luxury to have a car and to have the ability to go where I want when I want and to be at the beck and call of exactly NO ONE.

For now.

I've mentioned the incident at the main library in Wichita, which was the beginning of my trepidation about homeless people (and let's be clear, 99.9% of my fear is directed toward men), but my fear intensified into something even more personal after living in New York, and especially after living as a "functional" alcoholic for six solid years. When I was spiraling, I could not help but see myself in their shoes. After all, the "functional" part can't last, can it? I would watch shows featuring alcoholics and cling to the idea that sure, that could be me, too (I am thinking of Meredith on The Office, but there are so many more). Surely I won't end up like that homeless woman by the Flatiron, right? It couldn't really happen? But in the brittle morning light, hungover and watching her antics as I fled toward work and away from the Truth of her, I knew it was a lie.

Speaking of The Office--love that show. LOVE it. But it's portrayal of Meredith the "Functional Alcoholic" was a disservice to the problem and all the people who suffer from it. I found her last appearance in the show (the finale, "oh let's all toast to the future and ha ha Meredith still has a bottle in her desk") both delusional and grotesque.

The fear is still there. Obviously from that first encounter when I was a teen in my own hometown main library...but the fear that grew in NYC (alcoholic reflections and all that) has turned into something else now. I no longer have that anchor around my neck, and things are so much clearer and controlled, but it also means that this is really It. This is the best version of me I have to offer...and whatever I decide to do with that, what if it is not good enough? Where will that lead me? Not down the dark path I've tread before, not if I can help it. But where?

I don't look at the homeless as a group of people who can't get jobs--if only it were that simple. I know that they are, for the most part, the uncared-for mentally ill cast out to survive (or not) on their own. And a portion of them (with obvious overlaps) are suffering from alcohol and drug addiction. But this is where catastrophic thinking takes me...and my creative slant fills in the all the color and depth to where it becomes this 3D Reality that is impossible to completely shake off.

Plus I hate relying on anyone but myself--and I hate asking for help. The only person I'm comfortable relying upon to any degree is my mother...and that's because she owes me $5.

Cough it up, lady.