Tucson, Arizona to Unnamed Rest Area on I-40, back to Petrified Forest National Park (410 miles)

[All pictures throughout are from the Petrified Forest, April 15, 2017]

When I left Mission I picked up a Starbucks (venti iced coffee, cream, no sugar), made sure my Google Map Woman was ready to go, and started the journey. We had to travel through Tucson to get to the open highway, but it was going to be a relatively short trip and I was really looking forward to driving through the Tonto and Apache-Sitgreaves National Forests on the way to my ultimate destination for the night: Unnamed Rest Area near the Arizona-New Mexico border. Google Map Woman had already told me I wouldn't have to make any changes to direction for another 100 miles but I'd left the sound on so I would have relative silence until I was out of the city. Out of the blue, Google Map Woman says take this exit. Being a lemming, I trusted her. Unlike Michael Scott (or countless others) I did not let her take me too far off path (maybe 2 miles) before I pulled over and looked to see what she was up to. Avoiding accidents? A closed road? Had the Critters finally landed to chew through all our ankles?

No. She just decided to take me on an alternate route that likely would have shaved time off (at that particular moment of that particular day) but would have completely missed the parks and the whole point of the journey. So, word to the wise: She's tricky. Watch her. She will also abandon you in the middle of a trip out in the middle of nowhere (she declared we had arrived at Canyon de Chelly when it was still about 50 miles away).

There was a bit of name calling and vowing vengeance--though not against this fictitious "woman"--it was directed at the fine programmers at Google who came up with this incredibly sophisticated and FREE program I've been using to get just about everywhere over this past month. Yes, I am aware. I think I was just overdue for a yelling so I had one.

The drive was beautiful and worth the reroute to ensure I would not miss it. Lots of mountain driving and exciting hills to wheeee down. I saw my first emergency stop road (so common around the Rockies) and it gave me chills thinking of this poor trucker holding on for dear life until s/he can find this narrow strip of nothing to incline just enough to slow down to a stop. It makes you think twice about your own brakes.

Speaking of which, Rogue update! Things I like about her:

1. Everything. She's so pretty. Interior, exterior. The Rogue still feels bucks deluxe to me even though it is a very reasonably priced car. She handles well, takes curves well, and brakes effectively. The pick up is weak, but I knew that going in (it's in the reviews) so would never count that against her. 

Considering that it is spring, the Rogue been encrusted with bugs several times over at this point (she's a true horror show as we speak). I've taken her to get washed a couple of times but all it takes is one short jaunt on the highway to collect new specimens for the bug guts gallery.

Which leads me to the one and only thing I don't like about the car: The windshield wipers are shit. No matter how much spraying and wiping I do, everything just gets smeared around in a virtual bugguts smorgasbord of gooey delights, which I am sure birds and other bugs find delizioso, but I find grody to the max and also I can't see. Especially at night. Unfortunately, this didn't start because of the travel--they sucked from the get go. I thought maybe they were new wipers and just had to work out some stiffness but no. They just suck.

This is where the wood starts showing up. See the weirdness?

Anyway, I love the idea that this little Rogue sat on the lot in Wichita, Kansas, accumulating 60 miles of test drives and moving from one part of the lot to another, being passed over again and again until I found her, online, the night before I snapped her up because for as long as I knew I wanted a Rogue above all others, I also envisioned what it would look like (white with tan interior). And even as I struggled to just BECOOLBECOOLBECOOL on the lot, it didn't really matter anyway because the online special price was a big discount and that was that--take it or leave it. So I took it.

And isn't it cool that she got to break free from that sad lot on the Eastern edge of town, sitting in the sun, rain, snow, day after day, until I busted her out of the joint and now her first job is to go adventuring??? OMG.

Relax. I could anthropomorphize a postage stamp. I can and will make you see my car as a free and happy girl galloping across the Wild West. I saw horses today, by the way. They had busted loose and someone was trying to wrangle them from his truck. They were right near the highway (65 mph) so I was worried for them, but you also have to love how horses will turn on you, beast of burden or not, and just whip that head around and sprint in the opposite direction.

Anyway, the Rogue is also not insulated like a house, so car sleeping that night was my first taste of true misery on the road. It was so, fucking, cold. Like, to the bone cold. Like, get up and use the facilities 50 times cold. Like, shiver awake sometime around 3 a.m., and turn on the engine and just sit there red-eyed and pitiful, knowing you have to sleep dammit, because tomorrow is a big driving day dammit, figure something out dammit. And I did, finally, pulling the sleeping bag from the storage compartments to add to the covers I already had (sheet, blanket, coat). The blanket in question was one I counted on to work too well in the past, so my bullheaded beliefs led me to this sad, 3 a.m. predicament. I was also attempting to keep the bedding semi-separated: fitted sheet, sheet, and big blanket for the car, sleeping bag for the tent and the big blanket if needed. Boy has that ever gone out the window. More on that later.

Finally, zipped up in the bag and covered with the blanket, I was warm enough to sleep. I got up early and reached the Petrified National Forest just as it opened for the day (8 a.m.). The petrified forest is cool and very chillax--the first part is all about the painted desert around it--special erosion in Arizona's werido climate unveiled the striations of different soils. You can drive through the park and look at different points of interest. There are hiking trails, too, if that's your thing.

SHINY

 The best part was of course the petrified "forest" which is a gathering of dead logs concentrated in one particular part of the park (though they can be found throughout). It's fascinating to see what the process of petrification can do to a simple organic object. Some looked like weird meat. Mystery meat from hot lunch, remember? Some looked like fruitcake. Others were shiny like geodes and of course those were my favorites. I took way more pictures than what I've shared here. I am trying to isolate what was best from the park and I hope I succeeded in some part.

I got some spectacular bug bites at the Petrified Forest--there are some truly evil beasts that reside there, and I guess they don't take kindly to the visage of their brethren caked on the front of my car. These were not mosquito bites, either. I think they were fly bites. You know the demon, stripey ones? These don't blow up like mosquito bites, but they itch forever. Luckily, the trick someone taught me--I cannot remember who, so take the credit as you like!--really does work for every kind of bite: Burn it. Some use matchsticks, but I make really hot water (not boiling), dip a tissue in it, and press the hot tissue to the bite area. It hurts, but it's temporary, and it neutralizes the itch completely. And you won't scar from it as long as you're not a dumbass. Like, don't pour boiling water over your legs and cry foul, chickadees.

As I completed my tour of the peaceful but bitey Petrified Forest, I tried to rally, knowing it would be a long day of driving (lots of zipping to and fro across Arizona). The night before had put me in a bit of a funk, but the next stop would heal much of my grouchiness.

To be continued...

Mystery meat on a bed of spring sprouts. Tell me you don't see it.