My first impression of Chicago? Holy Batman, look at them potholes! If you don’t, your car bumps, bleeps and yells at you. Upon sharing my amusement with a local, he whispers, “well, Chicago’s still a bit corrupt.” And I think again of Boston … as I’d been walking earlier, I kept picking up silent allusions to Boston (a building, a scene, lots of brick, etc.) and here’s another link I write down in my mental notebook. In Boston, the word on the streets has been that the Big Dig failed in large part due to mob involvement and I wonder if there’s a similar link between construction and corruption here in Chicago. On a funny note, while doing a quick search to confirm the spelling of potheads and potholes (all one word or hyphenated) I stumble on a funny memoir about a man who dedicates 8 years of his life to cataloging all of IL potholes, discovers new passion in his life and falls in love. Individually, they are evil, but as a collective whole, they can be good. Does that substantiate the theory of emergence? I’ll spare you a fanatic rant on emergence for the time being … but if you haven’t heard of it, I highly recommend checking it out.

Luckily, it snowed last night so the potholes will be temporarily packed and forgotten about. I also got several recommendations from some locals yesterday, so looking forward to an exciting Tuesday!

• Rock and Roll McDonald’s - yesterday
• Wicker Park - yesterday
• Ice Skating in Millenium Park - today
• Free Museums on Tuesday - today
• Hotdog Stand - today
• Drinks on 98th floor of Hancock Building - today or tomorrow
• Call Heather (friend of a stranger) for lunch or shopping - today or tomorrow
• Pick up film and compare proofs against film, settings and filters - tomorrow

TALK-ACTION=0

Alas, the high elevations have eroded my immune system. Or perhaps it’s the jerky and sunflower seed diet. Or unhygenic food service workers. Or suspicious hostel kitchen and bathroom. Or just plain winter boohoo.

Whatever it is, I’ve been nursing an achy neck, runny throat (you know, when the snot rolls out the back of your nose and not the nostrils) since my second afternoon in Santa Fe. Lovely, yes, and your welcome for sharing. It’s partly why I lost patience with Amarillo in less than one night and essentially skipped it. (Except for the Big Texan, where folks with trained stomachs can try for a free 72oz steak if they eat it all in under an hour.)

Oklahoma City is gemstone in a closed mine. Supposedly it’s only deserted because it’s Monday, but I heard that same excuse in Amarillo for Sunday, so I’m suspicious. Despite few cars on the roads and barren sidewalks, I manage my best conversations in days with a couple of homeless and another couple visiting from Washington. (I think this is the city after an atomic bomb and we are the few survivors … there aren’t many, but we’re all friendly with each other.) OK city boasts scenic parks, waterway and various districts, my favorite being Bricktown.

Now I sit in Witchita Kansas, where I’ve just found that I have bonus points I can redeem for a free night at the local Holiday Inn - and I may just skip the local hoopla (of which there isn’t much again - suprise) - for a good dose of Nyquil.

PS. Oklahoma and Kansas have won the #1 Sunset Award for the trip so far. Their scenery and night lives may be dull, but their skies know how to put on a good show.

PPS. Blame the sickness for all poor grammar and spelling.

If you can believe it, I spent my first night at a hostel in Flagstaff - and it was a BLAST. After spending my next night at another hostel in Albuquerque, turns out I hit gold on my first strike. Second strike - not so much.

The fun started when I walked through the door and chatted up two Austrians, who were predominantly proud of “Ahnold” and had never seen “The Sound of Music”.  We then bumped into two funny, and cute, Hollanders (or Dutch or Netherlanders … take your pick) that the Austrians met in a San Diego hostel. I’d walked into, and helped create, instant community, and for the remainder of the night sparked esoteric conversations peppered with Q&A on culture and America’s dominance of TV and entertainment around the globe.

Through the course of the evening, which included testing a local brewery (not so great) and passing around a new backpacking guitar I purchased earlier that day (as my old guitar was broken in Tucson),  I’d met a stylish architecture student from Perth (whose knit mohawk hat I coveted), a couple from Austria and Australia, a woman traveling the US in search of an architecture job (from New Zealand), a younger girl from Japan touring the US on her own (who spoke better English than she gave herself credit for) and a handful of colorful locals.

Some interesting tidbits: the international youth prefer facebook over myspace (3-0), no Austrian wants to watch Sound of Music even though we consider it a classic,  women enjoy traveling solo.

Prior to the hostel I’d already had a great run of luck in town. First, while looking for a warmer and snugger fit pair of jeans, I befriended Monica (with seductive brown eyes and a flair for fashion) who referred me to Mountain Oasis. At the restaurant (where I had my best meal in days), I swapped info with the waitress who’s looking into traveling up the west coast and through Portland this summer.

In short, I absolutely loved Flagstaff - which is a good thing since I have to come back to pick up my guitar that’s getting fixed (hence the new, small guitar). By April the snow should be gone, making it a perfect time to catch a glimpse of the Grand Canyon too.

Albuquerque, on the other hand … well, I just haven’t stumbled on the people that make a place stand out and great. So I’m checking out and going to try my third hostel in Santa Fe and give New Mexico one more chance to show off.

U-Turns

Lesson of the Day: a u-turn keeps you moving forward (not backwards)

As I’m dashing out of Tucson, I intend on swinging by the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum before driving down to Bisbee, where I’ll follow the border over to Texas along my pre-planned route.

By the time I’m finished with the museum (which is a zoo crossed with an arboretum: GO HERE when you can - you’ll love it!) I’m exhausted and spend some time checking my missed calls and messages. Michelle writes to remind me that Austin’s music festival is HUGE and if I can swing it, I should reconsider making it. Several friends have left messages to check on my situation with Kyle. Kyle has questioned if I’m alive and still in town.

I decide that I don’t want to speak for the remainder of the day. (Aside: more to explore on silence as communication vs isolation.) And I decide to turn around and head back the way I came - all the way to Phoenix and beyond. I don’t know how far I’ll make it and even though I’ve done this drive before, it’s almost comforting to travel through the same landscape. Now I can use all my energy to digest and process the past 6 months and last night.

A KOA near Black Canyon appeals to me as a cheap alternative, after having to fork over nearly $200 for an “emergency” hotel stay last night. $23 bucks and a few laps around the lot later, I’m re-arranging the insides of my car to make a bed in the passenger seat. Why not lay out under the milky-way? The black sky with sprinkled Christmas lights comforts me: I can be alone in silence and remain a part of a large universe. But the creepy-crawlies from the desert museum have me scared of sleeping outside and the wind has an unnerving way of rustling the trash can so I can’t tell what’s running around and about to attack. I finally nestle in my new sleeping bag with my Maglite. This turning around feels right.

After a rejuvenating morning work out, I give myself a tour of this tiny town. My plan is to find a non-interstate route up to Flagstaff - and maybe get close to the Grand Canyon. A friendly woman at the mart tells me she doesn’t think there are any other ways to get there, except maybe an old road that’s likely impassable by car.

Hm… I find this back road (Old Black Canyon Highway) and after a short few miles I make my first u-turn after a sign reading: Tell ADOT No to Freeway in Canyon. And the itch scatters in - when I realize that I have to go backwards and lose ground, lose time. Resigned, I head for I-17 and take the next exit with a brown (recreational) sign for Bumblebee and Wild Horse Canyon. The pavement ends immediately and I’m excited to be driving on the gravel roads of my youth. OK, these are a bit more rugged and more rock hard dirt than gravel, but the Scion has great shocks.

Time disappears with the pavement and I’m suddenly free to go as slow or pull over whenever I want. And I do. I take good chunks of time to sun bath on the roof of the scion (which now acts like a toaster in addition to looking like one). In Bumblebee I see another sign pleading for no pavement and I think of Edward Abbey. These Arizonians are serious about keeping their country country … and the thought of an explosion explodes a new energy.

The next time I realize I have to make a u-turn, I’m sliding through a long patch of mud into an old mining town in Prescott National Forest: Crown King. If I live up here I’ll want a helicopter. Surprisingly, I get cell reception, so break my day of silence and call friends back so they don’t dispatch a search party and know my new travel direction and plans. My proud Scion, painted in mud, almost fits in with the trucks and ATVs and I know she’s ready to give the road another shot.

I have no reservations having to turn around. With all sense of time gone, and no set plans on where I’ll make it to, I look forward to gaining a new perspective on the scenery and paths I’ve traversed. As I descend the mountain, I relax a little since the road holds less surprises, and my mind takes its own u-turns in concepts, memories and processes. Like a simulated flying game (or GPS “fly over”), I see myself wandering around a slough of emotions in slow motion. At the end of 26 miles back down I have a new option: turn right and hit I-17 or turn left onto an unknown road where town names are listed with no mileage.

After 5 hours of driving with frequent stops to snap photos, sun bathe and walk around, I had gone the same distance North (Sedona direction) that I could have gone in 30 minutes on the interstate. I check my fuel gauge and turn left: I’m not ready to have a destination yet. Eventually I hit pavement at Spring Valley and end up taking 89 north to Prescott and 89A with Sedona as my goal.

An old mountain town grabs my attention. It reminds me of a town out east (on a drive from Boston to the cape) that I can’t recall and I search out a place to park. It’s tricky as the roads are small and zig zag down the mountain. Following a sign to parking I end up in an old ghost town (where they have a gift shop) and am offered a free place to stay (by Rai with a sweet smile that tells me she genuinely loves the earth and cares for me even though she’s never met me before).

So now I continue on 89A to Sedona Pine Resort, with a promise to give 90 minutes of my time to hear a sales pitch on time shares. Tonight I don’t mind: time feels different now and I’m basking in the beauty of u-turns. And I’m even more excited to sit in an outdoor spa, letting the hot pulsating water massage the soreness of a forgotten yesterday away.

It’s been an adventurous week in Tucson. After a few days of cold, rainy and snowy weather, the sun finally got my memo and came outside. I even burned a little while attending a beautiful outdoor wedding yesterday and could feel the Vitamin D production. (In hind sight, this was critical to surviving my last night in town.)

I have so many stories and posts to share - and will - and for now am leaving you with a short note to say that all the strangers I’ve met in Tucson have been completely awesome, friendly, helpful and sincere. In fact, as I was riding in the back of a Tucson police car a few thoughts kept circling through my head, including: if I’d only kept talking to strangers, this never would have happened.

No need to worry. The ride was a friendly offer in lieu of a taxi and, despite it being uncomfortable, it was free. (I hesitate to include this, for fear my phone will be ringing off the cradle, so a note to all my friends and family - I’m in no trouble with the law, have found a new rock strength in the desert and am still healthy with no injuries: so fine in all senses of the word.)

On the recommendation of said sweet people, I’ve got some new places to check out and a potential rock-climbing partner. A peek at my upcoming weekend*:

Saguaro National Park and Desert Museum - I’ll make it before closing this time
Kartchner Caverns
Cochise - recommended for climbing
Tombstone

* When you don’t have a job, weeks and weekends blur.

Saturday night in the mountains (outside Spa Mom), gives me a glimpse of small towns to come. (I imagine desert akin to mountain.) Saturday night, the local Sugar Pine boasts karaoke, and, on a whim, I sweet talk my brother and mother into venturing out for some fine entertainment.

With only five or six people singing (and only two to three more drinking), I take the excessive mic time to try out handfuls of new songs … and settle my nerves of being in the spot light. I still prefer Elisabeth’s rendition of “Crazy on You” and make a note in my phone to do Tracy Chapman’s “Give Me One Reason” again … somewhere in the South.

We each take our turns, sometimes performing encores, clapping graciously for others and accept praises of being “such a talented, singing family.” (Too bad, we forget to do our acclaimed “Edelweiss”.) My mom smiles a lot tonight - she’s proud I’m letting loose a little (and doing duets) - and I’m having fun turning the tables. (It feels good not having to be the responsible one!) I keep my family and the bar laughing … Mom’s right - a little vodka goes a long way.

At the end of the night, I know this will be one night of karaoke that will not be forgotten. Even though folks tell me people are people everywhere, the Sugar Pine has me excited to meet more strangers. (Though I can do without the Woodies: those suckers have me feeling sick on Sunday!)

Quietly nestled in the Sierra Foothills, between low and high elevation lakes Oroville and Buck’s, Spa Mom provides rejuvenation nourishments unparalleled by any other.

Spa Mom is 9.3 acres of woods with a year round creek, waterfall, animals and activities for kids of all ages. One can start her morning feeding the pot bellies Annabell, Peaches and Petunia before scattering feed to the widowed hens Lucy-Lu and Dotty. (This is truly a female friendly spa!) Panning for gold is best after the winter runoff and the berries are their sweetest in late July and August. The accommodations are limited (crowded) in the winter, but Spa Mom has plenty of room for camping in the spring and summer. Bald Rock is visible from Mom’s room and a 700 foot waterfall is less than an hour away. Both have two trails in and out … one for the smokers and another for the cardiovascularly fit.

It’s no coincidence I’m booked for a few days both before and after 10 weeks on the road.