Wisconsin to LA-- Tucson by Tonight

I stumbled into Craig and Angie's pad in Tucson around 9:00 that Friday night. I had left Eastern Texas a short eighteen hours before, managing to get through the Dallas/Fort Worth area before the morning rush hour. The morning had two major struggles: 1) Fighting the ongoing effects of fatigue 2) Truck stop bathrooms. I ended up succumbing to both of these in due time, but the fatigue wore off. The memories of those bathrooms never will.

After endless miles of the Texas flatness, the mountains were an exclamation point to progress paying off. The vast low deserts of Texas, followed by high desert terrain in New Mexico and Arizona, gave testimony to the resilience of the few who call these places home. Sometimes the radio would begin to fizzle, signalling that I was almost out of range. When I would try to scan for the next station I would only hear the sound of my engine as it dutifully strained in the heat, while the radio went through its entire dial without avail. As a recovering history addict, I thought about the first to cover this territory. Thank God I wasn't on foot.

I almost got a nap in El Paso, but sleeping in the mid-day desert isn't what one would call particularly possible. Other than that, I was running off any energy that I mustered from the three hours of sleep that I got after seeing Hamlet the night before. I was disgustingly tired; my mind was sickeningly worn out. I was tripping-- on awake. This is important because, as I found out, the lack of atmosphere and high altitudes make for sensational sunsets over high desert in Arizona and New Mexico. I would also discover that Eastern Arizona has a truly eclectic radio station that isn't above playing European prog rock during these twilight hours. It was an awesome experience. Homer found his soul mate.

And so did Craig. And Angie. Like Chris, I have known Craig since my formidable years. He and Angie got married this year in a lovely ceremony surrounded by friends, family, pets, fields, and an open bar. Both of them have gone off to see the world on their own, and, against all odds, actually managed to spend enough time on the same continent simultaneously to fall in love, make a cute couple, and rewrite history. Then they let me crash on their air mattress in Tucson. I can't think of enough kind things to say about these two.

In the morning, everybody went on the patio and read a book. I was the last one outside, about half-way through the essay I was reading, when Craig came out to me. He said we were going to the mountains. The essay could wait.

The road wound through the mountain passes and up the sides, with Craig at the wheel, Angie in the back, and me riding shotgun. "At the top of each of these mountain are a variety of plants and animals that can only survive at these altitudes," Angie was explaining. She gave a lovely description of the ecological uniqueness of these Sky Islands, while Craig confidently navigated the mountain roads. Meanwhile, I was smiling like I lost my mind; ogling the surroundings like an infant looks at a mobile. It was simply spellbinding.

And I knew, within the first half of a mile on the trail, how stupid I was for hiking at 9,000 feet altitude one day after partying in a honky tonk with Shakespearean actors at sea level. I have never sucked wind on a hike like that before. But the views were also breathtaking. As far as one day in the mountains, if I had to pick only one, I would just as soon have that day as any other. The coolness of the altitude, and the occasional breeze gave a familial feel to the otherwise rugged landscape. We watched a distant desert rain fall on Tucson as the sunlit trail guided us through ponderosa pines, rock formations, streams, hills, and valleys. As if the mountain knew I had only one day to spend there, Craig and I also got the treat of (safely) encountering a thirty inch rattlesnake. I had it all, just outside of Tucson.

The rest of the evening was filled with a giant cookie, Vietnamese food, and the hotel that John Dillinger was arrested at. Tucson is a beautiful place, filled with beautiful people. The lawns are decorated with cacti and pebbles, in neighborhoods that house quail and the occasional coyote. The nightlife is filled with people that carry themselves with the independence and self-assurance that calling the desert "home" would bring. Angie calls Tucson's vibe "grit". She says it's comparable to Milwaukee in this way. Reflecting on this, I've come to agree. It's peculiar that 115 degrees and dusty can drive a city to the same feel as one that's -15 degrees and snowy.

Even aside from the graciousness of my most hospitable hosts, Tucson was a personal celebration for me. I had only one border left to cross. From the moment that I drove over the Wisconsin state line, I had been committed, but now I could feel it in the air. In a short time, I would be out of my comfort zone for good. And that place, away from my lifelines, is where I've always felt the most comfortable.