Day 35: 10 min from home, caught by the man

Arizona:

Woke up and packed my stuff one last time. My battered suitcase is going to be donated when I get home because I broke the handle. I felt pretty sad about it. I'm the type of traveler that takes the same things on trips and is reluctant to purchase anything new or more innovative. I've got my belt with the secret zipper compartment for bills (shh!), alarm clock, alarm watch just in case one doesn't work, super battered bandanna, etc. Anyhoo, I headed back to Los Angeles feeling strangely sad. I miss BaddicusFinch, friends, and family, but I feel like I can go on and on with this journey. My escape plan was to pivot north to the Midwest and Canada, but I'm not entirely heartless and self-centered!

Nothing too exciting happened on my last leg of the journey except for listening to Johnny Cash my whole time in the desert. I guess his tunes were the best fit I could muster with all the cacti propping the scenery. Ten minutes from home on the I-10, I was driving 80 on the fast lane thinking how great it was to finally be able to break away from 65-mile-an-hour highway decree when suddenly I saw flashing lights in my rear view mirror. It was the f-ing CHP!

The officer said something through his loud speaker, but I couldn't fully hear it because of old Johnny Cash. He made a right to the next lane (with two cars in between us), and I followed. Then he veered to the next lane. Then the other. I followed kicking myself. I hadn't been ticketed in 21 years and every since getting one in New Mexico, the bubble has burst. Cops are all out for me now. Finally the officer exited the freeway, but since I didn't have enough clearance to follow, I continued driving.

So the talk of the town is...will he send me a ticket for my insolence or is there a warrant out there with my name on it. I say he'd just let me alone. It would be too embarrassing to write on his report: Subject driver did not follow the patrol car and patrol car was stuck exiting freeway.

Day 34: Chupacabras or wild dog?

New Mexico/Arizona Desert:

I made a pact with BaddicusFinch that I would be back in less than six weeks. Well, today is the sixth week, and I'm home.

Now to step back a couple days...I drove twenty miles straight from San Antonio to El Paso then from El Paso to Phoenix. I would've braved the last seven hours to L.A. but for the crazy lightning storm that disrupted traffic flow. I watched over three hours of panoramic laser light show from sunset until dark when the rain came. Heavy, obnoxious, and threatening. I'd no choice but to get off an exit and get lodging somewhere. What a great dramatic end to terrific, life-changing trip.

Did I mention I nearly hit a dog/creature that crossed the highway lighting fast? I released my foot from the gas and screamed like a MF. That was one of my biggest fears, you see, hitting an animal. I don't want to leave roadkill for the buzzards.

Day 1 - The toilet dilemma

Phoenix:

I left this morning feeling like a louse. My mother was right...I wasn't being fair to BaddicusFinch. Yet I left anyway. I'm pretty impulsive, a trait shared by the bipolar folks...but I'm not going to blame it on that. If anything, I'll blame the white kid who called me 'nip' then later scratched his head and tried 'beaner' when I was in junior high. He couldn't decide which slur to hurl at me since he was unsure of my ethnicity. I suppose ever since then I've had a phobia of racist people.

So I chose the southern states to cleanse my hatred once and for all. I'm positive I'll mostly meet good folks and some not so good. This will be my chance to say 'f-you, you dumbass' and tase them in the face.

I reached Phoenix, Arizona at a relatively early time. Baddicus had booked me a motel for a reasonable price, but on the way there I saw a motel called Budget with a sign advertising $23.99 rates. I immediately flipped a u-turn.

The complex has about twenty rooms, but when I pulled in, the other guests opened their doors to peek out. I noticed I was the only one with a car. Weirded out but wanting to stretch my dollars, I took the room. Again, it's not good to be impulsive. The cleaning crew, a mother and a daughter with missing teeth like out of a Dorothea Lange photograph, told me they'll send someone to fix my plugged toilet. I said fine and took a drive.

I went to see the Biltmore Hotel with a concrete block system designed by FL Wright. Very impressive by the way. The people looked healthy with their pearly teeth and golf clubs. I parked by a Bentley and a Jaguar thinking it would be alright. I snapped pictures and was stopped by a valet guy who said he needed my key because I parked in the fire zone. I told him I was almost done and pointed out that the luxury cars were also parked in the red zone. He gave me a sheepish smile and nodded at me. A decent guy. I liked him.

I also stopped by Wright's Carlson House and was disappointed. The famous circular home was nowhere to be seen...and that was because the house was surrounded by thick cement walls. MFKs.

Back at the Budget the toilet was still unusable, but the fine housekeeping staff had left a plunger. Thanks.