Day One - Exhaustion!!

I'm exhausted. Seven hours on the road after not-enough sleep the last three to four days. After nearly three weeks of delaying my departure (for various reasons: withdrawal from my sweet Indigo Boy, reality checks from my family, and a mad dash to contain the entrails of my things that seemed to have spread from basement to downstairs guest room to my sister's childhood bedroom). Packing is a bitch. And I'm so organized now it's unsettling.

BUT I did it. After a sweet, but too brief last goodbye to Indigo Boy late yesterday evening, I returned home, slept like a log, woke up at around 9 and spent the morning packing up the rest of my things and cleaning the rooms I overtook like a nice Japanese American daughter should before she leaves on "vacation." This is not a vacation, though. I am taking this journey to get down to work. As I packed for my trip I had to very discerning about what I would take with me. I had to go through quite a bit of writing and computer files. I have a lot of work ahead of me.

I left Los Angeles as a light drizzle begins to fall. Ruby, my mother's ridiculously adorable Jack Russell, sits in my car for the last hour as I cart bags and stuff back and forth from the house to my Toyota Corolla. We have to coax her out from atop my pillows in the backseat so I can leave. I take one last deep inhale of her sweet Ruby smell, give big hugs to my parents and finally hit the road.

Although, in true Me fashion, I don't actually leave at 1pm, even though I left my mom's at 1pm. I have a few stops to make. I buy two packs of Nat Shermans at the local liquor store, thinking that I wouldn't be able to find any on the road and I only want enough cigarettes to last me the car trip and maybe a few here and there once I'm in Tennessee. (The goal is to quit soon. My family, Indigo Boy and the Mayor, my ex-boyfriend, all want me to quit and even though I'll be thick into the writing process, I'd like to stop smoking. But more on that in a later post...). I also drop off a pile of books to Goodwill and then spend a good twenty minutes or so at a Shell station, trying to put air in my tires. A kind Middle Eastern man helps me and teaches me to read the pressure gauge on the air pump. He also releases some of the air on my right rear tire that I filled up with too much air.

""It's a wonder your tire didn't blow!"
"Oh? But I just filled it a few moments ago," thinking of the gauge I used: my eyes. I just kept filling it until the tire looked full.
"That's the quickest way to blow your tires... too much air. Air expands once it gets hot. Just fill it between 40-50."
I take mental notes and thank him for his kindness. By the time my tires are properly pressurized and full, it's 1:45pm and the rain is coming down harder. Steam rises from the pavement.

It takes me awhile to get out of LA. All the major arteries in the city are clogged. Freeway is a misnomer in LA. Not to mention that it's raining and whenever it rains in Los Angeles, something close to panic overtakes its inhabitants. The traffic finally starts to clear as I head toward the 10 East from the 101 South. I snack on a few onigiris that my mother makes for me before I leave. Yum. The ones with umeboshi inside are the best! Like a Japanese rolo or something, except it makes your mouth pucker.

Patches of blue sky begin to appear as I pass through Ontario and take note of the familiar brand names: Westfield, Target, In N Out, Starbucks. I merge onto the I-15 toward Barstow and Las Vegas and the sky clears even more. The mustard flowers and blue skies lift my mood as I head up toward the El Cajon pass. As my car snakes up the mountain (I am surprised, too, at how sturdy my little Corolla is. Full of all my stuff and she still climbs mountains in the rain! I am so proud of her!) I notice veils of water dangling from pregnant clouds, dancing a little against the bright blue sky. The higher I get up the mountain, I feel like I am driving an airplane. The clouds are eye level and I can see above and below them.

I make two stops: one at a random Chevron station just to stretch my legs around 4:45 and another to get gas after I finally make it to the 40 East--my guide to Liberty. Gas is $3.99/gallon at this strange RV pitstop where a bug-eyed chihuahua sits at the glass doors looking at the tumbleweeds rolling across the parking lot. A desert woman (thin, leathery skin from too many cigarettes or days in the sun) wears a black Bebe t-shirt that barely contains her wrinkled cleavage and is almost startled when I give her my card to fill up my tank. Two men sitting in an eating area are eating something and watching something on television. No one moves very much.

I fill up my tank and take a few photos. Faux Greek or Roman statues saluting and gesticulating in various states of repose line a large dry, empty pond-like, swimming poolish thing. It is windy and the fronds of the short, fat palm trees rustle madly.

After crossing the Arizona state line, I notice the sun going down behind me and a long train traveling parallel to the road. The speed limit changes to 75 mph. I try to figure out how long it will take me to get to Flagstaff and I realize I have another 2-3 hours. It takes about an hour for the sun to set and I turn my headlights on. My eyes try to adjust to the dark and I tell myself I will not drive again after the sun goes down. There are no streetlamps and I can't see the landscape anymore. As I get closer to Flagstaff I sense that there are trees around me, but I cannot see them--only can make out their shapes and silhouettes. I pass many, many semis on my drive down the 40, but I am unusually comfortable driving next to them. Most of the time, I hate their lumbering, imposing figures that create a strange vacuum as you pass by them, but I've learned to hold onto the steering wheel a little tighter and to turn a little to the left. They seem like large, loud elephants that you just have to avoid as best as possible. I wish I was in the passenger seat because, like an elephant, I want them to toot their horns when I give them the tug tug signal.

I finally pull into Flagstaff around 9:45, just as Indigo Boy texts me. I have already made a reservation at the Travelodge because I read online that they have nice East Indian owners who keep the motel very clean. The room is very clean (and spacious, I might add). I call my parents after checking in and almost jump into the shower. It takes me awhile to get motivated to write my first blog entry, but I force myself to do it. How am I ever going to be a real writer if I don't write?