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Part I: Go West Young Man

I release the parking brake and the wheels of my Nissan Pathfinder make the first of what will be north of 4 million revolutions by the end of this odyssey. It's still dark as I roll down the driveway and set my GPS for Las Cruces, New Mexico, a mere 780 miles and 12 hours away. I barrel down the remnants of Route 66, past the skeletons of towns that once catered to Westward travelers. The first section of interstate highway to supplant Route 66, the Turner Turnpike, is directly below my Michelins. It was built in 1953, bypassing each and every outpost of vintage Americana that dotted the famous ribbon from Chicago to Santa Monica.

As Brooks once said, the world went got itself in a big damn hurry.

The dusty relics of these towns hit me squarely in the nostalgia bone, giving me a strange feeling that something has been lost that I never knew. A sense that we've prioritized the destination over the journey. But then again, who would have anything to do in Wagon Wheel, New Mexico other than fill up from a gas pump with a clear glass receptacle. And there's certainly no free 2 day shipping without the Eisenhower Interstate Highway System.

Whatever the case, I make good time and hit Amarillo by morning.* A couple hours later I turn south through the Basin and Range province of New Mexico, through Corona, Carrizoso, Oscuro, Tularosa, Alamogordo. I skirt the southern edge of the White Sands Missile Range, home to the Trinity Site, where the scientists and engineers of the Manhattan Project witnessed the moment that split world history into pre-nuclear and post-nuclear.

* it wasn't morning

Selfie
A wise many once said a journey of 6,000 miles begins with a single selfie.

I make Las Cruces just after 8 PM with my sights set on El Patio Cantina, New Mexico's oldest bar according to the internet. As I pull into Mesilla Plaza my disappointment cannot be overstated when I find that it's closed. Well hell. I walk over to La Posta de Mesilla and belly up to the bar with a margarita and New Mexican green chile enchiladas.

It's been a long day on the road and it's time for a little shuteye. I head over to the Travel America truck stop and find a nice parking spot for my rig to cozy up for the night.

Sleeping arrangements
The Uncle Andy Inn

I wake up to a crisp, cool desert morning and make myself a cup o' joe in the travel coffee maker that my good brother Johnny gifted me for Christmas. A quick bite and I'm on the road to Tucson. The weather is clear and the miles are going down easy. The scenery makes me think I'm in a Roadrunner cartoon. I make sure to be extra careful of painted tunnels.

Arizona scenery
Arizona desert

A few hours of desert highway and I roll into Tucson headed to my aunt Dirce's house. It's great to see her & her partner Dan for the first time in muitos anos. We catch up as she's putting the finishing touches on a Brazilian dinner that could probably feed the entire Arizona Cardinals offensive line. Thankfully the quantity does not come at the expense of quality and every bite is outstanding. Farofa, frango frito, lombo de porco assado, pão de queijo, with a healthy serving of rice and beans stretched my stomach to its limits. I still manage to scarf down a piece of peanut coconut cake as my food baby enters it's third trimester.

A Brazilian feast
Jantar é servido

The food and travel has left me lethargic and I hit the sack with a full belly and a smile on my face.

I wake up to Dirce already cooking again, this time whipping up some Swedish pancakes and Brazilian coffee. She serves the flapjacks topped with lingonberry, a Scandanavian jam that's just the right amount of tart. As we're eating breakfast my cousin Marlon makes an appearance before heading off to work. It's been years since we've seen each other so we have a lot to catch up on. I'm sure it warms Dirce's heart to see the fine young man he's grown into. We vow to make time to see each other more frequently and discuss a cousin get together later this year.

Before I hit the road Dirce loads me up with a plethora of leftovers as we exchange our final goodbyes. I can't wait until I can enjoy her cooking again.

Tucson
Tucumcari
Well I've been from Tucson to Tucumcari

Next stop Phoenix to see our good friend Katie. I'm about an hour from town when she calls me and tells me her boyfriend Jesse has tested positive for Covid. Shit. I'd really like to see them but I can't in good faith take that risk at the very start of my trip. I pull off the road and call my cousin Vince who lives in Yuma. He's Dirce's oldest & just a year or two younger than me. He's off work today and tomorrow and says that I'd be welcome to crash at their place. From there it's only about 4 hours to LA so that should work out great.

I make a left turn at I-8 and a few hours later pull up to Vince's house. I meet his girlfriend Jacqui and their two dogs Sadie & Zola, the latter of whom is extremely excited to see me. She's at the opposite end of the energy spectrum from my good dog Bo but she's a sweetheart and just wants some lovin'.

Good girls
Sooooo are you going to throw the ball or what??

It's right about supper time so we hop in the car and head to Takos & Beer, a place that's got everything we need besides Bailey's. I make sure to order their signature Gator Tako and it does not disappoint. I wash the tacos down with a Four Peaks Hazy IPA while Vince & I reminisce over the salad days of our youth. N64 games in the basement, tubing on the lake, dizzying spins on the tire swing. Much the same as Marlon, Vince and I agree to see each other sooner rather than later.

We head back to the house where we enjoy a few more beers before hitting the sack. The next morning Vince & I head out for brekky before I'm back on the road. As we're leaving the restaurant Vince double checks that he grabbed his credit card, mentioning he's a habitual card-leaver. It's at this moment that I realize I left my card and sheepishly head back in to grab it. Guess it runs in the family.

We exchange goodbyes as I pull out of Yuma headed for The Peach, my brother Timmy's old pad, where his friends still live. About 2 hours into the drive I pass right by the Salton Sea, where old-timey billboards welcome visitors to the lovely beaches of the Salton Sea. This was, of course, before farm runoff promoted the outbreak & spread of disease in the 80s, leading to massive die-offs of avian populations and enormous fish kills that would litter the beaches with piscine carcasses. By the late 90s farmers improved their irrigation practices, leading to less wastewater flowing to the lake. Good deal right? Well it wouldn't be considered California's biggest environmental disaster if it was now would it? As a result of the decrease in runoff, the water level began to decline, exposing portions of the lake bed that would kick up toxic dust clouds. Yeah I won't be stopping off for a dip.

Salton Sea Salton Sea
I will not be visiting Bombay Beach, thank you very much

Just past that nightmare I pass right by Joshua Tree and through the town of Coachella, which I had no idea was an actual town. Thank god that dumbass music festival isn't until April or I'd be wanting to blow my brains out stuck in traffic with wannabe flower children & Instagram influencers.

I roll up to the Peach around 5 PM Saturday evening 1,623 miles into my journey. I plop on the couch and greet the cast of characters who frequent this abode. Cuchito invites us to a house party where he'll be DJ-ing and everyone halfheartedly tells him we'll be there knowing full well we won't. Morales orders us some fried chicken to go before we head down to All Season Brewing Company for a few ales. The Passion Fruit On Das Acid sour is delightful and I follow that up with a few Cloud Racer hazy IPAs while going 2-0-1 in skeeball. It's a pretty mellow night and I get to bed at a reasonable hour.

The Peach
The Peach

I wake up in a giddy mood because it's gameday. Week 18. Bills vs Jets. AFC East championship on the line. My good buddy James, who will be accompanying me on the California skiing leg of the trip, has been in LA since Thursday night for a bachelor party. His friend drops him off at The Peach around 10 AM and we cruise down to Santa Monica. We spend an hour walking along the beach with some cold brews enjoying weather that has no business being in January. We must have looked like the cutest couple.

About an hour before kickoff we order an Uber for the short ride to Busby's, home to the Los Angeles Bills Backers and probably my favorite bar on the planet.* James seems to delight in the idiosyncratic treasures of Busby's as I give him the tour of the joint - slapdash stadium seating in one room, arcade games in the next, foosball, billiards, shuffleboard, a room that my brother deigned the "Bison Dome." All this within a milieu of nonsensical decor and maniacal Bills fans. It's every Christmas morning all wrapped into one.

*I have yet to visit every bar on the planet and reserve the right to update this assessment in the event I happen upon a superior pub

Busbys
Busbys
Busbys
Busbys
Busby's is what you'd get if you let a 13 year old design a bar

We are joined by Timmy's LA Bills friend Eric and our good Tulsa friend Jack. It's a lot of worlds colliding but the interference is constructive. We all listen enthusiastically to Jack's stories of living in LA for 8 years with no running water, hiking from Canada to Mexico one summer, washing windows in Colorado, lawsuits. He embodies the ethos of Ginsberg, Burroughs, & Kerouac. Eric has myriad recommendations for my upcoming trek through Northern California, most important of all is to avoid driving through it in a snowstorm.

The game goes about as well as you'd expect from a matchup between the howitzer attached to Joshua Patrick Allen's right arm and a guy whose middle name is "Kapono." Bills by a billion. Next victim McCorkle.

After the game we play a few rounds of cutthroat pool with Eric before Ubering back to the hotel. We situate our luggage and stumble down to a nautical themed dive bar for a night cap. The Raiders-Chargers overtimepalooza is on the tele so we stay to root for a tie. It's the stupidest possible outcome so we had to cheer for it. The tie does not happen to everyone's chagrin and we saunter back to the accommodation for some well deserved shuteye before our big California ski week.

Busbys Pool
Guys bein' dudes

Tomorrow the real adventure begins.

Traveler

Musings of a panhandlin, manhandlin, postholin, highrollin, dustbowlin daddy