The Crossroads of my Known World

There are cities I have visited more than Flagstaff, Arizona, but I’m hard pressed to think of a city I’ve traversed as much without having it be the destination. Today marks my 15th time through Flagstaff: east/west trips on I-40 to parks or home to New York State (always I-40 and often fighting the weather); the first great adult-aged road trip with Dad and Melody on the way to Bryce Canyon; NPS training at the Grand Canyon; a cat intervention staged by Holly and me from Zion to Bisbee. I used to be in love with an itinerant poet who liked Flagstaff for the close proximity of a blues club and a pizza joint with roof access for safe sleeping. I ended up coming through Flagstaff once in a holy-hell-downpour on the way to Albuquerque to see said poet and his woman with a friend of his from Missoula riding shotgun in my pick-up. (...my life as a country/western song.)

Last night as the trains kept me up in Kingman (Flagstaff is crossroads for trains, too, and a stop on the old Route 66), I tried to count my trips through other cities. Albuquerque is second at 10. Sacramento has five. Salt Lake City, five. I decided Vegas doesn’t count because that was a frequent shopping destination when I lived in Death Valley, and also an airport—more destination than crossroads. Same with Reno and Cedar City.

Now I’m back in Flagstaff for a short visit with friends, old and new. In addition to a great city, it marks my return, briefly, to the Colorado Plateau—pinon-juniper forest, history told in layers of rock, legends of a one-armed man, and maybe a Stellar’s jay or two.

Here’s a view from the road. The skull is back where it belongs.

Macy’s doesn’t quite say Flagstaff to the road weary traveler like the Purina factory, but it’s the shot I’ve got today. I made it to this legendary coffee shop for lunch and an afternoon of internet.

Updates from a Charmed Life

This morning I accepted a job with the National Park Service in Fort Collins, Colorado. Nothing glamorous, something administrative. But a promotion and what sounds like a delightful office, full of scientists--specifically, I'm with the division of water resources. I begin in about four weeks. I'm very happy and relieved.

The Jeep is running well. Later this week, I'll drive her over to Colorado to begin my housing hunt. I'll come back for the Subaru in a couple of weeks. I hope to see a few more people on my way east.

For one glorious night, I was able to play music with Kirk, Brad, and Amy. We dusted off old favorites and tried out a few new ones. I brought with me my recently acquired banjo mandolin that my grandfather presumably bought in the 1920s when they were in fashion, or soon after. I can play it some; Brad, our musical guru, picked it up and made it sing. Oh, Fort Collins, are you harboring my next group of musical friends?

Among other things I'm looking forward to in the big city are book stores, libraries, outlets for art and theater, art house movie theaters, ethnic restaurants, community gardens, a Buddhist group that follows my Vietnamese guy's practice, yoga classes, dog-friendly housing, health food stores, and perhaps even interesting men.

The adventure continues, this time with pay!

Takin' it With Me

Achieved a small goal today when I planted a bumpersticker on the Kingfisher. She was looking a little naked, a waste of good advertising space. Here's what I had made special--taking a little Romania pride with me down the road.

Want one?

My Own 12-Step Program

For re-entry into American life, here’s what I’m finding works well:

1. Hugs from Mom (really, the prescription for just about anything).

2. An official occasion to celebrate your time in the Peace Corps. I’m tellin’ ya—throw yourself a party!

3. Making a tangible connection between your old life and your new, like asking friends at home to financially support someone in need in your Peace Corps country.

4. Finding an old Peace Corps friend (or two) who has successfully re-entered, and basking in their peace-itude.

5. Some open road across this magnificent country, in all its grandeur and diversity (Woody Guthrie, I am SO right there with you).

6. Having the honor of helping your dad reach a worthy goal.

7. Catching up on the lives of dear friends and family and listening to their stories—the good, the bad, and the ugly (the stories, not the friends).

8. Seeing the Atlantic Ocean, the Great Lakes, and the Pacific Ocean.

9. Seeing tangible evidence that life has gone on without you—specifically, the wonderful new developments at Manzanar, the new four-lane on 395, and bestest, a little girl named Kalia who was born while I was gone.

10. Knowing that some things never change—the vast empty beauty of Death Valley, park service politics, the art of friendliness.

11. Having the Buddha on your side (again, good for whatever ails you). A little breathing goes a long way.

12. Fusion cuisine. I’m not talking Tex-Mex, or Cal-Asian, or New York Jewish deli. I’m talkin’ Trader J’Romanian. You know I can wax poetic about my beloved Trader Joe’s until the cows come home (an actual nightly event in Romania). But turns out it’s better when done with a Romanian flair. Yes, I’m off the pork products and back to vegetarianism. So that translates today into a nice cabbage salad with my guacamole and taquitoes. Zacusca on my grilled TJ’s sharp cheddar sandwich. Tomato and cucumber salad with pretty much anything.

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."

Subarus and Ginger Chews, continued

Where were we? Oh yes, Montana. The road trip continued from Glacier on down through Yellowstone to the Grand Tetons. We had ourselves some pretty good Montana with lunch in Missoula and overnight in Livingston. Livingston was the setting of a favorite 70s movie of mine, Rancho Deluxe—starring a very young Jeff Bridges and a very young Sam Waterston as hapless cattle rustlers. Turns out Livingston still looks largely the same. Great neon signs and the fly shop across from the train station.

Above, the Missoula courthouse. Below, Livingston.

Had lunch as planned in Yellowstone with Diane and Harvey, in the midst of checking out the bison, pronghorn, and steam pots of this glorious national park. Then moseyed on down the road to the Tetons where we spent a couple of days with Holly. To our chagrin, we saw no moose, no elk, and no bear in the Tetons. We did see and hear two sandhill cranes from Holly’s porch. And south of Jackson, along the Snake River, we saw many osprey in platform nests.

Above, Dad at Yellowstone. Below, Holly and me at the Tetons...including proof that if you stand right next to the tower, you can get cell signal. And I do think that's the only way.

We chose a couple of heretofore unvisited sites in Utah to spend time on. The first is the world’s largest open-pit mine, not far out of Salt Lake City. It was a Kennecott operation and is still active today. They have a visitor center and charge a fee. Then on to Delta and the nearby Topaz Internment Camp from WWII. Not so much to see there (more pronghorn on the road) but we took a picture of the plaque.

Then across Nevada (so beautiful and so hard on the cars) with a stop at Great Basin National Park and lunch in Ely. While in Ely, I remarked about a previous trip through and Dad had us drive by the train museum there, which he had visited in the past. Really!? Why on earth have both of us already been to Ely, Nevada? Well, he’s now been to all 50 states and I’m at 49. Gotta go somewhere, I suppose.

Arrived in Bishop and easily decided to eat at the Japanese restaurant (and the next night too). After successfully stalking my friend Mary at the coffee shop, spent a day showing Dad the bristlecone pines up in the White Mountains and Lake Sabrina in the Sierras. The next day I drove him over to Sacramento to catch his train and for me to continue on with my visiting/reintegration tour. Visited Tom and his family in the east bay, Loretta outside of Sacramento, friends in the Owens Valley, down into Death Valley (temperature 109), and on to Pasadena (temperature 104 the first day).

Above, Dad with a bristlecone. Below, WTF?! Enjoying my manual shifting capability over Sonora Pass.

Above, the next time you think you're being robbed...Oh, Death Valley.

Now, I’ve begun my class—the last class to finally finish up my Masters degree. Taking a little down time here at my brother’s house while I can. So you see, still jobless and homeless—but having a great time. We saw oodles of bison and pronghorn—and a dearth of other desired ungulates. And shopping at Trader Joe’s for ginger chews in my new Subaru.

Yes, introducing The Kingfisher. She’s my new ride.

In case there was any doubt to my blessed status on this planet, she was a gift from my father who felt it was the right price to pay for an adventure to Glacier National Park. I hope you agree, Dad, that it was worth it. We’re both still worn out from the trip, but with a suitcase full of memories.

Subarus and Ginger Chews

Bison and Pronghorn.

Jobless and Homeless.

All will be revealed after I catch my breath. Landed for the moment (a week) at a climate controlled palace in Pasadena. Ice cubes come tumbling out of a hollow in the freezer. John Prine lives in the television. Jeans go in the dryer. The ocean is just over a few hills. And lordy, Trader Joe was born here.

I promise, there will be pictures.