The idea of a road trip roughly 2,100 miles was born out of sheer necessity. The goal of the operation: drive Currin's car from our Salmon Street abode to the great state of Texas-- more specifically, the home in Dallas we know so well. After a pit stop in Los Angeles, we set out in the grandest Jeep of all Jeeps, who we tenderly refer to as Aaliyah. She's got some junk in the trunk, she's full of flavor, and when let loose on the open road, she purrs like a baby tiger after feeding. 
After a night of sushi and a crash course on the used calculator business from our third party member and first time acquaintance, we embraced the long road ahead, wide-eyed and eager to find those overlooked places in between. Using the term "picturesque" slights the natural beauty seen from Aaliyah's windshield. We were inundated with scenery that changed with each day. The kind of scenery that makes me wonder what early settlers must have thought of the changing landscape as they first ventured to the Pacific coast. From crag covered highways to straight stretches of flat interstate, we took in each passing minute.
It was a race for time. Our first stop was Williams, Arizona, better known for the Grand Canyon. Without accounting for the hour time difference from California to AZ, our mathematical calculations (with no help from a TI-83) brought us to this majestic canyon well before sunset. Well, we were wrong. Our Garmin (named Gizmo) was also wrong in directing us to the Grand Canyon Visitor Center, which is located in the town of Williams, as opposed to the 45 minute ride out to the canyon park area. Even still, Aaliyah growled and raced against the sun slowly tailing behind us although inching nearer with each mile.
Ah, we made it. And fortuitously at the perfect time. Sunset. A cloudless sky allowed hues of violet and pink to create elongated brush strokes of color across the skyline. Below, hundreds of miles deep, an unknown abyss of epic proportions. Standing at the edge of a lookout, it is almost unfathomable how wide or deep this mountainous monstrosity actually extends. The snow added a delicate touch of stillness to the rosy earth that seemingly had no understanding of its size. It just stood there, cowering below and towering above, and time has just continued to deepen it.
Feelings of accomplishment as well as wonder swirled through the frigid evening air. We retreated back to our trusty steed, pictures in tow, and enjoyed the ride back to town, the sun finally sunken into the horizon.
There was still much of Arizona to see before cruising into Santa Fe the following night. We drifted like tumbleweeds through Winslow, as made famous by The Eagles song, "Take it Easy". Local radio stations advertised the girl (my lord!) in a flatbed Ford, who was apparently still hanging around Winslow since the song was written by Jackson Browne in 1972. Although we withstood the intense urge to meet this famed girl in the flatbed Ford, we were duped into veering off-road a few miles by a sign that alerted us to the largest meteor crater in the world! Right here in Winslow? Too good to be true.
In an attempt to bypass rain in Albuquerque, we hauled it to Santa Fe and made it to town by the first snowfall. Locals were eagerly anticipating their long awaited white Christmas, whereas we were damming ourselves for ever believing in meteorological predictions. Although most of the shops in town were closing for the day, we managed to absorb a few storefront windows, displaying "authentic" native american relics. Mostly rugs, some wood carvings, handmade ceramics and jewelry. And, of course, those lovable novelty items such as shot glasses, t-shirts, and latently sexual children's puppets.
An enchanting evening in town led us to a belly full of Mexican food and a slick road ahead. Snow fell rapidly and reminded me of how cold it can get when you leave the Golden State. By morning, friendly flakes wafted down at a reliable rate and after about an hour of trudging through a wintry highway death trap, the clouds parted, the snow had dried from our car, and there was only the clearest of skies ahead on into Texas.
Our beloved Lone Star State. A former country founded by miscreants and thieves. A state as long as it is wide. A place so proud even our president GW will fake an accent and claim himself to be a native. In and out of Texas too many times to count, this is the first time I will be driving home. After a long stretch through West Texas as flat as veal scallopini, signs for Fort Worth popped up. I rolled down the window, breathed in some Texas air and watched the sun set--the same color as a fire ablaze in the countryside.
We had made it home. Although at the time, the feeling of accomplishing a journey hadn't crossed my mind yet. Clearly, the trip wasn't as epic as Odysseus' return home, but it certainly felt we had come a long way. All I could think about was what my mom would make me for dinner. After a tuna sandwich and some thick parental love, I told the whole story of how we traversed the Southwest. Home had never felt so warm. And I had the whole week to enjoy it.
It was a race for time. Our first stop was Williams, Arizona, better known for the Grand Canyon. Without accounting for the hour time difference from California to AZ, our mathematical calculations (with no help from a TI-83) brought us to this majestic canyon well before sunset. Well, we were wrong. Our Garmin (named Gizmo) was also wrong in directing us to the Grand Canyon Visitor Center, which is located in the town of Williams, as opposed to the 45 minute ride out to the canyon park area. Even still, Aaliyah growled and raced against the sun slowly tailing behind us although inching nearer with each mile. 
Ah, we made it. And fortuitously at the perfect time. Sunset. A cloudless sky allowed hues of violet and pink to create elongated brush strokes of color across the skyline. Below, hundreds of miles deep, an unknown abyss of epic proportions. Standing at the edge of a lookout, it is almost unfathomable how wide or deep this mountainous monstrosity actually extends. The snow added a delicate touch of stillness to the rosy earth that seemingly had no understanding of its size. It just stood there, cowering below and towering above, and time has just continued to deepen it. 
Feelings of accomplishment as well as wonder swirled through the frigid evening air. We retreated back to our trusty steed, pictures in tow, and enjoyed the ride back to town, the sun finally sunken into the horizon. 
There was still much of Arizona to see before cruising into Santa Fe the following night. We drifted like tumbleweeds through Winslow, as made famous by The Eagles song, "Take it Easy". Local radio stations advertised the girl (my lord!) in a flatbed Ford, who was apparently still hanging around Winslow since the song was written by Jackson Browne in 1972. Although we withstood the intense urge to meet this famed girl in the flatbed Ford, we were duped into veering off-road a few miles by a sign that alerted us to the largest meteor crater in the world! Right here in Winslow? Too good to be true. 
When we left the car to check out this said crater, unexpected rip-roaring gusts of wind caused us to huddle in discomfort while waiting for a "guide" to take us through a $15 tour of the crater. First of all, what a rip off. Secondly, there was no justifiable way of explaining to ourselves that we needed to see this hole in the earth so badly, we would risk windburn and forsake our lunch money to do so. I think I saw a sign for Dairy Queen ahead. Money best spent on a Blizzard (the ice cream kind).
In an attempt to bypass rain in Albuquerque, we hauled it to Santa Fe and made it to town by the first snowfall. Locals were eagerly anticipating their long awaited white Christmas, whereas we were damming ourselves for ever believing in meteorological predictions. Although most of the shops in town were closing for the day, we managed to absorb a few storefront windows, displaying "authentic" native american relics. Mostly rugs, some wood carvings, handmade ceramics and jewelry. And, of course, those lovable novelty items such as shot glasses, t-shirts, and latently sexual children's puppets. 
An enchanting evening in town led us to a belly full of Mexican food and a slick road ahead. Snow fell rapidly and reminded me of how cold it can get when you leave the Golden State. By morning, friendly flakes wafted down at a reliable rate and after about an hour of trudging through a wintry highway death trap, the clouds parted, the snow had dried from our car, and there was only the clearest of skies ahead on into Texas. 
Our beloved Lone Star State. A former country founded by miscreants and thieves. A state as long as it is wide. A place so proud even our president GW will fake an accent and claim himself to be a native. In and out of Texas too many times to count, this is the first time I will be driving home. After a long stretch through West Texas as flat as veal scallopini, signs for Fort Worth popped up. I rolled down the window, breathed in some Texas air and watched the sun set--the same color as a fire ablaze in the countryside. 
We had made it home. Although at the time, the feeling of accomplishing a journey hadn't crossed my mind yet. Clearly, the trip wasn't as epic as Odysseus' return home, but it certainly felt we had come a long way. All I could think about was what my mom would make me for dinner. After a tuna sandwich and some thick parental love, I told the whole story of how we traversed the Southwest. Home had never felt so warm. And I had the whole week to enjoy it. 
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You took beautiful pictures
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