Memories that stick and memories that don't
When I drove from California to Indiana in 2013, I did it with two senior ratties in a cage in the front seat next to me. They had posh quarters and plenty of shade, but it was early November in the desert and high temps were in the 90's, so I couldn't leave them unattended in the car for longer than it took for me to use the restroom.
I remember one stop in particular -- it was tucked away down a road next to a tourist information office, and there was a big tree in the parking lot that I could use for shade -- a rarity in the desert. I parked, went in, used the restroom, looked at the stuff they had for sale, stretched my legs, and then got back in the car and left. Not much to remember about that, but it made an impression, and when I think back on that trip it is one of the memories I occasionally revisit. It was both ordinary and unique.
When I selected Willcox, Arizona as my destination for a night on this trip, I picked it based on its proximity to an interesting geologic feature I'd noticed on my drive West. There was a cute looking little motel with really good reviews at a very reasonable price, and it was supposed to be in walking distance to restaurants and touristy stuff to do. I thought I might hang out here for a couple of days and explore the area before continuing East. One of my team of Karen Trackers sent me this quote from the town website: "Where the West is still the West and the cowboys are real."
When I got close to Willcox, the wind picked up. There's a dry lake bed near here -- geologically similar to where they hold Burning Man in the Nevada desert -- and I could see little dust storms being kicked up by the wind a mile or more away from the highway. I was eager to get off the road in case one of those little storms decided to get big and head my way.
When I got off the highway, I turned the opposite way at the end of the exit ramp from the way that would have taken me to the motel and I wound up turning around in a truck stop parking lot. Deja vu -- something looked familiar. The name of an attraction I'd seen listed for Willcox rang a bell -- could it be the little place with the big shade tree in the parking lot? If it was, it would be down that road I can see from where I am. I decided to go check it out, and yes I had stumbled across the place from my memories of my trip a few years ago. It really surprised me and it felt like a happy omen.
I took a look at my GPS map and headed off across town looking for Arizona Street. I figured the way my GPS was directing me, it would be a big intersection, but even though I thought I'd glanced at all the street signs I saw, somehow I missed Arizona Street, so I stopped and this time I turned on my GPS to lead me to the front door. I hadn't thought it could be that complicated in such a small town, but clearly I needed help.
The route it took me was through a residential area that struck me as exceptionally bleak and colorless, and then I emerged at the motel and turned into the lot. I did not see a single thing as far as my eye could see in any direction that looked remotely like a restaurant of any kind. I saw railroad tracks, some kind of light industrial buildings, an abandoned motel with a fence around it, and pavement. While I parked my van, a man smoking a cigaret watched from the second floor railing of the motel. I went into the empty motel office and rang the bell. It smelled good in there -- like homemade soup -- someone was cooking.
The woman who helped me was pleasant and walked over with me to find the housekeeper and make sure my room was ready for me. There were signs announcing that they were painting the outside of the building and to please excuse their appearance. Perhaps the man who watched me park was a painter taking a quick break? However, while I was unloading, more people arrived and started a conversation between those in the parking lot and those up on the second floor. Except for the modern clothes and architecture, it felt like a scene from an old Western movie. They were talking to each other, but they were also watching me unload stuff from my van. These were not big city people like I'd just left behind in Tucson -- they were used to noticing the people around them. I was grateful to be out of the city or suburbs traffic-wise, but I'd forgotten that by going to a small town I was returning to a different culture.
After a while I went out to get some food to bring back to my room. When I walked out to my van, several men were gathered around a picnic table shooting the breeze with each other. When I got back the sun was setting and they had dispersed, but I could sense again someone watching me park my van -- a different man this time. As I got out, he approached and said, "I know people are going to ask you -- what are the solar arrays for?" referring to the Luci lights in my front window. I showed him how they work and he still wanted to know what they were for -- I explained that my van was also a camper and that I used them for light inside. "Ah," he said, "they charge on the dashboard until you need them." "Yes," I confirmed. Satisfied with the explanation, he wished me a good evening and I wished him the same.
I took these photos early this morning when the motel property was deserted. In the first one you can see the covered picnic table where the guys were hanging out the evening before:
In this one you can see the railing from which I was observed. Imagine instead an old movie set with simple wooden buildings and guys in cowboy hats and chaps hanging out in the cool evening breeze. Perhaps a muddy street instead of pavement, and a railing to tie horses to instead of parking space stripes.
I'd picked out a couple of restaurants that I would enjoy trying that were supposedly just a few blocks away, but it turns out that they are closed Sundays. I wound up running out for Popeye's chicken.
This morning as I was leaving town, I noticed a sign pointing me to the "Historic Downtown." So I turned and I found this block:
I just didn't feel in sync with Willcox, but I was happy to revisit the shade tree from my previous trip. I was eager to move on, so I did after one night.
I've talked about a memory that stuck, but I also mentioned memories that don't stick in the title of this post. It seems that I'm making so many changes so quickly on this trip that it's harder for the memories to stick. I'm really glad that I'm writing this blog so that I can review high points of my trip after I get back home.
I remember one stop in particular -- it was tucked away down a road next to a tourist information office, and there was a big tree in the parking lot that I could use for shade -- a rarity in the desert. I parked, went in, used the restroom, looked at the stuff they had for sale, stretched my legs, and then got back in the car and left. Not much to remember about that, but it made an impression, and when I think back on that trip it is one of the memories I occasionally revisit. It was both ordinary and unique.
When I selected Willcox, Arizona as my destination for a night on this trip, I picked it based on its proximity to an interesting geologic feature I'd noticed on my drive West. There was a cute looking little motel with really good reviews at a very reasonable price, and it was supposed to be in walking distance to restaurants and touristy stuff to do. I thought I might hang out here for a couple of days and explore the area before continuing East. One of my team of Karen Trackers sent me this quote from the town website: "Where the West is still the West and the cowboys are real."
When I got close to Willcox, the wind picked up. There's a dry lake bed near here -- geologically similar to where they hold Burning Man in the Nevada desert -- and I could see little dust storms being kicked up by the wind a mile or more away from the highway. I was eager to get off the road in case one of those little storms decided to get big and head my way.
When I got off the highway, I turned the opposite way at the end of the exit ramp from the way that would have taken me to the motel and I wound up turning around in a truck stop parking lot. Deja vu -- something looked familiar. The name of an attraction I'd seen listed for Willcox rang a bell -- could it be the little place with the big shade tree in the parking lot? If it was, it would be down that road I can see from where I am. I decided to go check it out, and yes I had stumbled across the place from my memories of my trip a few years ago. It really surprised me and it felt like a happy omen.
I took a look at my GPS map and headed off across town looking for Arizona Street. I figured the way my GPS was directing me, it would be a big intersection, but even though I thought I'd glanced at all the street signs I saw, somehow I missed Arizona Street, so I stopped and this time I turned on my GPS to lead me to the front door. I hadn't thought it could be that complicated in such a small town, but clearly I needed help.
The route it took me was through a residential area that struck me as exceptionally bleak and colorless, and then I emerged at the motel and turned into the lot. I did not see a single thing as far as my eye could see in any direction that looked remotely like a restaurant of any kind. I saw railroad tracks, some kind of light industrial buildings, an abandoned motel with a fence around it, and pavement. While I parked my van, a man smoking a cigaret watched from the second floor railing of the motel. I went into the empty motel office and rang the bell. It smelled good in there -- like homemade soup -- someone was cooking.
The woman who helped me was pleasant and walked over with me to find the housekeeper and make sure my room was ready for me. There were signs announcing that they were painting the outside of the building and to please excuse their appearance. Perhaps the man who watched me park was a painter taking a quick break? However, while I was unloading, more people arrived and started a conversation between those in the parking lot and those up on the second floor. Except for the modern clothes and architecture, it felt like a scene from an old Western movie. They were talking to each other, but they were also watching me unload stuff from my van. These were not big city people like I'd just left behind in Tucson -- they were used to noticing the people around them. I was grateful to be out of the city or suburbs traffic-wise, but I'd forgotten that by going to a small town I was returning to a different culture.
After a while I went out to get some food to bring back to my room. When I walked out to my van, several men were gathered around a picnic table shooting the breeze with each other. When I got back the sun was setting and they had dispersed, but I could sense again someone watching me park my van -- a different man this time. As I got out, he approached and said, "I know people are going to ask you -- what are the solar arrays for?" referring to the Luci lights in my front window. I showed him how they work and he still wanted to know what they were for -- I explained that my van was also a camper and that I used them for light inside. "Ah," he said, "they charge on the dashboard until you need them." "Yes," I confirmed. Satisfied with the explanation, he wished me a good evening and I wished him the same.
I took these photos early this morning when the motel property was deserted. In the first one you can see the covered picnic table where the guys were hanging out the evening before:
In this one you can see the railing from which I was observed. Imagine instead an old movie set with simple wooden buildings and guys in cowboy hats and chaps hanging out in the cool evening breeze. Perhaps a muddy street instead of pavement, and a railing to tie horses to instead of parking space stripes.
I'd picked out a couple of restaurants that I would enjoy trying that were supposedly just a few blocks away, but it turns out that they are closed Sundays. I wound up running out for Popeye's chicken.
This morning as I was leaving town, I noticed a sign pointing me to the "Historic Downtown." So I turned and I found this block:
I just didn't feel in sync with Willcox, but I was happy to revisit the shade tree from my previous trip. I was eager to move on, so I did after one night.
I've talked about a memory that stuck, but I also mentioned memories that don't stick in the title of this post. It seems that I'm making so many changes so quickly on this trip that it's harder for the memories to stick. I'm really glad that I'm writing this blog so that I can review high points of my trip after I get back home.
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