Upon learning of my return to The Evening Sun, many people told me “I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you in Albuquerque.” On the contrary, I think it worked out great.
No, I did not find a writing job out there, but I did gather some lifetime experiences that I won’t forget. I traveled 2,000-plus miles side by side with my son Elijah riding shotgun. It was the most time we have spent together (alone) since the day he was born. We talked for many hours, and I was happy to have the company on such a long trip.
Along the way I stopped in Cincinnati to spend some time with my old friend Stephen Del Vecchio and his longtime partner, Jen Maiurano. Stephen is a great host, and we spent all day Saturday participating in numerous sightseeing activities. We also walked about seven miles to get to those sites including a 45-degree climb up a hill that was equal parts solid ground and mud. It was an ill-advised shortcut that left us with muddy hands, shoes, and pants.
From Cincinnati, Elijah and I trekked through several states I had not seen before and right past the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. It is a landmark that signals passage to the western half of the country, and I suppose I expected to be more awe-inspired. We stopped after the second leg of our three-day journey in Joplin, Mo., site of the horrible multiple vortex tornado in 2011. A big chunk of the town was wiped out, and the devastation resulted in the deaths of nearly two-dozen people. From what I saw, the city is bouncing back nicely, although the lady who checked us in at our hotel said there were still some spots that remain in total disrepair.
My handwritten driving directions stated that a drive from Joplin to Albuquerque was slightly less than 800 miles. We had commuted between 600 and 700 miles per day my first two days of driving, and wasn’t sure if I wanted to break up those last 800 miles over two days. It was late morning when we crossed into Oklahoma, and from there, it was about 550 miles on I-40 West – a straight shot – right into Albuquerque. The only two fairly large cities I passed along the way were Oklahoma City and Amarillo, Tx. To the left and the right of the highway, it was predominantly scrub brush, conifers, and desert scape filling up the vastness – all the way!
And it was unendingly flat.
I barely noticed that we had climbed to over 5,000 feet of elevation by the time we reached Albuquerque. Unbeknownst to me, I had a preloaded GPS application that came with my smart phone. My directions from Norwich to Albuquerque were all handwritten on each side of one piece of paper – and in pencil. My son, who stayed mostly quiet when it came to directions, pointed out – after nearly 2,000 miles of driving – that I didn’t need to write anything down. I could’ve used my phone and the monotone female voice to guide me to my destination. Talk about a kick in the pants.
I wish he had told me about my on-board travel guide sooner. My written directions worked fine in getting to Albuquerque, but once I reached the city limits, I was totally confused. One egregiously bad decision to veer left instead of right had me off course an additional hour.
Living on the East Coast for much of my life, I heard about the thinner air at elevation, but had never actually experienced it. I settled in for a few days before I made my first trip to the local gym. It was then that I understood the benefits of oxygen at sea level. I huffed my way through two miles of running on the treadmill before stopping. I thought I was in shape.
I guess not.
This wasn’t the first time I had moved to a new place where I knew no one outside of my own house. I spent my freshman year in college in Dayton, Ohio; and after my college graduation, spent half a year living in Erie, Pa. I had some experience with this “starting anew” stuff, albeit, the last time I ventured far from home was over 20 years ago.
I liked Albuquerque, called the “Duke City,” and even became accustomed to the pervasive brown tones. In upstate New York, I think many of us take the abundance of green – grass and trees – for granted. I sure have for most of my life. In Albuquerque, if you have grass on your property, it’s a conscious choice, and something one must nurture to maintain. My former neighbor has a front lawn smaller than my parents’ living room. He waters it, he grooms it, and he edges the corners near the sidewalk – all for about a 10- by 12-foot piece of grass. He worked on that small tract of green at least twice a week, and watered it for about an hour at least three times a week. Turns out, the guy grew up on the eastern side of the country, and he waxed nostalgic for home.
I was enchanted by the Land of Enchantment too, but as Dorothy said, “there’s no place like home.”