The other day I drove my ’87 Ford truck to the recycling center to unload glass and paper—talk about a useless exercise, two tons of rusty steel all the way there and back—which had to be the first time in a month it’s left the driveway. The tires, you see. They’ve got these cracks.
About six months ago I had a slow leak fixed. It’s always the damn nails around here, sowing them in the road must be a local sport. While I was waiting at Garcia Tires (“Fastest Tires in the North’), I priced replacement rubber. A single great big six-ply truck tire costs more than I ever paid for a whole used car when I was a graduate student in the Pleistocene. That wouldn’t bother me, except that four of them cost more than the truck is worth, which does. At this point I don’t want to spend another dime on the old hulk, but neither should I risk a long trip or drive it in the boonies. Stupid, of course, with so many outrageous places to explore. New Mexico is the fifth-largest state, I need wheels!
Meanwhile, it’s almost time to hit the road for Arizona again. I have to see my mother’s tax accountant, and there’s work to be done around the unsold double-wide. Dead bushes. Junk. Papers to be sorted, decisions to be made. Another layer of the final reckoning to peel away. The trip is fun like road trips are, so long as Enterprise has something cool for us to drive, but I’m weary of the obligation and the chores, never mind the jarring dislocation once we get there and the history of over 30 years. You’ll notice I haven’t mentioned visiting my 90-year-old mother. Well, what is there to say? I don’t wish for her to die, but Tucson needs the lights turned out, doors shut, one last time escaping east on I-10. Yeah, right. As if, and so what. It’s a subjective thing.
Helen wants her ashes buried next to the old man’s in Chestertown. After he died, I carried him back to Maryland in my carry-on bag on the floor. Simpler times! (Try that today, your face will be in all the papers.) We already had the cemetery plot set aside. In those days, the pre-Revolutionary municipal boneyard was under the loose management of an older gent who ran a nearby funeral home. I had him show me where to bury the ashes and asked him whether I needed an urn: “Hell no, you can just use a peanut butter jar!”
He then offered to lend me a post hole digger, but I preferred a spade and shovel. As it turned out, I was able to commission a beautiful ceramic jar from a lady potter friend. One fine spring afternoon, a few shots of tequila, and a pipe full of dope were all it took to put him in the cold, cold ground. I dug the hole myself, of course, and no one bothered me. As I recall, I never filled out a single form or had to answer to a soul.
My mother’s last ride might take more work. I’ll have to have a gravestone cut to match the one the V.A. sent for Colonel Farr. There’ll already be an urn, because I promised my wife I’d buy one, and I don’t know how soon we’ll get back there, so she has to look good on the shelf.
It’s snowing now, though. No one’s going anywhere.
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Back when I used to drive to Tucson to see my ma (who isn’t there now, nor me in Santa Fe, but I digress), I’d vary the route. Try 60 all the way from Socorro: across the Plains of San Agustin and through the Springer volcanic field to Show Low, then down across the Salt River Canyon. Takes longer than the Interstates, but OMG scenery.
Used to would take any excuse to pass near where those 27 antennae were singing the music of the spheres…
I’ve gone several different ways, including that route, which I’ve taken both directions several times. Heading north from Safford is pretty wild as well, as is going to St. Johns via Show Low and then to NM 53 through the Zuni Reservation. Almost no traffic anywhere.
But in the winter, no!
So mainly we just blast on through.
My wife won’t do the longer scenic routes without an overnight, either. I have, of course: 12-14 hours on the road (with plenty of stops for picture taking) is right up my alley with a good car.
-yet another late ’80′s ford tale,prof John: broncoII’s pass rear tire had a finishing nail in the outer sidewall& a common nail in the inner s/wall…since the tire was garbage,tried a low cost fix:gunk’s ‘puncture seal’…bottom line: sold the truck 7 yrs later with that tire still on it. funny thing was, the ‘nails’ alloy rim was the only wheel that held air. go figure.
cheers
That is pretty effin’ wild, dar. I’ll bet my cracked tires would last another seven years, too, if I’d just let ‘em.
I love me some talk about different drive routes..get that map out…sigh.
I hope you have enough hints from the above. All of the alternate routes to Tucson have some nasty curves and an end-of-the-world stretch or two, but maybe you already know that. You can also take the 1-25 exit to Hillsboro (sp?)—that’s before Hatch—and go through the mountains to Silver City before you work your way down to Lordsburg and I-10. That road has FIVE MPH HAIRPIN CURVES on it, so add about three hours.
I favor the Zuni Nation route, myself, especially coming back. Too bad Arizona between Show Low and St. John kinda sucks, and north of there it turns into one godawful wasteland until you get to Zuni Land.