Escondido and Several Tenses - When I Started Off Solo Across America

Out from Escondido. Out from California. And for a while, out from the last of a few of the best friends of my life, past or future. 10:55 AM is the time as I roll out. PD goes back to work. He took off a few minutes midday to see me off.

Every hour or so I stop for 15 to 45 minutes. My first stop is In-N-Out Burger. My second, a gas station. Most of the rest follow suit. Once I make it off I-15 and onto I-40 I put in Bob Dylan’s Chronicle Vol. 1 audiotape. I would finish it later that night. Five hours or so of good to great stories spelled out with visuals and poetry that, well, that Bob Dylan wrote. Awesome. At one point he says something like, “Sometimes you look too hard for Heaven. Sometimes Heaven’s beneath your feet, or in your bed.” Another line that stuck was one from his grandmother, something along the lines of, “Every person you will ever meet is fighting a hard battle.” Beautiful.

As the sun sets behind me I decide not to get a hotel. Instead, I will drive until the next morning, check into a hotel in the AM, and be able to relax and enjoy the room for 24 hours as apposed to 10 hours. This is mainly to rest my weak lower back, which along with funds and weather has taken a roll in planning the trip. The night got darker, and colder, and colder. I eyed Motel 8’s, Sleep Inns, and unattainable Double Tree Hotels as they passed. Mmmm, sleeeeep, but no. Stop at another gas station and get a coffee. I had abstained from coffee the entire day – figured it’d be more use when needed if used sparingly. As 3 AM rolled up, my eyes sank and sputtered. I pulled off at a rest area between Winslow, Arizona and Gallup, New Mexico, determined not to waste money on a hotel room for only 7 hours. It was cold. Snow was on the ground. That was a surprise. I didn’t touch it, but I looked at it and laughed to myself. I felt like I was wearing a t- shirt. In reality I had five layers on, not counting a fabric back brace. I needed to sleep, even if only for an hour. I didn’t want to sleep in my car. My back desperately needed a break from sitting. The rear seats and passenger seat were completely packed with clothes, paintings, a conga drum wrapped in a blanket, and more...

I decide to get my down comforter out of the trunk and roll up with it on the ground in front of my car. I do. It’s cold. I hope no one stabs me. I don’t want to wake up in a pool of my own blood – I can see the steam rising from dark red. Maybe a woman screams in the distance – bloody murder.

The coldest part of my body are my ankles. My feet are clumsy in shoes, so I can’t maneuver the comforter around them without unraveling my entire self - years and years of bedding-footwork-practice are useless. I fall asleep for maybe a moment. Thirty minutes later I get up. Fuck it. That was enough. Buy a can of diet coke from a machine for more than a dollar and prepare to drive some more. I’ll have to wait ‘til the sun is up if I want to fall asleep outside. Before I leave, I roll a cigarette and walk around the trailer trucks lined up and resting as their engines hum. The noise blocks out everything but the cold and the cigarette. I am completely there, completely engulfed. It is good.

Get back in the car and go. At this point, I have moved past The Walkmen, past Dylan’s book, past Radiohead, past Let It Be... Naked, and I am on to an audio book of Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises.

Gas station again – this one has four huge sections of junk for sale: Indian face eagle sculptures, various sized plastic looking black leather jackets, knives, pistols with wooden handles, kids t-shirts that glow in the dark (why don’t they make them in adult sizes?), and a large metal fountain sculpture of a bear stepping over a flowing creek. Get a coffee. On the road again. The sun comes up: blue and yellow, and then pink also. Here comes another rest area. Again I wrap up in the comforter careful to cover my ankles. I fall asleep for almost an hour. Get up and roll. Albuquerque is coming up.

It does come up and I stop. Motel 8. It’s cheap, has Internet, has TV. They also have a free continental breakfast the next day. That tipped the scale. I plan to nap but step next door to McDonald’s first. Breakfast was over but the lady made me a bacon egg and cheese biscuit anyway. I felt special.

Into the room around 11 AM, turn on the heat, take off my layers. Clothes can be such a drag. Take a nap for four hours and wake. At the moment, I wish I were already in Nashville. I wish I hadn’t left LA. I only slightly wish to be where I am. But I am where I am so I stop feeling sorry for myself and start thinking of the things I am thankful for. I list them off in my head. This makes me feel better. Take a shower, hot water, awwwww. New undergarments. I feel clean and good. I walk across an intersection to Denny’s Dinner. There are five other hotels, two other restaurants, and two gas stations on this block.

Club sandwich, fries, and a diet coke. One refill at the table and one for the road. I’m full. I’m friendly to the hostess. She’s old. She says to another employee, “Good Golly Miss Molly,” and I say, “Good one.” She says, “Thanks.” I was complimenting Lil’ Richard, not her. Back to the hotel. Roll another cigarette. As I come back in I see a child, a mother, and father (I assume) stepping into the room next to me. The father has a twelve pack. I buy a beer from him for a buck. He asks for my license. He’s joking. Tomorrow, I’ll get up, eat the continental breakfast, wrap up again, and move out on the 40. Tonight, I’ll watch TV, hang on the web, finish my diet coke, and drink my beer.

This happened almost a decade ago.
Be well.
http://www.LionSuit.com
(photos and words are original)