OLD JOURNAL

Almost two years ago, Dr. Fauling, Winston Churchtree, and I drove around the United States in a tiny car. We dubbed the trip the American Loop - it took us a little over a month to circle through the north, touch down in NYC, and then circle back down through the south…ending and beginning in Southern California.  We were poor and we stayed with friends along the way, or we slept in the car, which we affectionately called the Iron Teepee.  I've recently found the journal I kept throughout.  Here's one of the first entries.  

Our liaison in Denver. Incredibly dangerous.

American Loop

September 15, 2012

            The American Loop around the United States. It should take about three weeks, but a month is more reasonable given the likelihood more than one thing will go wrong – my sense of direction is shot through a cannon, so when I’m on the wheel it’s anyone’s guess where we’ll end up. 

            This entry is being written from the Parachute Inn in Parachute, Colorado, tucked in between the Rockies and a quaint, little trailer park.  We checked in this morning at 3am – the long winding roads (pronounced ro-wåds) were putting us to sleep with their hypnotic white dash marks, so we were legally obligated to get off the road – once again, pronounced ro-wåds. 

            “Thanks, really appreciate it,” Humphrey claimed.  “Oh, you betcha!” the overly-friendly desk man said, far too much energy for 3 in the morning. His goatee was finely groomed, perfectly quaffed – a real Parachuter through and through.

            Yeterday, the journey began in Las Vegas, Nevada – the worst place to start any long road trip.  In my opinion, the worst place in the world to start anything, end anything, or, just in general, be present –but some people really seem to enjoy that place, with its endless sea of buffets, cheap hookers, and the incessant gambling.  Who am I kidding? I love it.

            My arms overflowing with gear, I kicked a fallen orange across the casino floor.  The rolling orange caught the attention of a small, seedy looking fellow with raggy clothes and a sweat soaked hat.  As it rolled by his feet, his head twitched towards it, bewildered.  Seizing the opportunity he picked it up completely unaware that it belonged to someone else.   When he saw that it was mine, he mumbled something, and then tossed to me. 

            “You want it?” I asked asked. 

            “Ya! I’m hungry. (mumble mumble grumble).” 

            I tossed it back to him.  Once back in his hands, he took off running. That was the last thing I remember of Vegas. I hate Vegas. 

            It was semi-early when we piled back into the Honda and got out of that damned state, only to quickly find ourselves in the angriest state of the Union - Arizona.  The only state that you don’t need a license to carry a concealed weapon – everyone’s packing, and I assume they are all dealing meth.  You don’t want to break down in that state.  The sun beats down against the dry earth. No moisture in the air or the land. 

            I never thought I would be so happy to be in Utah, but I was.  The landscape quickly changed, so did the air.  Greens and reds covered the mountains. Steeples are littered throughout like stray dogs in Mexico.  Humphrey swears that he counted over a million steeples during our short stint in Utah. 

            Now, currently, we are in Colorado. I enjoy Colorado.  We all do.  Packing up and heading to Denver. 

            “Shower while you can. That’s my motto,” the tall one declares.  Not a bad motto.  Time to shower.  I smell like Vegas.