...and Back Again

"You drive twenty-six hours? Are you crazy?"
     This is the universal reaction of people who hear that I spend the winter in Phoenix, the rest of the year in Illinois, and drive instead of fly. I generally rent furnished houses in Phoenix, and I drive so I can load up my car with my three-month necessities (especially books) and have that car to drive while I'm out there. The bottom line is really this: an unremarkable trip back and forth is important. Rarely has that happened, especially when you can't trust Mother Nature.
     The first year, two friends and I drove through a massive dust storm between Tucson and Phoenix that resulted in a 28-car pileup just ahead of us with multiple injuries and several deaths. The decision to stop for lunch caused us to avoid that horrible accident. Those friends, strangely, have not volunteered to drive with me again. I've also driven in the mountains in sleet storms and across Kansas in wind, rain, hail, and snow (I am trying to avoid Kansas in the future. Sorry, any Kansas residents, including my friends Dave, Sue, and former resident, Ruth.) Usually I drive with a friend or with one of my adult children. Frankly, having a friend to talk with and help drive (or an adult child that you don't get to see very much because he has children responsibilities) is wonderful.

     This year one of my friends--Eileen--agreed to the ultimate sacrifice: she flew into Mesa, got off the plane, into my car, and we left--just two senior citizens with twenty-six hours of road time.
     I used to drive through Flagstaff to get out of Arizona but it's iffy in the spring for snow. I've also driven to Tucson and across Texas because of bad weather to the north. This year the weather was encouraging. That rarely happens.
     Leaving the Mesa Airport, we bypassed Flagstaff and went north through the picturesque towns of Show Low and Snowflake. The mountain roads are twisty and the scenery is gorgeous--sheer cliffs, rivers down below, majestic rock formations, and blue skies. We stopped in Show Low for dinner and got out of the mountains before it became dark. 

Leaving Arizona, we waved at the sign and headed into New Mexico. Now the majesty ends and the winds begin. I have never driven across this state without wind squalls blowing across me or in my wake. Gallup is just across the western border of New Mexico and we stayed there for the night.
     The following day was the killer on time: four-lane clear across New Mexico, the panhandle of Texas, and the western half of Oklahoma. (I am so glad I am not doing this on two-lane route 66.) Not much in the way of towns in those areas except Albuquerque and

Amarillo. Texas is the tumbleweed capitol of the world and we only crossed the panhandle. Believe me, I've driven north and south in Texas and I've seen the western half, which appears to consist of trailer parks, dust, salvaging operations, and, oh yes, high school football fields. My atlas has so many Texas routes marked in various directions that it's a mass of colored marker. Last year, my younger son and I stopped in north Texas because of tornadoes in Oklahoma. But this year all was calm and we pushed on into green, green, Oklahoma, heading for Oklahoma City for the night.

     

We decided to take the route I had taken driving out to Phoenix, an itinerary chosen by my older son, remembering his geometry. Avoiding Kansas, we headed out from Oklahoma City the last day and turned north through Tulsa and into Missouri. That decision might seem strange, but we had good roads driving out to Phoenix.

The interstate took us through Springfield and then we drove north to Lebanon, Missouri, where we abandoned the four-lane and turned onto route 54. That route has lots of passing lanes and it took us through Jefferson City until we picked up route 19 to Hannibal.
     Now we were in territory Eileen knew like the back of her hand: she grew up in Quincy, just a hop, skip, and jump from Mark Twain territory. We were on the home stretch.

     The green grass of the Midwest was a sharp contrast to the dusty desert of Arizona, but it was a green I recognized. And--bonus--it would take a few days for the humidity to catch up with my arthritis. We were back in tiny Monmouth by that evening: two and a half days and 1500+ miles on the road.
     Home.
     (Sigh.)

The Snowbird Life

Now that I'm about to head back to Illinois from Arizona, I should answer the question people ask me most about winter travel: What's it like to live away from home for three months, especially in a desert rather than in the snowy and cold Midwest?

Aerial photo of Phoenix

It may be easier to use some photographs. Years ago when my oldest child moved to Phoenix, I'd fly via Chicago/Denver/Sky Harbor Airport to visit Arizona. It took a whole day and three difference planes. What I remember most from that trip was the first sight of the city at night, a gorgeous panorama that suddenly came into view once we flew over the mountains surrounding the Valley of the Sun. I'm not sure I will ever forget that blazing panorama. 

   The most visible and memorable landmark by day or night was South Mountain because my son and his wife lived near the base of the mountain. They still do today, and on the mountain is a plaque commemorating their daughter, Gwen, who died several years ago. They often climbed the mountain together.

     Renting a house, learning to drive on the freeways, and finding interesting places have occupied many of my thoughts over the past four years when I actually have lived in Phoenix during the winter.

     In those years I've rented three different houses.

The most recent one looks like this and is located in an area of South Phoenix known as Ahwatukee.  It's in a small, gated part of the city near great shopping, restaurants, movie theatres, book stores, and a library. This is what I see (below) when I leave my house in the morning.

Unlike home, I know none of my neighbors, but the whole area is racially diverse and the car license plates come from multiple states as well as Canadian provinces. It feels like a safe area and I don't worry about crime. The neighborhood has its own pool and the landscaping is handled by the homeowner's association.

    The most complicated problem has been learning to drive in a city of a million and a half. Each year I've

driven my own car out and back with a variety of friends and family members. I've become an expert at packing for a three-month visit and filling my car trunk and back seat. I have it down to a science. We've driven through snow storms, sleet, and a huge dust storm that almost did me in. But somehow we have made it through a variety of routes.

     The first two winters in Phoenix I mostly used the surface streets, venturing out on "The Ten" only occasionally. Now, however, I'm quite comfortable using the freeways. The 202 takes me east and west and the 10 or 101 take me north and south. This is the scene (above)as I head toward the 202 from my house. It's only two blocks away. 

   

 At first the overhead ramps and traffic seemed a bit daunting. But now I'm used to driving up and over just about anything. Because Phoenix is a city of freeways, I use four times more gasoline here than I use in my tiny town.            

              

     Some of the places I frequent the most are the

Chandler Mall

grocery store (10 minutes away), the Poisoned Pen Bookstore in Scottsdale (30 min), and the Chandler Mall (15 min.)
     Phoenix has wonderful restaurants, shopping, and winter weather, and it's hard to leave those joys to go back to the Midwest to a small town. However, despite missing my children and grandchildren in far off Phoenix, I feel that small town is home.