September 3

It still seemed like we were on vacation.  Even waking up in our empty new apartment presented no impact that this was our new home.  Any other time, this would be just a brief time away and we'd be heading home soon.  But not this time ... this was home!

Mike called earlier; he had just passed through Flagstaff.  Normally this would be about a two and a half hour drive, but there was major construction.  The truck didn't arrive until almost 1:00.  By then, most of the other residents had all gone, and we had a nice wide open area to back the truck up.  The ramp slid down almost to the bottom of the steps to our apartment.  Better yet, it was under the car port out of the blazing sun.

This was the truck before we started loading in Edinboro.  Scott's motorcycle was on first, surrounded by 3 sets of mattresses and the 2 couches (for padding), plus boxes and boxes and boxes.  It was nice that the boxes packed so neatly.  We were amazed that we got everything in just 10 ft. of space on the back of the truck.  Of course, it was packed floor to ceiling.  That's what we wondered about when Mike opened the doors ... did everything stay put?  Did everything survive the trip?

There was one plastic tote that was on the very top and it was above the last strap.  I felt sure this would be lying on the floor, but it was still there.  It was all just as we had left it.  Peggi and I started unloading the boxes.  Scott was at a job interview at Best Buy, so just the two of us just unloaded boxes ... all of the big stuff would be the last items off.  Scott would be back in time for that.

The inside of the truck was like an oven under the 110 degree sun.  Sweat was just pouring off.  I finally ditched the tee-shirt and wrapped it around my head like a bandanna.  I unloaded in stages, taking boxes off the top down to the middle, then climbing down and handing those boxes to Peg, who stacked them in the parking lot.  Then when I needed a break, I got out of the truck and carried boxes up the stairs into the apartment, catching brief breezes of air conditioning.  We fell into the rhythm of this routine until Scott came back from his job interview.  He became the man in the middle.  He got more excited as more of his motorcycle started to appear.  His strength seemed to increase, while ours waned.

The heat seemed to suck every ounce of energy from our bodies.  Even with a short lunch break, it was now more of an endurance test than anything.  Plus, the unrelenting "stair master" (remind me to find an apartment on the first floor the next time) shredded our calves and thighs, making it painful to even walk down the stairs empty handed.  But we managed to get everything off the truck, and Mike checked his other load ... the one in front of ours.  The timing couldn't have been better when Peg's brother Dan showed up after work and helped us carry the couches and a couple other items in.

We were beat ... but ... finally ... we were moved in!

September 2

Waking up in a different bedroom gave us the impression we were on vacation. The impact of being in a new home had not hit us yet. But it was great! The night on the air mattress was even comfortable, considering how tired we were from driving the day before. We needed breakfast, but the house was empty, so we went down to one of the nearby plazas and got a coffee and bagel. How nice to be able to sit outside and eat in the early warmth of the day.

High on my mind was the whereabouts of our truck. I felt sure he must be somewhere in town. Mike answered right away when I dialed. Any worries dissappeared when he explained he was in Oklahoma. A blown axle seal put him in the repair shop for 2 days. He still had to drive all the way across Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona. We were actually relieved ... now we had a day or so to recuperate from all of our driving and mentally prepare to unload the truck.

Returning home, Peggi wandered through every square foot of the apartment, captivated by its features, and enjoying the luxury of the warm weather. Helping to ease the tranisition was the fact that our living room - dining room layout was just about the same as it was in Edinboro. As with the ill-fated Lynwood Dr. townhouse we lived in, there was a fireplace. (Unlike there, we were reassured by the fact that there were sprinklers in case of fire!) Our bedroom was just a tiny bit smaller than before, but since it was a suite, we had the addition of the double bowl sinks and cabinets and separate master bathroom. At the end of the master suite was a large walk-in closet, seeming almost like another small room.

The kitchen was one of the biggest pleasures. Our old kitchen was a small galley layout with hardly any countertops. This one had a U-shaped layout with plenty of countertops and almost triple the amount of cabinet space. Additionally, there was space between the tops of the wall cabinets and the high vaulted ceiling. We had gotten a brand new stove. Scott tried baking a pizza while he was here; the residue from left over oven cleaner just about gassed him out, so he reported it to the office. The next day, the maintenance staffed showed up with a new stove, still in the carton. We were especially pleased that the refigerator had an ice maker -- we would find out later that we would use that alot!

Technically speaking, our unit is a one bedroom, two bath apartment with a den. Scott took the den as his bedroom -- it's the same size as ours. He can now make a grand entrance into the living room through the double doors! In the hallway between his room and the second bathroom is a laundry with full-sized washer and dryer. Our wonderful sister-in-law, Lori, helped Scott move in; she noticed the washer and dryer didn't match, so she noted it on the move-in list. A week later, a brand new dryer was delivered and installed.

One of our favorite places has become the patio. We have a nice view of the "green" space between buildings and a slight view to the north. Larger than our outside patio in Edinboro, there was ample room for our patio furniture. Another advantage of this property is, when you sit out here at night, there is almost absolute silence! No traffic noise. Just silence. Add to that the sparkling stars, and you've got it all. There is a storage room off of the patio (which we call the basement), since that is where we put most of the things that were in the basement in Edinboro.

Later in the day we went up to the community building. Lorrie, our leasing agent, greeted us by name when we came in, and fussed over Peggi as if she were a long lost friend. We paid the rent, then went on a tour around the rest of the facility. There are several sitting areas in the main part of the building, a business center with computers, a digital movie theatre where you can play your DVDs, a fitness center, and numerous patio areas around the outside of the building. Around the corner is the swimming pool, whirlpool, and the tennis and basketball courts.

Overwhelmed by our resort-like new home, we spent the rest of the day shopping and getting used to our new surroundings. Hopefully, tomorrow the truck would arrive.

September 1

Everyone I've talked to said driving across the panhandle of Texas on I-40 is gruelling. What's interesting is that the Interstate follows the same route as the legendary Route 66. Occasionally, a portion of it will pop up at an exit with a collection of yellow-fronted emporiums preceded by miles of preposterous billboards announcing whatever they are hawking ... FREE 72 oz. Steak (if you can eat it all in 10 minutes, or some other fine print). The transition between Ohio, to Indiana, to Missouri, to Oklahoma was rather seamless, with just a gradual lessening of hills and thinning of trees. But Texas ... cross the imaginary state line ... the vegetation changed to some kind of grayish scrub brush. You could actually see a change!

That didn't mean the drive would be any more interesting. Instead of miles of flat farmland and cathedral-like grain bins, there were ranches with their thousands of acres of free-range cattle grazing and an occasional portico announcing the entrance to a ranch and an endless road that might eventually end up at a house. OK, so set the cruise control to 95 and move on.

Nearly across the state, we spotted it from a distance. Was it deja vu? I thought we passed one in Indiana or Missouri -- how could there be two? That's right ... the world's largest cross. The billboards were now starting to appear. The last one was a typical tourist trap, complete with gift shop chapel and park-like landscaping (nothing like the site of the original cross, I'm sure). This one was still under construction. The disclaimer was a little more specific ... this was the largest cross west of the other largest cross ... ! What would Jesus say? The rest was a blur.

I remember the sign at the state line for New Mexico. The same thing happened as when we crossed over into Texas. The terrain had begun to buckle a bit with some mini-canyons appearing, but as soon as we drove into New Mexico there were mesas. These mini mountain ranges with the tops cut off flat appeared out of nowhere and went on forever! More and more appeared. Nothing much else changed, except there was more of a desert motif -- scrub brush and more dirt, but no cactus. The black cows grazing along the road appeared more infrequently and the road became a bit more winding. There were safety zones where, upon threat of speeding fines, you believed you should slow down, only to find out there wasn't a cop for miles.

Albequerqe came and went. All I remember was more traffic construction zones. We wondered about Mike and our truckload of furnishings. We figured he'd call when he got to town. He should have by now. I didn't want to call him, because I didn't want to wake him up if he was in his down time. The Arizona border didn't come soon enough.

Now we were seeing mountains. Nothing much else. Just mountains and an occasional Indian trading post with authentic pottery or jewelry or petrified wood or blankets ...! I'm beginning to think there is a billboard company that specializes in making the signs that litter the sides of this road ... they all look the same ... just the names and items are changed.

I noticed the steady climb into the mountains. It was gradual, but the occasional elevation sign announced the progress. We noticed the sky darkening in the distance. A thunderstorm was hanging on a mountain top. Before long we had to turn the windshield wipers on. We had been warned this was monsoon season, and the storms would move in quickly, dropping much of the yearly rainfall within a short period of time. On the back side of the mountain, it let loose, pouring so hard we could hardly see. Then it just quit. Another larger storm could be seen way off to the south as we got closer to Flagstaff, but the road seemed to purposely wind around it.

When we visited the Grand Canyon in March, I knew it was in the mountains. But driving into Flagstaff was like being in the Rockies. Trees, elk-crossing signs and winding roads almost made us think we were back in Pennsylvania. We were now less than 2 hours from our new home. Scott had already called. We thought about stopping to eat, but decided against it, thinking we'd take Scott out to eat when we got there.

If you ever wonder why the Phoenix area is referred to as the valley, just drive there from Flagstaff. All those miles of gradual climing through New Mexico and Arizona were now culminating in a downhill rollercoaster ride right to the outskirts of Scottsdale. More construction ahead. And trucks with smoking brakes. We arrived at the 101 amid clusters of orange barrels and cones. It was late and I think my internal clock was still running on eastern time, so it seemed around midnight, even though it was only around 9 p.m. Missed the turn at the 101, did a couple U-turns, finally arriving at the Hayden Road exit. We turned on Princess Drive, then pulling into the parking lot -- we were home!

Peggi was pleased with the apartment Scott and I had picked out, but no time for ceremony. We simply crashed on the airmattress on loan from Aunt Mary. We left mid-morning on Sunday and covered nearly 2200 miles by Tuesday night. We were beat!

August 31

The desk clerk at the hotel gave us a card for the only garage around. We were surrounded by truck garages, but they only serviced semis. Don's Garage. Oh well, it couldn't be any worse than when the van blew an engine in West Virginia! I called and Don himself answered the phone. He was very polite and to the point -- he'd get us in right away and get us back on the road as soon as possible. His uncle John did the towing, and he'd be right over to pick us up.

John called. In a delightful midwest drawl, he politely explained he'd have to let the truck warm up and then he'd be down -- probably 25 minutes. Since it was only 7:30 a.m., we took our time checking out and grabbed some breakfast in the lobby. In no time at all, there he was, dressed in freshly laundered (I think they were actually ironed!) camoflage fatigue pants and an equally clean work shirt with his name embroidered on it. What threw us a bit for this lanky sixtyish man was the gleaming pair of diamond ear studs offset by a Bluetooth headset. We gave the car a jump to get it started and I drove it over to the waiting flatbed truck. After a thorough explanation of which cables and straps he was using and the reassurance that he'd never lost a vehicle he was transporting, we climbed in the cab and headed off to Don's Garage.

The 10 mile ride went quickly with John's recount of his more memorable tows, and his years as a supervisor for the state department of transportation. He preferred to call in the AAA report himself, because, honestly, I believe he knew every square inch of road surface in the county. In no time we arrived at Don's Garage -- an expansive building with multiple service bays, which were all open and each busy with some type of auto repair.

Don came by and greeted us personally. He was the stereotype of an Hoosier -- polite, well dressed -- with a long cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. We had broken an alternator belt -- one of those long serpentine belts that wound around several pullies. We were assured we'd be back on the road as soon as possible. A young mechanic started working on the car immediately as it rolled off the tow truck. In the meantime we could wait in the customer lounge. It was the showroom of a former car dealership, very spacious, with numerous tables and chairs -- even a piano in the corner. Several young children ran around, which we later found out were Don's grandchildren. His daughters worked in the office. His son was our mechanic. Uncle John did the towing. I got the idea this was a family business. A fellow waiting for an oil change assured us that Don could fix anything. For some reason I believed him.

John made sure I had coffee and sat to chat until he received a phone call on his Bluetooth, whereby he politely excused himself and went outside. Don came in and appologized that the alternator belt that had just been delivered was the wrong one and he'd have the correct one soon. Within minutes another parts truck arrived and Don informed us it would be ready shortly. He worked the garage, flitting from vehicle to vehicle observing the progress, then coming into the office barking out parts that needed to be ordered, and finally going through the waiting room to update everyone on the progress of their vehicle, then back to the garage. Before long his son, our mechanic, came in like a surgeon announcing the outcome of an operation, and informed us he wanted to let the car run for a bit to recharge the battery, then we could go.

Peggi paid the bill and came back with a rather stunned look on her face. "How much do you think that was?" she asked. I thought it would be $200 -300. It was $64! Don breesed through again to say goodbye, and John came by to make sure I had the directions to get out of town and back on the Interstate. These folks were so nice, I almost didn't want to leave! But we did. It had been under 2 hours, but added to the hours we lost last night, we had some catching up to do.

We arrived in St. Louis around noon. You can see the Gateway Arch about 15 miles outside of town. It sticks up above everything else, and got bigger and bigger as we got closer. Promising we would just get in and out, we parked and walked through a nice park full of noon-time joggers overlooking the Mississippi. The arch was so huge, there was no way I could get a full shot of it in the camera that close. The entrance was below ground via a long sloping ramp. We bypassed the gift shops and got tickets for the tram that took you to the top, which was leaving immediately! We had to run to get in line.

If you think of a tram as a train, then think of a bunch of commercial sized laundry dryer drums travelling on a winding track inside the arch. There was room for 5 very small people in each and you could not sit straight up -- hunched over was the way to go! Arriving at the top, there was still a flight of steep narrow stairs to reach the viewing area. Once there, you could look out some very small rectangular windows by literally laying down on an angled carpeted cutout in the wall. But, what an amazing view! You could see for miles from this perch nearly 1000 feet in the air. From the east side was Indiana and the Mississippi River -- the official dividing line between east and west. On the other side was St. Louis, Bush Stadium, and the west! Our excitement of actually driving west lasted only momentarily until the call came for the next tram to go down. We hopped on (rather, squeezed in) with the same young couple we rode up with. And shortly, after a brief stop in a rather shady part of town for gas, headed on to I-44.

Missouri is called the "show me" state. I was waiting for them to show me something other than farm land. The only thing to break the monotony was the end-to-end construction zones of zillions of orange cones. It was Sunday, so there was no work going on. On clear stretches, I was able to set the cruise control on 90 and just boogie.

When we crossed into Oklahoma, the only difference was the road sign announcing we were now in Oklahoma. We stopped to eat in Tulsa, and as darkness approached, we vowed to drive as long as we could. Mike, our driver, told us it would take him 3 days to get to Scottsdale, and considering he left on Saturday, we figured he was well ahead of us. So we wanted to make up time as not to hold him up since we were the first load off. We made it almost all the way through Oklahoma, stopping in Weatherford -- one of the last big dots on the map. We settled in at the Scottish Inn -- not quite the Bates Motel, but I'm sure I saw one like this in a murder movie once.

Tomorrow we tackle Texas and New Mexico.