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!