In case you missed it, here is Part l.
The story of my first road trip continues…
I’m not entirely sure how long we stood in silence in that canyon; just staring at the Toyota Camry with a pink butterfly decal on the back window. If I had to guess, I’d say it was about ten minutes, but who really knows. When you’re sitting in silence, marinating in the indignity of your own foolish actions, time seems to slow down to a leisurely crawl to ensure you have plenty of time to realize what you’ve just done.
Maddie was meandering through the labyrinth of our luggage from the trunk that was sprawled out on the dirt. If only we could squeeze Maddie through the gap and tell her to open the door, I thought to myself. If we couldn’t get Maddie through, just what would fit through the gap? I crawled in the trunk of the Camry and analyzed the small space. We had pushed the seat down as far as it would go before it caught on the snack station’s cooler. That left us with about two and a half inches of space. Not only was the gap only big enough for a toddler’s arm, but we would need a toddler with go-go-gadget arms because the door lock was three feet away, just behind the driver’s seat.
I surveyed our surroundings to see what we could use to MacGyver something long, skinny and hook-like. Wait a second. I thought. Long, skinny, hook-like, toddler-extendo-arms… “Elyse! You’ve got freaky long and skinny arms. You try!”
Although she didn’t find my epiphany to be a compliment, she became a hero that day. She crawled into the trunk, weaselled her lengthy limbs through the small space and managed to get her spindly fingers on door lock.
Mission accomplished. We were off.
A few hours later we were watching the sun rise over the red-stained sands of Utah. The sunlight revealed spires of crumbling, orange sandstone that sporadically broke the cadence of the flat ground. It was a dramatic change from the Rocky Mountains, but a beautiful one.
Once we were about half way through the state, we passed a sign that read “No Bull. No Service for the Next 110 Miles” with a picture of what looked more like a moose than a cow. We pulled off at the next town; our last chance for the next 110 miles. It was a typical, rural Utah town. A town that made me question what its inhabitants did for fun.
By the time we had fuelled up the car, washed the windshields and reloaded the snack station, Elyse was still waiting in line for the single bathroom. I joined her in line just as the bathroom door opened, and I suddenly understood what was taking so long. A creature emerged from lavatory that barely qualified as a human. It was the size of an ox and had the personal hygiene of a farm pig. The creature’s lips curled into a mischievous smile, revealing the three teeth that remained in its head. A low chuckle rumbled out of its toothless mouth as it sauntered by with a limp. Elyse and I looked at each other in horror.
My sister, as if she hadn’t been brave enough that day with her magical arms, stepped into the bathroom. She immediately pulled her shirt over her nose. An indescribable smell that surely surpassed all repulsive stenches on a scale of odors assaulted her nostrils. I watched as her eyes instinctively started to water. At this point, we were committed. We held our breathes, sucked it up and used the bathroom.
We were back on the road, and vowed never to use a public bathroom ever again. Bushes were much more hygienic, and welcoming. Before we headed for the California border, we wanted to take a little hike around Paria Canyon. We had researched it before we left, and decided we would check it out for a few hours. We’d just pulled off, take a little hike up the canyon, and then be on our way. Easy!
Wrong.
We had circled on a map where we thought the trailhead was; just north of the Utah/Arizona border. We pulled off the highway onto a dirt road that looked promising. All cool places start with a dirt road, right? We off roaded the Camry until we got to a bridge that was so narrow it made us realize that we were driving on an ATV trail. We backtracked to the highway and tried another direction.
We drove around for almost two hours, pulling off anywhere that remotely looked like a trailhead, but nothing seemed quite right. After we had passed the “Welcome to Utah” sign twice, and the “Welcome to Arizona” sign three times, we decided to give up on our hiking dream. There’s something very frustrating and defeating about accidentally crossing a state border five times.
Fail number four.
Finally, we were closing in on California. Were we about three hours behind schedule at this point, but we were still moving. We cut the corner of Arizona, landing us in the heart of Las Vegas. It was early afternoon on a Sunday as we drove down the Strip. We saw all the casinos, fountains and towering hotels among the colorful characters walking around the street. When it was time to leave the bizarre city of sins, we quickly learned a valuable lesson. Driving from Las Vegas to Orange County on a Sunday afternoon was, and still is, a terrible idea. Why is it a terrible idea? Well, because every other human from Southern California is doing the exact same thing.
We were stuck in traffic between the Mojave Desert and Death Valley. There was only one word to describe our situation: hot. We had passed a few road signs warning us that our car could very easily overheat, and to ease up on the A/C. When it’s 102 degrees with 98% humidity and you’re sitting in a metal oven with wheels, turning the air conditioning off seems like a suicide mission. Interstate 15 had been turned into a scorching parking lot of hellfire.
Fail number five.
People were getting out of their cars to casually stroll around the freeway; some had even set up chairs. We had gone a quarter of a mile in just under an hour and a half. At this point, the fuel warning light had been on for far too long. Our worry was eased when we saw, through the heat mirage, a gas station that was just over the next hill. On a normal day, it would’ve taken us about ten minutes to get there, gas up and leave.
It took us three hours to get gas. The journey from the interstate to the gas station, that was directly off of the freeway, and back onto the interstate took us three hours. Needless to say, our blood was boiling. Literally. We were sweating places that no one should never sweat out of.
The heat had us so temperamental, that my sister and I started fighting over things that had happened in the third grade. Elyse, who was driving, got out of the car at one point and stormed down the line of traffic. Ericka jumped in the driver’s seat and affiliated a Dr. Phil episode between the two of us while sitting in traffic. After 5 hours of searing heat and a free therapist session, cars finally started to move.
The breeze through the windows felt like bliss. Going twenty-five miles per hour had never been so invigorating. We turned off the overly used Journey CD and sang the theme song from The O.C. the rest of the way. When we finally reached Orange County, we followed the scent of salty waves down to the beach. We had finally made it. After almost 40 hours of mishaps, frantic meows, unbearable heat and nearly killing each other. We made it, and it was totally worth it.
