Arlington to Phoenix, the long way
When my marriage to Lisa fell apart in 1990 things looked bleak. We were both still working at C&K, and for whatever reason people were talking to me about her new man.
I had made the mistake (maybe a mistake, who really knows) of giving her the 'me or him' ultimatum. And as she chose him, reconciliation was out of the question. We were doomed as a couple. That our marriage ended was to most, less of a surprise than the marriage at all. I surely never seemed like the marrying type, in fact I was kinda surprised myself when I hear me suggest to her that we tie the knot. It's some 35 years later and I'm still shocked.
As much as i loved being a machinist, this job got a bit more difficult for me when they moved me out of R&D and into the bigger shop. As a person who detested being told how to behave (I needed to be told, certainly!) I didn't much care for being constrained by someone I didn't respect. Quitting that job felt like a viable option, and that's what I did. We had been to divorce court in the spring of '91, and although the details of the decree are sketchy, I know that we had to be apart for some time and then go back in the fall to finalize the break. It made sense for me to stay working until the end of the fiscal year (June 30th) for that final contribution to my pension. As of July 1st, I was free.
I cannot for the life of me recall where the idea to roam came from, as I know is that soon enough I was telling people that I was headed west (east from Boston is too wet) and that I wasn't sure when I'd return. This was especially hard on Pam, my long time friend from her days at C&K with whom I became involved in the spring. I wasn't emotionally available for a serious relationship... In fact I played the field for fourteen years, marrying Suwanna in 2005. Once I told folks of my plan, there was no turning back, and I doubt that I considered that option. I liked adventure and enjoyed the challenge. This was 1991, pre-GPS. I did secure a debit card so that I'd have access to cash easily. I had an atlas and a portable CD player (not in dash, wired directly to the battery. I bought or traded with my brother for a Nissan pickup truck with a cap on the back.
I'm lucky to have had people in my life who saw this escape as the adventure it had become. Why was I going? Where was I going? When will I return? All viable questions, not a one with a sensible answer.
My friend David Joyce has a photographic memory and was able to, in chronological order for 99.5% of my journey lay out exactly what I would see whether I chose to go the northern route, which included the upper peninsula of Michigan and North Dakota, or to bypass UP and stay low and to go to South Dakota. I wish i had kept those bowling score cards he wrote on, they'd be a priceless addition to this page. Regardless, he was so accurate that each time I saw something interesting I'd compare it to his list, and I'd find it there.
I was given two books relative to my trip. One was a book written by a Native-American named William Heat Moon. The book, Blue Highways describe his journey in a situation similar to mine.... outlining that the blue highways were the ones connecting rural America. That became my approach, stay off the superhighways, follow local roads. My sister Linda gave me a book for my birthday, entitled: The Jazz and Blues Lovers Guide to the U.S. by Christine Bird. First printed in February of 1991, the information was current to the degree that when I was in Portland OR on a Wednesday night, the Jim Mesi Band was, in fact, playing at the venue listed in the book.
I met a lot of really nice people on this trip, a lot of them retirees. It was commonplace for me to have someone tell me how fortunate I was that I was able to undertake this adventure while I was young. I had it in my mind that I'd be doing it again soon enough. It hasn't happened yet, and the prospects seem unlikely. And now that I'm of retirement age, I better understand why the older folks i met told me that achy bones and sore muscles made exploring impossible.
I had one lousy experience along the way, after a shitty day in Idaho. It had been my plan to meet up with a former coworker in Ironwood. He had invited me, and when I got close to where he was now living, I called. First cal I left a meesage. Second call and I spoke to a female, who I had assumed was his daughter. A third call went unanswered. I went to a local bar in a little downtown area, and ordered a sandwich and a drink. I had pretty much avoided alcohol, although I was gifted with a bottle of Jack Daniels that I occasionally sipped by the campfire. The woman behind the bar was interested the story about my trip, and her warm demeanor was nice in contrast to the cold reception I had earlier. Eventually we were joined by Chad, a somewhat obnoxious guy about my age.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_Highways
I had made the mistake (maybe a mistake, who really knows) of giving her the 'me or him' ultimatum. And as she chose him, reconciliation was out of the question. We were doomed as a couple. That our marriage ended was to most, less of a surprise than the marriage at all. I surely never seemed like the marrying type, in fact I was kinda surprised myself when I hear me suggest to her that we tie the knot. It's some 35 years later and I'm still shocked.
As much as i loved being a machinist, this job got a bit more difficult for me when they moved me out of R&D and into the bigger shop. As a person who detested being told how to behave (I needed to be told, certainly!) I didn't much care for being constrained by someone I didn't respect. Quitting that job felt like a viable option, and that's what I did. We had been to divorce court in the spring of '91, and although the details of the decree are sketchy, I know that we had to be apart for some time and then go back in the fall to finalize the break. It made sense for me to stay working until the end of the fiscal year (June 30th) for that final contribution to my pension. As of July 1st, I was free.
I cannot for the life of me recall where the idea to roam came from, as I know is that soon enough I was telling people that I was headed west (east from Boston is too wet) and that I wasn't sure when I'd return. This was especially hard on Pam, my long time friend from her days at C&K with whom I became involved in the spring. I wasn't emotionally available for a serious relationship... In fact I played the field for fourteen years, marrying Suwanna in 2005. Once I told folks of my plan, there was no turning back, and I doubt that I considered that option. I liked adventure and enjoyed the challenge. This was 1991, pre-GPS. I did secure a debit card so that I'd have access to cash easily. I had an atlas and a portable CD player (not in dash, wired directly to the battery. I bought or traded with my brother for a Nissan pickup truck with a cap on the back.
I'm lucky to have had people in my life who saw this escape as the adventure it had become. Why was I going? Where was I going? When will I return? All viable questions, not a one with a sensible answer.
My friend David Joyce has a photographic memory and was able to, in chronological order for 99.5% of my journey lay out exactly what I would see whether I chose to go the northern route, which included the upper peninsula of Michigan and North Dakota, or to bypass UP and stay low and to go to South Dakota. I wish i had kept those bowling score cards he wrote on, they'd be a priceless addition to this page. Regardless, he was so accurate that each time I saw something interesting I'd compare it to his list, and I'd find it there.
I was given two books relative to my trip. One was a book written by a Native-American named William Heat Moon. The book, Blue Highways describe his journey in a situation similar to mine.... outlining that the blue highways were the ones connecting rural America. That became my approach, stay off the superhighways, follow local roads. My sister Linda gave me a book for my birthday, entitled: The Jazz and Blues Lovers Guide to the U.S. by Christine Bird. First printed in February of 1991, the information was current to the degree that when I was in Portland OR on a Wednesday night, the Jim Mesi Band was, in fact, playing at the venue listed in the book.
I met a lot of really nice people on this trip, a lot of them retirees. It was commonplace for me to have someone tell me how fortunate I was that I was able to undertake this adventure while I was young. I had it in my mind that I'd be doing it again soon enough. It hasn't happened yet, and the prospects seem unlikely. And now that I'm of retirement age, I better understand why the older folks i met told me that achy bones and sore muscles made exploring impossible.
I had one lousy experience along the way, after a shitty day in Idaho. It had been my plan to meet up with a former coworker in Ironwood. He had invited me, and when I got close to where he was now living, I called. First cal I left a meesage. Second call and I spoke to a female, who I had assumed was his daughter. A third call went unanswered. I went to a local bar in a little downtown area, and ordered a sandwich and a drink. I had pretty much avoided alcohol, although I was gifted with a bottle of Jack Daniels that I occasionally sipped by the campfire. The woman behind the bar was interested the story about my trip, and her warm demeanor was nice in contrast to the cold reception I had earlier. Eventually we were joined by Chad, a somewhat obnoxious guy about my age.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blue_Highways
Doric and Doric II
Go Home Lake
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White Mountain camping trip
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