Drive on!

Eleven years ago, on the first day of van life, I drove from Lexington, South Carolina to a campground near Cincinnati. Six-hundred and something miles fueled by excitement and a deep desire to get back to my true home in the West. 

The next day I logged 730 miles, ending up in Minnesota at the junction of I-35 and I-90. Part of that was through fog so thick all I could do was follow the big rig lights ahead of me and pray they didn’t lead me into the ditch.

The third day was a “short” 500 miles to Rapid City, South Dakota. While waiting for my South Dakota residency stuff I wandered to Devil’s Tower, the Badlands, Wounded Knee, Mount Rushmore, and the Crazy Horse memorial. Drive drive drive drive… 

Then off to Boise to see friends. Then onward to the Oregon Coast.

I don’t drive like that anymore. I have no desire to. And I physically and mentally can’t. I’m an old man now.

But there I was a couple of days ago, wanting to get from the Coast to Flagstaff. That meant crossing the triple-digit heat of the Central Valley and the Mojave Desert, with long empty stretches that make the trip feel even longer.

I considered various routes, including one that followed the coastline all the way to San Diego. I finally settled on starting in the late afternoon, when things should begin cooling down a little, then taking 166 east from Santa Maria, over some low mountains to the bottom of the Central Valley, passing just south of Bakersfield, then up into the hills/mountains that separate the valley from the desert. I could stop in Tehachapi, at about 4,000 feet, where it wouldn’t be as hot. Then I’d leave as soon as the sky started to lighten and blast the 300 miles across the desert to Kingman before maximum heat of the day.

I do something that makes summer driving, oh, less pleasant. I avoid using air conditioning in order to save gas. Also, I just prefer driving with the windows open when the weather allows. The wind and the connection to the outside make me more alert and refreshed. But as I was approaching Needles it got to the point where being sealed in the cooler confines of the van would not only be nicer but also kind of necessary.

There are many of us who avoid driving on holiday weekends. Argh, vacationers clogging up the roads, many of them with large, slow rigs. However, there were far fewer of them than I had feared and for more big rigs than I think I’ve ever encountered. Half of them were driving at speeds that made the other half want to pass them. You know how that goes.

So when I got to Kingman I chose to get off I-40 and it’s long slow-truck-clogged climb up to Flagstaff and take Route 66 through Peach Springs. It’s longer, and the speed limit is lower, but it was a pleasant, stress-free drive. Too bad it only gets you halfway to Flagstaff before being swallowed by I-40. But I had gotten my second or third wind and made the final 50-mile push to Flagstaff.

The Coconino forest around Flagstaff was filled with weekenders and summer-ers, but I found a decent site and collapsed. I woke up after a couple of hours and took some nourishment before going back to sleep. A day behind the wheel had wiped me out.

This morning I contacted my friend and got directions to his homestead. Then I took another nap. But I won’t be doing much driving for a while. I’ll be wearing out my old man body in other ways.