Road Warrior

I stared at the radar map, hoping to see nothing. Instead, I found myself referencing the snow accumulation key, trying to convince myself that a few inches wouldn’t be enough of a concern to cancel the spontaneous adventure. The blizzard warnings, however, made enough of an impact to postpone departure twenty-four hours. By then, surely, the roads would be ready for Rachelle.

Twenty-four hours came and went, and I was on my way to New Mexico. Weather.com informed me that I might face a “wintery mix” between Tulsa and Oklahoma City, but that prediction seemed harmless compared to the previous day’s blizzard. In addition, blue skies and sunshine were forecasted for Texas. So, naturally, I envisioned windows down and sunglasses by late afternoon.

Lost in a sea of white, my windshield wipers were beginning to cease their full range of motion due to the accumulation of precipitation on the windshield itself. Following closely behind a large semi-truck, taking advantage of its snow-cleared tracks, I rolled down the window with hopes of removing some of the packed “wintery mix” from my front shield of glass. As chunks of slush poured into my car and onto my lap, I laughed at my failure to predict this action. Going twenty miles an hour, all I could do was hope that the truck in front of me didn’t exit off the highway before the roads started clearing.

At the last toll booth in Oklahoma, the snow had already begun to clear. This booth was one of two not manned on the main route headed west, and required the same dollar as before. I retrieved four quarters out of my quarter holder specifically created for the state of Oklahoma, also known as a film canister, and threw them in the plastic receptor. And, I waited patiently for the red light to turn green, giving me clearance to continue forward. No green light. Immediately, the following went through my head: I paid, I don’t want to pay again…I need those quarters for the return trip, maybe the machine is broken, I’m not trying to scam the system, I hate Oklahoma’s toll roads, I just want out of this state, no one’s around, I’m going. Then the alarm sounded. Three feet out of the gate and I put on the brakes. I looked up, to the right, to the left, and actually waited for the armed troopers I thought might be hiding somewhere to come arrest me. The words, “But I paid…really!” were already starting to form from my lips. When I realized no one was coming, and I decided that a ticket was likely in the mail, I proceeded on to Texas with some laughter and some ease.

When I opened the car door with camera and ink pen in hand, I had no idea that the next few minutes would find me hopping from dry patch to dry patch throughout the mud field hosting ten Cadillacs buried in the ground. Earlier in the year, during my first road trip out west, I had made a special stop at this very place in Amarillo—the Cadillac Graveyard—to leave my mark as expected. Hoping to find my name still visible on the graffiti-covered vehicles, I instead found mud covered shoes and unreachable cars due to the melting snow from the blizzard the day before. This, coupled with the random television reporter who decided to join me once I was headed towards the cars, hastened my abandonment of the quest and my desire to reach my pit-stop for the night.

As I pulled into the driveway in Clovis, New Mexico, I couldn’t help but admire the moment. For this was the driveway of the stranger I had met during my last journey out west. Since then, we have become friends, and I can’t help but treasure the beauty of the situation. Doors really are always opening around us; sometimes, it seems, we are just blind to the opportunities.

The next few days produced beautiful scenery in two National Parks, and interest in uncovering governmental secrecy of extraterrestrial findings. Carlsbad Caverns left me wanting more with sold-out cave tours and grounded bad flights, but gave me an incredible experience nonetheless. And, despite the eighty-mile-an-hour winds that forced me to stack rocks on the corners of my tent—tricked my mind into imagining creepy experiences outside my tent—and prevented me from summiting the highest point in Texas, Guadalupe Mountains National Park gave me memorable conversations with strangers and rangers, hikes, and a visitor center to charge my cellular phone. Roswell, too, rose to the occasion with alien art, twinkly lights and enough UFO paraphernalia to summon even the most stubborn spacecraft.

But the true beauty of this trip wasn’t found underground, in the mountains, or in the weather balloon myths. It was found on the journey home. As I crossed into the state of Missouri from the land of tolls, I melted into a sincere appreciation for my surroundings. Hills and color never looked so inviting; trees conjured up a joy so intense I surprised myself. Even the Bible verse billboards, staggered with Adult Video store advertisements, made me happy. And when I drove onto the college campus that night for my student organization meeting, I found myself wanting to pause in the happiness…the happiness I have right in front of me…in Missouri…working for a college…working with young minds full of hope and passion. While I think most of this reaction was a result of my future departure and all the emotions associated with it, it definitely triggered an awareness I hope to embrace these next few months.