I should have stopped at Flagstaff. That’s what came to my head as I leaned forward in the driver’s seat of my 2004 Subaru Outback, my forehead almost pressed to the windshield, negotiating my way down I-40 in the mountains of northern Arizona. Sleet pelted down on the windshield, and for a brief moment I considered the sudden precariousness of the situation and how it could have been avoided by switching off my precious iPod for a few seconds and checking the weather on an AM station. I could already see the Arizona State Trooper sitting at the Waffle House at 4 a.m. tomorrow talking to the familiar waitress who served him egg whites, toast and a cup of coffee. “Some asshole from Massachusetts moving to California really took a digger on the turn. Stupid bastard.”
And, of course, he’d be right. I should have checked the weather.
But first a word about Santa Fe, New Mexico. I’d spent nearly nine hours in the car since leaving Midwest City, Oklahoma, a suburb of Oklahoma City that didn’t have too much going on. Driving through Arkansas and Oklahoma wasn’t the most scenic, either, but I guess if you looked at it through the right set of lens it could be considered pretty in its own way. A lot of plateaus and flat prairie land, however, seems to make the trip seem longer.
But crossing the border from Texas into New Mexico provided an abrupt and welcomed change of scenery. It became desert, and the rolling hills were dotted with shrubbery as I made my way north up a lonely state road (285) that juts off from I-40 and takes you up to Santa Fe. The sun set quietly behind some snow-capped mountains in the distance.
The town itself (at least near the plaza) was upscale, with small bistros with New Mexican art on the wall and small cafes serving colorful plates of eggs and salsa. From a tourism perspective, this is definitely the off-season, as the hotel I stayed in, The Inn of the Governors, was incredibly nice but inexpensive.
Looking at the map in Santa Fe that evening, it became clear that Las Vegas might be a little too far for one trip. Though it clocked in at around 10 hours, I just didn’t think I’d have it in me, so I decided I’d get as far as I could, stop for the evening, and then take a skip and hop into Vegas on Thursday. When I arrived at Flagstaff, Arizona (which is about the halfway point from Santa Fe to Vegas), I considered stopping for the night as the town had many hotels to choose from. But the sky was gray, and for some reason I just felt I needed to press on. The next logical place on the map seemed to be Kingman, Ariz., which sits at the junction of I-40 and route 93, which takes you north to Vegas.
While this paid off by me arriving safely at a hotel in Kingman, the drive in between Flagstaff and here was rough. I-40 takes you through the mountains, and as soon as the sun began to set, sleet, snow and rain began to assault the road and my car. Truckers put on their emergencies as we descended the hills, and I became keenly aware that if any of them slammed on the brakes things might not end well.
But eventually the road flattened out as I approached Kingman, and I held up here for the night. I’m now typing this as I prepare to load the car and make the trip up to Vegas for the evening. I got a killer deal at The Mandalay. After that, tomorrow it’s on to Santa Barbara and make my way up the coast this weekend to my new home.
