The last time I was in the Tucson area, the boys and I were flying by the seat of our pants. We were delivering people’s cars across the country and clearly violating a number of rules to which I signed my thumbprint to uphold. We had collectively something like $400.00 to get from Florida back to Oregon, our outpost at the time. We stopped on the Mt. Lemmon highway one morning, after camping somewhere in the Catalinas (where in the hell were we?) I remember jumping out of the car, freezing cold in the morning, to take a quick picture. My cousin T took the shot while the rest of us vogued it up on a rock overlooking the desert valley below. That picture has become iconic for us.
Not only did we travel without a safety net all the time, but we often set our own trapeze wires on fire along the way.
Last night I drove out to the edge of town, to a place called Gate’s Pass, where the mountains meet the desert sea. I waited for the sunset with the same impatience I reserve for the folks at the Sprint PCS store. Feet kicked up on the dash of a rental car reserved in my name (full size thank you) and paid for by an American Express card issued in my name by a reputable organization which holds me in high regard. As the sun touched the horizon, I turned off NPR. I can’t believe West Side Story didn’t win any tony awards in 1957! I took my place at the rail in between camera dueling japanese tourists and a couple who arrived on a Harley with SOBER TUCSON vests. I snapped some pics, tried to access the awe file in my brain, then got a hankering for chinese food.
I ate my szechuan tofu in front of the Radisson T.V. Ice T and his cronies cracked another case on Law and Order. Relieved to see another killer off the streets I was able to drift off to sleep at 9:30 and sleep the sleep of the bored.