AZ road trip, what's your longest or best trip?

[DuckforcoveR]

(Gratitude to my wife and her nous to write a journal for each of our holidays in the States.)
The tale below is true and hopefully speckled with humour. I mean no disrespect and please read the piece from the
view of someone who dreamt as a child of such a trip, but could never imagine how to.

An ignorant northern Limey, his smarter Missus and an almost three year-old boy setting off for a once-in-a-lifetime trip.
Destination, the USA. The year, 1996.

The United States of America, where guns are common, poverty means one's car isn't a cadillac and everyone who lives
in the west wears a Stetson. Three English people crossing an ocean to be dropped into an environment quite different
from anything they'd experienced before.

For such a journey, everything has to be organised. It wouldn't pay to get lost in the war-torn ghettos or die of thirst outside
an abandoned ghost-town. We'd seen the movies. Los Angeles would be a good start... I mean, how far away can the land
of millionaire film-stars be from merry-olde England?

Before we start, one must realise that for the average working-class English family, a journey should take place in daylight
hours and the evening could be set aside for whatever business is required. Spending more than one day away from home
can be seen as one item and therefore, one would vacation in only one chosen State.

Not realising how big America is, we opted to visit places of interest and didn't appreciate the distances involved.
A lesson we refused to learn later!
...................................

After spending an eternity in the sky, we stepped out of the front-doors of LAX and the world suddenly became noiser.
Unknowingly acting the part of standard tourists, we looked bewildered and terrified as we bustled past others for the routine
coach that will take us to where we could hire a car.
With body-clocks still telling us the USA had got the time wrong, we drove our newly-acquired Nissan Sentra to our booked hotel
in a place called 'Anaheim' and slept like comatose victims.

California.
Disneyland  and Knotts Berry Farm should keep the kid happy, the sights, sounds and smells of theme parks told us tourism is
a big thing here in the States and maybe the concerns of gun-toting maniacs and drug-pushing villains are something that the
media have attached to this land with far-more verve than they should've.
Everybody smiled and the sun shone down everyday. No.1 son looked happy and tired, so we might be doing something right!

San Diego, a name that should be one word, yes? Interstate 5... why can't the colonies just name their roads 'M5'?, it's almost
like they never needed us. They even have another ocean to brag about, something called the Pacific. My days of looking out
at the North Sea are memories best left in my mental packing-case, I'm getting the feeling that the USA holds a power more
greater than what I'd become accustomed to as an English subject of the Crown.
Whatever it is, the sunny-grins from road-vendors selling me a giant chunk of melon make me think that this energy is within the
people and not something a Government generates.

There's a forty-five minute journey at the cost of $1.75 each on a trolley-bus to Tijuana, maybe just another tourist-trap on the
border of Mexico. I realise that my British complacency is returning as my confidence grows, it's a strange country with strange
accents and a strange lack of self-reservation.

It's difficult to resist -during a conversation with a fellow-passenger of the trolley, to say "Ah yes, but in England we...", I'm a visitor
and an ambassador in a land that I'm slowly gaining a respect for due to the simple fact they seem genuinely happy to interact with
me.
My 'glass-half-empty' attitude is becoming more and more difficult to maintain... I must try harder!

They all wear sombreros in Mexico, John Wayne taught me that. Still, the day is bright and everything seems fine as the little bus
passes through the Border-Control without asking for our passports. It appears the US and Mexico have a very lax perspective
when it comes to boundaries.

We agree with the owner of the street cafe that we should rest awhile and enjoy some lunch. The constantly-smiling man chatters
to his assistants in a non-English language as he holds our chairs and assures us that we will enjoy ourselves. We did, except
for the large chap of colour on another table who spent some time ridiculing a lace-shawl seller who was offering his wares to
the cafe's patrons. 

Later, after having our photograph taken sporting the earlier-said sombreros and ornate ponchos in a cool mall-like shopping area,
my wife suggests we take a look around away from the standard tourist-map.

Back in that marble-lined Mall, I had my eye on a well-designed plaque titled 'The Three Faces of Man', a fairly expensive piece
of art that displayed the ages of a person's life.
It was a display of a young male's face split in half and behind it, another face showing lines of age and experience.
This too- was halved and behind it waited the face we will all know one day. A skull of the deceased.

Maybe next time, huh?

Walking the back-streets, we noticed that the tone of Tijuana had changed, it seemed oddly ominous and we silently agreed we
should return to where tourists were smiled-at and fawning was the norm. Taking a route that would bring us back to the main
thoroughfare, we noticed an old woman and two boys sitting together on the kerb.
A well-worn cloth lay in the road with trinkets and something that caught my eye at once, a version of the 'Three Faces' cartouche
I'd seen earlier.

This one was done in clay, no varnish and no fancy easel. The stand was made of remains of a flimsy fruit-crate and the legs were
held together with wire and Coca-Cola tabs. The old duck between the youngsters smiled and I believe we realised together that
this was a certain sale. Youth either side of age... there in front of me.
It was exactly what I wanted and I'm guessing -but if it was more than a four dollars, I'd be surprised.
(I even kept the newspaper it was wrapped in!)

Returning to the US from Mexico wasn't as simple as entering Mexico. We were nobody... we weren't even British tourists and the
grinning had gone. Passing through the Border-Control and Customs building was a real eye-opener for me and I know that we
were glad to board the train back to San Diego. It was a learning experience.
......................................

Arizona.
Jeez, this country is big, thank heavens the roads are straight.
Interstate 8 (I'm getting used to the lingo!) is the main highway from San Deigo to Tuscon and except for the four vehicles
we saw going the other way, it's a lonely road. We lunched in Yuma and chatted about the advice given for this State:
'Beware of rattlesnakes, Gila monsters and scorpions!'
Maybe, but my wife and I fell in love with the land. Lush deserts, a heat that told you who was the boss and sunsets to die for.

In 'The Western Town and Adverture' of Rawhide, my son took on the task of Deputy Sheriff and assisted a Rain-maker in
bringing on a downpour. An occupation not needed back in Britain! The day had passed quickly and later, a dip in the hotel
pool was welcomed.
The TV in the room announced that parts of Phoenix have lost their power due to thunderstorms, something not mention in
the vacation brochures!

Flagstaff.
150 mile drive that involved a slight detour to make sure we could soak in the wonder of Sedona, which I'm certain is a cousin
of the planet Mars. Talk about red...! Spectacular is correct word. We stopped in the town of Sedona and my wife bought a sand
painting of a lonely 'Indian' female staring out across the landscape of Arizona.
If I twist my head right now, I can see it on the wall.

So, through Oak Creek Canyon, we arrived at Flagstaff. Sadly, our itinerary demanded that we must be at the pre-booked allocated
hotels on the dates agreed, so we had little time to enjoy Flagstaff the way we wanted to. Believing this was still a trip-of-a-lifetime,
I guess we thought this strict regime was the same for everyone. How little we knew!

Anyone seen the movie 'Starman'...? the ending where Jeff Bridges goes back to his own planet? By the afternoon, we standing
on the edge of the meteor crater where they filmed that scene. Meteor Crater made me feel small. 50,000 years old and evidence
that may be unique, but the universe does what it does whether I'm here or not.
The surrounding thunder added to the visual marvels.

We slept at the railroad town of Flagstaff and readied ourselves for the next exhausting drive. Las Vegas ahead!
...................................

Nevada.
It was to be another busy day. Leaving Arizona, we felt it only right that we should take in the famous banks of the Colorado River.
Yet I believe the Grand Canyon must've frowned at our fleeting viewing of nature's marvel and due to our English panicking of not
being late for our hotel, we had to make do with a forty-minute tour of the Grand Canyon Caverns. 
This was something I was determined to remedy later.

Las Vegas.
I could copy from my wife's journal to explain how we felt about Las Vegas, but the fantastic lights and its gambling did little for us
and my son seemed bored with what the city had to offer. Yes, it plays to family-orientated visitors, but for this trio, our two-night
stay didn't find us hitting the gaming tables.

Instead, we found there was a place in the north-east called 'Lost City Museum', a forty-five mile drive to a repository of a history
that even my very-young son found interesting. With the use of a back-road, we later took in Lake Mead on our reluctant evening 
journey back to the gambling capital of the world.

San Francisco.
With a one-night rest in Fresno ahead, we aimed our rented Nissan Sentra towards one of the hottest places on Earth in order
to get to the city by the bay. They call it Death Valley and ensuring we had read all the advice to avoid becoming desiccated Brits,
we struck out for Furnace Creek and its 100 degrees temperatures.

At one point, I got out of the car to film the landscape and I heard a voice that many from colder climes may have -like me, abided to.
'Humans shouldn't be here'... and sighing in the coolness of the air-conditioning of our vehicle, I couldn't agreed more.
One may presume the man-made golf course was a middle-finger to the voice of desert-doom!

Passing the dunes near the end the Death Valley's environs, we decided to visit Sequoia National Park in California. It was on our
general route and hopefully, be cooler than the terrain we'd just left.

Words won't cut it -but just to say the trees were big.

We ate and slept in Fresno, but our hearts were in San Francisco. Clint Eastwood shot baddies there, hippies with flowers in their
hair sang about the city and they have an island that Frank Morris laughs about. My wife's journal comments that San Francisco is
a 'very European city', a view taken because of the cosmopolitan population and our mild aversion to built-up destinations.

We took in Pier 39 and Fisherman's Wharf. we marvelled at the busy stores in Chinatown and how the shop-owners out-performed
us at being polite. But with it being optimum holiday time, booking to visit Alcatraz was impossible. So we oggled at the crookedest
in the world (Lombard Street) and popped into Madame Tussauds Waxworks Museum to see who Mel Gibson didn't look like.

We were even treated to watching a group -of what we assumed were, armed FBI agents suddenly appear and take over Pier 39.
My guess was that an evil Harbour seal had come ashore to pervert the residents of San Francisco, but it's just a guess.

That evening, as my wife and son tucked into a large bowl of ice-cream, I went for a walk and still thinking the world worked like
it did in England, visited a Public House for a welcoming beer. After assuring the barman that I didn't know 'Frank-from Blackpool'
(a place on the opposite side of the country from where I live), I sat on a stool and watched a group of men line-dance.
I'm not a prude, but realising my situation, my brew was quaffed quickly and I left for the hotel. Let's just say I was tired.

The next day we set-off down the beautiful west coast to prepare for our leaving of this one-off trip. We had booked to stay at
Arroyo Grande for one night and we found the town lovely and peaceful. Then back to Los Angeles for a quick excursion to the
State beach of 'El Capitan'. Our sea-faring nature demanded we got our feet wet with saltwater at some point!

As the heat became a welcomed companion, we had to say goodbye to our first vacation (I used to say holiday!) to the United
States. It was meant to be a unique experience -and it was, but the next twelve times certainly rivalled our first trip!

 what a trip!!! That was a great read @"BIAD"