Lessons from the Road, Part Six

It's a Dry Heat - making the best of it

They say that about Arizona. "It's a dry heat." As if somehow sticking your head in the oven is comfortable vs. sticking your head in the sauna. Dry heat, by definition, is still hot.

When we arrived in Phoenix, it was about 300 degrees. (Or, to be more accurate, 114 ... and that's actually not an exaggeration.) It was hot. Uncomfortably hot. Can't-sit-outside-for-too-long hot.

In the chill that is Illinois in November, I miss this.

And yet I remember thinking to myself, "there's going to come a time in the not-too-distant future when I'm going to need this memory."

It's mid-November in the Midwest, and I'm pretty much there.

So yeah ... it's a dry heat. And back home, it's a wet cold. And the truth of it is, you get what you get and if you're smart, you make the best of it, no matter what.

Alex and I spent a lot of time outside while I was in the PHX. We went for ice cream (where I had a scoop of the best coffee flavor I have ever had) and sat under an awning. We had the best burgers for lunch and sat in the car, windows down, under a tree. We did a golf thing, wisely as the sun was setting. And yeah, we moved the young prince into his new on-campus apartment, right in the heat of the day.

The point is to not hide out indoors, because that's just not going to serve you in the long term. We would have missed out on some pretty stellar adventures if we hadn't been willing to be out in the world.

And now here I am, back home, on the verge of bitching about the weather. I suspect it's going to be a long winter, because it's always a long winter. But I have all the gear I need to make the best of it. Because life is short, and if I can eat ice cream in 117-degree heat, I can sure as hell drink cocoa when it's below zero.

Lessons from the Road, Part Five

The Cheapest Meal is Sometimes the Best

It was Day Three of our Epic Road Trip - the longest day on the road was behind us, we had a thirst for adventure and a can-do attitude. Waking up in Albuquerque, we first made our way to Chocolate Dude (where we met the actual Chocolate Dude and brought regards from our friend Eric) to meet my amazing, beautiful and talented friend Robin for coffee and catching up. All too soon (mostly because I was late,) it was time for Robin to head to school (she's a super-cool professor) and for us to hit the road.

We had a four-ish-hour drive planned until we made it to Winslow, AZ. We pulled into town and immediately headed for Standing on the Corner Park. (It was such a fine site to see!)

Me and Alex, and a bronze guy takin' it easy.

We had a great time hanging out in the park, taking pictures and being goofy. It was a quiet day in Winslow, being a Thursday and all, so there wasn't a heckuvalot happening. One thing is certain: it was hot.

(But it's a dry heat.)

It was cruising toward noon and our bellies were hungry (even after the delicious mochas and chocolates from Chocolate Dude), so we decided to head to lunch.

Careful research (aka, "yelp") recommended a Winslow restaurant called E&O Kitchen.We keyed the address into the GPS, and off we went.

Right up until we lost connectivity. Winslow, it seems, is not a hotbed of cellular activity.

Alex, it turns out, has a great sense of direction and a very good memory. So, just as the screen went blank, he saw the airplane symbol near the dot representing the restaurant on the map.

Great. We'll head for the Winslow Airport. #WeAreNotLost #WeKnowExactlyWhereWeAreItsTheRestaurantThatsLost

I would have given up and headed back to the highway, but the Young Prince was determined. We were practically on the runway when we saw the sign; we had arrived.

The "muy bueno" part? They're not kidding.

We were seated by a gentleman who took our drink order - all the water, please - and brought us menus. We looked out the window (hey, a plane!) and took a quick scan until we found what we wanted - E&O Tacos. They looked like this:

I, Maggie, take you, taco, to be my lawfully wedded lunch.

Yeah, they look good; that's nothing compared to how they tasted.

The chicken was cooked to perfection. The onion and cilantro on the side gave it just the right kick. The avocado was the ideal touch, especially if you're like me and you like avocado on your avocado. Quite simply an amazing meal; we were making yummy sounds the entire time as we enjoyed our meal.

And then the bill came.

We ate at a lot of great places while we made our way across the country. Some of them were good (hello, Sonic? You're everywhere.) Some were great. Some were cheap, and some were decidedly not. But none was as delicious as this one, so it was rather shocking when we came away with a bill that totaled all of about $17. Seeing as my dad provided the food budget for the trip, I can tell you this much for certain: it was the best $17 he spent the entire trip.

Sometimes it's far too easy to get caught up in the price = value dilemma. We want the purse with the logo on it, the car with the right emblem, the newest mobile phone (please, Santa, bring me a rose gold iPhone 6S!), the whole nine. We want them because we're convinced more expensive is better. But one simple, rustic, perfect meal convinced me otherwise. I'll take an airport dive over a Michelin-rated joint any day of the week, if it tastes as good as E&O kitchen. #Swoon

Lessons from the Road, part Four

Topography is always beautiful. (Also, you can get used to mountains.)

Sometime between Oklahoma and Albuquerque, the landscape began to look like someplace else. Somewhere distinctly not the Midwest. Hills rolled more, foliage became more scrubby, and we were decidedly in the West.

The further west we drove, the taller the hills became. And then the hills stopped being hills at all and presented themselves as mountains. There was one point where I pointed into the distance and said to Alex, "That shadow waaaaaaay up there? It's gonna be a mountain, eventually." And before too long (the speed limit out there is something akin to 70 mph) sure enough ... mountain.

The landscape kept changing as we progressed toward Phoenix, a little less green, a little higher elevation. The sky seemed a little bluer and the air was warm.

I love this picture; it just feels like the American West to me.

By the time we reached our destination - at the foot of Camelback Mountain in Phoenix - seeing mountains ceased to be "new." It's not like flying in, when the scenery is all of a sudden different. No, this gradual change caused it all to become expected. Mountains, and the beauty therein, had become the norm. Over the course of just a few days, my awe of the horizon had begun to diminish.

And isn't that just the way? We take for granted the things that are always there, even if they are vast and beautiful. And when they're gone, we miss them. It would be better to understand how much we'll miss them while they're here, and treasure them - be they mountains, or people, or heck, even your favorite band - while you're together.

Don't get used to the mountains, or whatever it is in nature that is beautiful about where you live. (I promise you, there's something; maybe several somethings.) Love it, as often as you can. But more importantly, hold close the people who are part of your landscape. Because that landscape can change in the blink of an eye.

Were are not mountains, waiting patiently in the distance for you to come upon us and realize our grandeur. We are perfectly flawed individuals worthy of great and glorious love.

One of the greatest parts of sharing this journey with Alex was that while we drove, we had the opportunity to really talk. Big conversations and little topics flowed between us as easy as air, and over the course of 1,700 miles or so, it became clear that he is among my mountains.

Figure out who your mountains are, and love them well. Tell them. Show them. Listen to them. There is great potential when you're able to do that.

Lessons from the Road, part three

Always know who - and where - your friends are

Backtracking in the chronology here just a little bit, that first night in St. Lou, I made a travel faux pas. I did not let everyone know where I was going. So cue the surprise when, the next morning, I discovered that my friends Biff and Amanda were there, too.

In the exact same little boutique hotel off the beaten path.

Of course, we were all on the road again before we realized we could've connected, had cocktails or breakfast or whatever. I mean, what are the chances? It's 9 a.m. or so and I get this text from Biff. Why did you just post a photo of Moonrise Hotel? Um, dumbass, because that's where I am? Sure enough, a missed opportunity.

What the heck are the chances of that?

So it got me to thinkin' ... sometimes you don't know where your friends are. Not that you should keep tabs on 'em or anything - that would be creepy - but it's interesting to think about the number of near-misses you have as you meander through life.

More importantly, though, you have to know who your friends are. You need to know who's in the tribe, who has your back, who will take to the grave your secrets, who will lock your Facebook account right the hell down in the event of your untimely death. You don't need a lot of these people - a scant handful will do - but you need them. People to whom you can bare your soul, and who will bare theirs right back for you. It matters, ya know, and you deserve them.

They deserve you.

Biff and Amanda have been in my life from way back - back to the old theater days. Biff is the brother of Polly, who is (see if you can follow this) the mother of my godson, a former sharer of the stage and a freakin' hoot in her own right. We've been in touch on and off over the years, and while Polly and family moved out east a few years back, Biff and Amanda are down in Bloomington - close enough for a weekend trip now and then. I remember thinking as we passed through the area that I should text them, just to say hi. Listen to your gut, Margaret. It rarely steers you wrong. But I digress ...

On the subject of friends, it's fair to note that while I have some who have been in my life for a very very long time, a few of my dearest are the ones I met in college. One of the greatest lessons I learned at EIU was that to make friends, you simply had to be a good friend. I discovered that the simplest of acts connected us back then, and keep us connected today. Sharing a beer, loaning a car, tossing a Frisbee, playing Marco Polo in the stacks of the library ... all those things led me to expand my tribe, and I found myself hoping that Alex would discover his own while he's in college, too.

Because college is as much about finding you and yours as it is about academics. We should all be so lucky as to get a degree in Finding Good People. I'd graduate with honors.