Monday, April 1, 2024 Entry #74
The contrast could not have been greater. Along with my wife and another chaperone, I had spent the weekend in New York City leading nine teenagers from my synagogue on our annual Confirmation trip. It was non-stop touring from a packed and set itinerary amidst the crowded masses that form the greatest hustle and bustle on earth. Some twelve hours later (and on the one year anniversary of the start of my last major Springsteen trek, eastward by air to New York and New Jersey), it was Monday, and now I was in my car and on the open road all by myself. I was left to my thoughts, my music (I had curated an even more extensive Springsteen playlist this time around), and whatever I saw unfolding outside the windshield. All I had to do was drive; if and where I stopped on the way to see yet another Bruce concert in Los Angeles on April 4th was totally up to me.
Starting off on a road trip is an awesome feeling. It feels like there is all the time in the world ahead of you. There are no expectations of anything in particular happening until you reach your destination, except you also contain an innate knowledge that actually anything can happen along the way. Not to mention, this was a road trip to get to southern California. I would be traveling west so far that when I finally reached my destination, I could go no further. All those miles, all that time, just there to unfold. Nothing like it.
There are two main ways to travel by car from St. Louis to Los Angeles. There is the southern route through Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and on to California, or you can head north, hitting Kansas, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada before reaching the Golden State. In terms of the all-important scenery quotient, the former plan includes more desert landscape than mountains, and the later drive flips that equation. I am a big fan of both types of vistas, so I made the logical decision to experience both; to go south on the way there (I figured there was a greater chance of inclement weather up in the mountains, and I hadn’t left myself much room for error in terms of getting to LA in time for the first Springsteen concert), and console myself from the reality that the concerts were over with at least getting to commune with the Rockies on the way home.
Off I went in the shadow of old Route 66, the primary mode of traveling west before the advent of the interstates. There are still stretches where you can easily traverse over to the state roads that pieced together made up the iconic 66 trek and that offer a much more intimate connection to the people, lifestyles, and places along the way. I cranked up Bruce on the stereo only to look up and see the back of the truck I was following, highly amusing in that I was indeed, following the Boss!
I easily made it to Oklahoma. Unfortunately, I hadn’t traveled all that far within the Sunflower State when I experienced a major hiccup. I had stopped for gas, entered the the convenient store for the restroom and a snack, and then proceeded to continue west. About 45 minutes down the highway, I had a visceral premonition that my wallet was not along for the ride. I pulled over, checked my pockets and the car console where I sometimes keep it, and damn it, it really was gone. I didn’t even remember the exit where I had last used the wallet. And, it was starting to rain! It took me at least an hour, but I finally found “my” gas station. Sadly, no wallet had been turned in, but the staff kindly gave me gloves so I could hunt through the garbage bins by the pumps and in the bathroom. No luck. I sat in my car to consider my options. I had neither cash, credit cards, nor ant form of ID. It seemed obvious to me that I needed to call it quits, cut my losses, go back to St. Louis and instead fly to Los Angeles for the shows.
Luckily, Amy talked me out of my doom and gloom. We canceled all my credit cards except for the one that we use on Apple Pay (thank goodness for I-Phones), which she would watch carefully for suspicious charges. Amy would have to call ahead the next few nights to find hotels that didn’t require a physical credit card and that would allow her to “vouch” for me since I would be checking in without identification. Lastly, she would send my passport to my friend’s place in LA to use while there and on the drive home. I figured I couldn’t be as spontaneous as I like, but at least I was back on the road!
A little less carefree and a bit more risk-averse, but still feeling better, I crossed into Texas and spent the night in Amarillo.