Thanks to everyone who participated in Name That Minivan! The majority chose correctly, and Midnight Rider is happy to have an official name at last. “Boy Blue” and “Midnight Blue” were tied in second place with four votes, and “Queensrÿche” ended up in third place with three.

About to head out of Globe and looking good

Since I already knew that Midnight Rider would be the winning name (it was obviously the best and I’m glad many of you agreed), I started off my day’s drive listening to the song in the car. Just before the trip I reread my entries from last year, and in one of them I give my future self the advice to bring music so that I wouldn’t have to listen to country, Mexican, or Don Henley all the time. So I invested in a Spotify Premium account and a Bluetooth FM transmitter. I do like listening to the radio sometimes, just to get a sense of the town, but this new setup is fantastic. There’s nothing like driving in the middle of nowhere and singing with abandon.

Route 70 is two lanes, one lane in each direction, so cars pass while other cars are heading straight for them. I hate this — I hate doing it and I hate seeing other people do it. But I did it yesterday anyway because I guess I hate being behind really slow cars more than risking death.

Anyway, I survived, and the scenery was lovely.

One of the last saguaro cactus plants I saw

Stray notes from the drive:

• Don’t put a styrofoam cooler with bags on top of it right at the edge of the trunk because everything will spill out of it when you open the trunk.
• I wish I could take pictures of people without them seeing me. I saw a Native American police officer washing his squad car while in uniform under a run-down carport next to his run-down home in Bylas — a striking image. And I’ve seen lots of other moments and tableaux that call out for a photo, but I’ve been too embarrassed to reach for my camera. I don’t want to treat the people who live in these places like they’re only anthropological curiosities (even if, because of the nature of this trip, they are such to me in the moment).  
• Sometimes mountains look as fake in real life as they do in old movie backdrops.
• A lot of thought has to go into highway planning and implementation. It’s remarkable that this country has so many roads, and that they’re basically consistent and reliable. Go federal works projects!

I checked in to our very nice Best Western at 12:30, had a beer, ate Triscuits, and wrote. The guys arrived around 3:30. No one seemed to want to hang out so I started watching The Apartment on TCM. Then Dad came over for tech support and we had a beer and watched the movie together. Then he and Tim went to church and Mark texted to see if I wanted to have a beer before dinner. Naturally I did.

We ate dinner at The Copper Steer, a steakhouse recommended by the woman at the check-in desk. It was really pretty good, despite having ill-considered banquet hall-style chairs. And I never thought I would say this, but it was nice to have a break from Mexican food. (Still, if I had to eat the same type of food every day for the rest of my life, that type of food would be Mexican.)

After dinner we all retired to my room for Tim’s nightly reading. Now you too can experience Tim reading! This is just a random snippet, and he didn’t know that I was recording. Unfortunately I didn’t capture the part where he mispronounced “tortilla” three times. Enjoy!

Hotel Art of the Day

Satisfied cowboy with rainbow
Probably 18″x24″
Best Western, Safford, AZ

Hotel Art Score
8/10. This and its companion piece (of a rancher feeding his horse) were colorful (my photo doesn’t do it justice), location-appropriate, and schmaltzy in the best possible way. I find this delightful. And there is real sentiment here; I think the painter shares this cowboy’s love of the earth. While he’s not making me feel it, at least I feel him feeling it. And that makes me smile. And as a weary traveler I like to smile.

Art Art Score
4/10. Aside from the schmaltz factor, the technique is strangely unbalanced. The animals are pretty carefully rendered, but the background — especially the rainbow — is half-assed. I have suffered from a similar lack of balance in my own paintings, so I have sympathy.

The riders have resolved to start their days earlier this year; it’ll give them more time for snacks, relaxation, and sleep. Besides, we’re all still on east coast time, anyway. On Day 2 we ate breakfast at 7 a.m.; they departed at 7:40. I hung out under the harsh fluorescent lights of my room till 10, then headed out to meet the guys for lunch in Superior before the scary tunnel ride.

Oops, this isn’t the best photo — sorry, Tim!

The drive was spectacular, with beautiful vegetation for miles. I wish I’d had time to stop and take it in better, but the guys were speedier than expected and ended up waiting for me for half an hour at a rest area.

Lunch at a cute Mexican diner in Superior, AZ

After chicken tacos for me, a burger for Mark, and grilled cheese sandwiches probably fried in lard for the Lent observers, we went back to the car to put the video camera on Dad’s helmet. I gave them a head start to the tunnel, which was a few miles away, and headed to the rest stop’s ladies’ room for some “rest.”

This was the grossest restroom I’ve ever encountered. I’ve seen a lot of public bathrooms in my time (hundreds, surely), but things were happening here (or rather, had happened) that no one should ever have to face. I will spare you the details, but I am mystified by the aspect of human nature that inspires people to make a bad situation worse. I suppose it’s resentment at having been made to experience the bad situation in the first place. Anyway, ugh.

The bathroom looks clean, yes, but this unflattering self-portrait illustrates my disgust and hides the awfulness directly behind me

I shook it off, though, to focus on Project Get the Guys Through the Tunnel Safely. I passed them on the highway, then pulled off the road just before the tunnel entrance.

A few minutes later, the riders showed up in my rear view mirror. But gravel, Dad’s nemesis, felled him just as they reached the long pull-off. The guys were about a football field away from me, tiny yellow specks, and it seemed like the fall happened in slow motion, or like I was watching it on a screen — maybe because I saw it in the mirror. I was slow to react, eventually realizing I should get out of the car to see if they needed my help. I yelled, “Are you all right?” and it echoed off the mountain satisfyingly. Tim answered yes. Dad, though his knee was bleeding and his hip was/is probably bruised, soldiered on.

I’d like to pause here to say that if I’d been in Dad’s position, I would a) have felt light-headed just knowing my knee was bleeding; b) be terrified that I had to do something dangerous just after a painful, distracting fall; c) not go through with it, obviously; and d) not have done any of this in the first place, so this speculation is pointless.

Dad walking off the fall

As the SAG driver, I’d been dreading this part of the trip, expecting angry cars to pile up behind me, unable to see that I was saving them from charges of unintentional manslaughter. I’d also had additional anxious thoughts about my anxiety causing me to do something rash, like speed up and/or swerve, causing a disastrous chain of events resulting in the death of us all. But the tunnel was short, and traffic was pretty light, and for the most part other drivers were cool. As Tim mentioned, only one person honked angrily, but he gave an “I take it back” honk once he saw what was going on. Thanks, dude.

After we made it through, I realized I’d been holding my breath. Everyone was okay, so I headed off to the Quality Inn in Globe.

Though my room smelled vaguely of farts, it was otherwise very nice. I settled in. The guys arrived two hours earlier than expected, around 2:30. We took our daily bread (beer, chips, crackers — oh, plus delicious artisanal chocolate courtesy Holly [thank you!!]) in Dad’s room and listened to Tim read another chapter of Conquering the Borderlands.

We chased down the snacks with an early Mexican dinner, probably the most authentic Mexican food (as well as the best restaurant sign) we’ve experienced in both legs so far. Dad already wrote about this, but here it is again:

The man is dreaming of a beautiful lady bringing him food, and his wife is about to hit him with a rolling pin

Then we went back to Safeway for supplies, and I’m only mentioning this because there was an amusement park in the parking lot:

Rides in this setting were otherworldly, both ugly and beautiful

And that’s that for Day 2. But it’s time to introduce a new daily feature! Last year had salsa. This year has ART.

Hotel Artwork of the Day

Contemporary hospitality interior design theory seems to believe that paintings should not invite contemplation; that they should instead underscore the room’s sense of comfort, relaxation, and luxury by blending in with the decor. In other words (because I know Dad is lost after the last sentence), most hotel rooms don’t want you to really look at their art, at least not more than you look at the bedspread. If you’re going to think about the artwork at all, they want you to think, “Oh, that’s a nice painting,” and nothing more.

But maybe there’s nothing wrong with that! While I generally think art should be more than a bit player in an interior design concept, it kind of makes sense in hotels. Being forced by the wall to think about something on it is not necessarily what the average weary traveler wants.

Uh oh, I could go on about this for paragraphs. Don’t worry, I won’t.

Anyway, I’m going to grade the art we encounter on how good it is as hotel art and how good it is as art that might purport to something greater. Obviously, please disagree with my opinions in the comments.

Let’s take a look at our first specimen:

Scribbled lines on soft blocks of color
Approx. 16″x16″ print
Quality Inn, Globe, Arizona

To me this feels like art at its most cynical. There is no discernible soul; it is actually noticeable for not being nice. Also it is boring. It’s hard for me to believe that the artist had any idea in mind other than to make money by churning out some hotel room art. Perhaps the scribbles suggest frustration at only being able to earn a living through crappy stuff like this. The background is painterly, at least. Still.

Hotel Art Score: 4/10
It basically blended in with the decor, but the angry lines work against my sense of relaxation. If they’re supposed to be whimsical they’re failing me. Also the square size was awkward for this particular room. Subpar all around.

Art Art Score: 2/10
Come on, it’s terrible.

Like Led Zeppelin in 1991, SAG LADY IS BACK. I know how much you have missed me.

Last year’s journey was unexpectedly wonderful, so I have high hopes for Leg Two (L2). My dad thinks I need to keep my expectations in check, but my feeling is, more than anything that actually happens here, it’s my attitude that affects the experience. So I’ll just expect all the wonder I want.

Besides, if my flight to Phoenix was presageful (thanks, Merriam-Webster; it’s hard to find a word that means “portentous” but with a positive connotation), L2 is bound to be interesting. Shortly after I got on the plane, two guys my age introduced themselves, apologized, and took their seats next to me. I soon learned that they were apologizing for being total goofballs. They were on their way to Arizona to “watch Spring Training baseball and drink beer.” Like me, they’d each enjoyed two tall Goose Island IPAs at Sammy Hagar’s Beach Bar and Grill while our flight was delayed, so we had an immediate, mildly inebriated bond. We started playing a game of War with cards shaped like boogie boards that one of the guys had. They joked around with each other like twelve year olds. Then a 70ish British woman in the row ahead of us turned around and started talking to us. Soon a middle-aged, recently divorced guy in the row behind us joined in. The plane ride officially became a cocktail party, and kept on, likely to the chagrin of everyone around us, for the rest of the five-hour journey. Stories were told, secrets were shared. It was fun, a little exhausting, and unforgettable.

A few hours later, after a surreal dinner with Tim at a hipster pub that was playing heavy metal and a gory sci-fi movie, I went to bed at 1 a.m., or 3 to me.

I woke up after four short hours, still exhausted from the airplane party.

Dad and Mark arrived early, then got to work building their bikes. They hadn’t slept much, either, which probably contributed to this situation:

Dad had messed something up and no one could figure it out

Chris tried to provide remote assistance but it was too hard for him to see what was going on; I’m sure this won’t be an issue by 2015 (L5), when all the technology from Back to the Future 2 becomes reality

Fortuitously, God had built a bike shop across the street from the hotel to solve this problem. Mark and Tim walked the bike over there and we all went to lunch. By the time we were done, so was Dad’s bike.

Thanks, God, and thanks, Ehrhardt!

Let’s get this party started, right?

And once again, they’re off!

And I was left to my extremely easy half-hour drive to Apache Junction.

Apache Junction is depressing. You are glad you don’t live there. I asked the woman at the Best Western desk if she could recommend a good restaurant, and she said, “Ugh…. There really aren’t any good restaurants in this town.”

ME: “Okay, could you recommend a restaurant in a town nearby?”

WOMAN: (long pause) “Well, there’s a place that’s not too bad here called Los Gringos Locos.”

ME (distrustfully): “Okay…”

It’s clear that Apache Junction needs all the dollars it can get.

The guys arrived not long after I did. Dad and I went to a weirdly curated supermarket called FOOD CITY and bought some supplies, then we all sat on my balcony, relaxed with some snacks, and listened to Tim read from Conquering the Borderlands, about a group of women cyclists who followed the same route as the brothers.

Mark loves it when Tim reads to us

Afterward, we went out to an early dinner at Los Gringos Locos, the not-too-bad Mexican place with great margaritas (but mediocre food, but whatever).

Oh, but what about the minivan? Great White will always hold a special place in my heart, but I am now driving a brand new, midnight blue Dodge Grand Caravan. I am the first and only driver of this guy. The transmission is a little overactive on hills, but overall it’s a sweet ride.

“What about me?”

However! I need your help with a name. Here are the contenders:

Boy Blue – One of my favorite ELO songs. It fits because the car is young, get it?

Blue Shark – In keeping with the shark theme (but not the glam metal theme, unfortunately).

Midnight Rider – Inspired by the classic Allman Brothers road trip song.

Queensrÿche – Don’t pick this.

Other – Who knows, maybe your ideas are better than mine.

Thanks in advance for your vote!

Note: Voting closes Sunday 3/03 at 1 p.m. You can vote as many times as you want, but please be reasonable.