Devil-May-Care IV: Penultimate
From the nights of alcohol-interrupted sleep in random lodgings across the country, my memory had adopted a peculiar fog.
We grabbed breakfast and beers at the haunted Hotel Monte Vista in Flagstaff, AZ. After finishing our brief, but fulfilling meal, we left post haste to Tempe. Faraz and I headed down the 17 southbound and arrived at the Yucca Tap Room. My friend from Chicago, Katlan, was finishing up her shift there. We said our greetings and sat down to have a pint. While Katlan was bartending, we were having a friendly conversation with a veteran with a prosthetic leg. After discovering I was from Chicago, he asked me about gun-control and other liberal Chicago policies. I responded referring to Indiana, “Gun control works fine unless you can buy a gun from your neighbor.” Unlike my previous encounter in Grants, and like most normal folks, this man was not overtly racist. He did not feel that gun control worked, but listened to my experiences and was genuinely wanting to learn about our trip cross country.
After retrieving our friend’s keys, we headed back to stay at her town home for our 2 day Tempe detour. Walking inside, we were instantly ambushed by a tiny dog, Biggie. He was as curious as we were and expressed great interest in our travels. I informed Biggie of our sights at the Petrified National Park and the rest of our incredible journey. After a week of traveling, we were 6 hours from Los Angeles and I was sitting down talking to a dog! We said our goodbyes to Biggie and promised to return after dinner. Heading down to a local venue, we grabbed some food at the diner and participated in a punk and ska show. I joined hands with other members of the cabaret as we catapulted ourselves across the room in glorious battle.
On the second day, we went for a short dip in the pool as the temperature reached 110 degrees. Our Midwestern bodies were unprepared for the heat, but we decided to drive into Phoenix anyway. We parked and walked a good mile, sweating instantly and continuously in the desert hellscape. Everyone around had water bottles and we would have done well to follow their example. Faraz and I stumbled upon a small jazz club where musicians were about to perform. We took our seats. The cool air-conditioning and sounds of brass and percussion lifted our spirits. After the concert, we headed to a Thai restaurant. I ordered the “medium” spicy pad Thai and it burned like hell. I grabbed a to-go box with no intention of consuming it. I offered the food to a homeless man and warned him of my stomach pains. He looked into my eyes and asked, “What choice do I have?”
After the acid reflux settled, we headed to a recommended spot, Hanny’s. We enjoyed some Manhattans and Moscow Mules. As I explored the bar on the way to the bathrooms, I witnessed an empty elevator shaft. There was no elevator in this strange fun-house. I walked upstairs and navigated my way through a maze of mirrors. I bumped into one of the mirrors and felt a slight feeling of panic, but mostly of awe. There were 6 doors and I couldn’t seem to determine which one led to the men’s room. Looking back at the elongated hallway and distant staircase, I took the plunge and seemingly chose the right room as if I was a contestant on a game show. Inside was a standard run-of-the-mill toilet. The walk down was nowhere near as frightful or exciting. Perhaps the climax had already occurred and I was beginning to tire of our road trip. I beckoned toward my companion and we set off to tell Biggie of our Phoenix excursion. Our trip would end tomorrow, but my journey had just begun.
