Harry's Road Trip. (Blogophilia 45.5)

Hey, Heidy and Howdy!  It's your favorite randy dandy old time disc man Harry Handy, here to fill up your time in God's waiting room.  And have I got a story for you.  Ol' Harry here took a road trip out west, to beautiful Santa Fe, New Mexico.  I'd heard it was lovely and a great place to relax after dealing with program managers without a clue.  I mean, I know the music exists to sell advertising, but funeral home ads? I just had to go somewhere far, far away.

Getting there was quite the ordeal.  I flew out the nest and up to St. Louis, where I had to do the one thing air travelers dread, changing planes. We were a little late getting off and my layover was short, so I knew it was going to be hustle. I asked the gate agent coming off the plane where my next flight was.  It was all the way at the other end of the airport and I had 20 minutes to get there.  It kind of looked like this.

On the way over, I had to visit the facilities. I'm quick in that department (TMI?), so that went off fairly well, except for the guy in the next stall who was multitasking with his cell phone.  I always knew life insurance sales was a crappy job, but really?  Cold calling in the loo?

Anyway, I made the flight and drifted over the Great Plains to Albuquerque Sunport.  When I got in, it was about 10:00 PM and the airport had already rolled up the sidewalks.  Not a single thing to eat anywhere.  At least the car rental places were still open.  My reservation in hand I find the Enterprise counter and they send me out to the lot to pick up the wheels for the weekend.

Yeah, it was going to be quite a trip.  I did find a Waffle House open and got a quick bite.  Then I found my way to the 25 Freeway to head north to my destination.  

It was a completely moonless night and the road was deserted after I cleared the city limits. The only thing I could see was the white ribbon of concrete arcing up the big pass north of town.  The radio is on this old timey AM country station called "The Truck Driver's Friend, out of Kearny, Nebraska". I was kind of impressed the signal was that strong.  It reminded Harry here of when he was a wee tot, collecting contact cards from stations around the country. Out of professional courtesy, I gave the guy a listen.  Tears In My Beer Country isn't really my bag, but he handled his duties well.  

After a while, the ghostly pavement became mesmerizing and I hit the zen zone of the long distance drive, almost dreamlike.  In the distance, I saw a form almost the same color as the pavement walking in my lane.

But it didn't look like Lenore and it didn't say "Nevermore".  It apparently was a homeless idiot heading up to the next exit for a drink.  With an inappropriate comment about road sense and whatever immigrant that was,  I changed lanes.

I pulled off the freeway at the main exit and got up to my hotel, only to find the registration desk closed.  Huh?  I knocked and I knocked, but no one ever came out to check on me.  I looked around to see if they had left me a key, but no such luck.  A Cop showed up and asked me what I was doing there.  I mentioned I had just flown in and supposedly had a reservation.  He didn't believe me and asked me if the heap outside was mine.  I said it was a rental and reiterated that I had a reservation.  He told me to move on before he admitted me to HIS hotel.  So, I did.

I pulled into a 24 hour diner to bide my time.  As I was drinking the watered down coffee, a guy that was as dirty as a chimney sweep came in.  He'd definitely had been in the liquor and started flirting with the waitress. About that time, the same Cop from the hotel shows up.  I was really beginning to feel like Charlie Daniels about this point.

So, Ol' Harry left and headed up into the hills.  Maybe I could find some peace and quiet.   It was almost sunrise, so I figure I might as well see what kind of show I could see.  I've always been a sucker for a good light show.  I find a pull off that has a good view of the valley and change the radio to one of the NPR stations.  The sounds of morning birds chirping came out of the speakers.  I shut off the motor, sat back and watched something better than Super IMAX.

It really became a relaxing trip.  And the wedding I attended was beautiful, too.

It's come to the end of the line for this Harry segment.  Remember to take your Geritol. and you too could rock like Keith Richards. 

Good night and sweet dreams