Hitting the road for me is a form of therapy. When I began my Solo Ski Sojourns six years ago it was a healing journey after my husband of 32 years passed away. The last few days had been so stressful, dealing with the damaged truck, dealing with an uncooperative resort that had caused the damage; other people getting injured on the ski mountains, highway accidents. Even though I had not gotten injured nor been in a highway accident, just being near them bothered me.

It was past 5:00 by the time the Crash Champions of Sacramento helped me move my gear from the rental to my now-like-new truck. We were all anxious to get going—the guys working wanted to get their weekend started, and I was ready to start my 1200 mile trip home. Then I realized I had forgotten a bag at my sister’s assisted living apartment. I contemplated just leaving it, but there were treasures in it. So I got to wish my sister good-bye in person.

I don’t particularly like driving California highways. There’s always so much traffic, so many semi-trucks; everyone is in a hurry like me.

From Elk Grove I pointed south on Interstate 5. I didn’t know for sure where I was going to stop for the night—my original plan was to leave at 8 am and here it was, after 6 pm. But I knew I was behind schedule, and 1200 miles is a hike driving alone and having a deadline. I figured I could get at least three hours into the drive.

The night became inky black and I got sleepy. I pulled off the interstate and a populated area and found fleabag hotel for the night. I have been staying at hotels under the Wyndham umbrella—its part of the corporation that my Worldmark condo points belong to. I have come to the conclusion Wyndham is buying old, distressed properties and refurbishing. They can’t refurbish soon enough, and I question whether I should stay at these places. But for this night I was too tired to keep shopping, and Baymont at Wyndham was home for the night.

Everything looked better in the morning (marginally better…) and I realized I knew where we were. The Harris Ranch was just across the freeway. Carol and I had stopped at the Harris Ranch years ago. It is a well known watering hole and is known for its ranch bred beef. The first time we ate here Carol had a filet mignon that looked and tasted like heaven. That was her midday meal! The nearest town, Coalinga. I remember Coalinga because of a 6.2 magnitude earthquake that caused considerable damage in 1983. Don’t ask me why I remember that particular earthquake, but it put Coalinga on the map in my mind.

I have always wanted to see the California poppies and planned to go an hour or so out of my way to see them, but the Antelope Valley Poppy Reserve live cameras clearly were devoid of any poppies. I’d been there before too early for the poppies and didn’t need a repeat of that, so I decided to make a straight line to Kingman, AZ.

Why Kingman? Since living in Santa Fe, I had become aware of the beautiful Kingman turquoise and thought I would see if there were any bargains in town. It’s on Route 66/ I-40 and in order to get to Kingman the road goes through the Mohave Desert and miles and miles of flat ground. I was lucky enough to drive the Mohave during a blustery rainstorm, a rather rare event. I could appreciate the desert and the clouds as the road and vistas rolled by. As the elevation rose as I entered Arizona from California, I ran into snow flurries through the passes. Unexpected, for sure.

I got to Kingman mid-afternoon. On Beal Street I wandered through a few secondhand stores. From the shop keepers I got directions to the Kingman Turquoise mine, and figured I go the six miles to see what there was to see.

Unfortunately, the mine and its store are closed on the weekends, so while I got to see the storefront, there were not chunks of turquoise for me to fondle. I decided to push on east towards home.

I drove until dark. At a gas station someplace on I-40 I googled hotels and found a place in Ash Fork, Arizona. I pulled in and the place was right next door to an interesting local historical museum, but it was late and the next day was Sunday, so I figured the chances of catching a museum on this trip were slim. At daylight across the road were pallets of flagstone. Evidently Ash Fork is known for its flagstone. It must be, there was a lot of it.

In its day, Ash Fork was a bustling community, a wide spot on Route 66. Now I-40 bypasses the heart of the town.  It reminded me of my hometown of Hardin, whose heart was cut off when Interstate 90 bypassed us.

I left Ash Fork at 6:30 am. Ice was covering my truck, but the day was warm, so it didn’t last long. I was 428 miles from home—a mere 6 hours and 30 minute drive. I could make it easily in a day. And what a day it was.

I debated about cutting off at Holbrook where my favorite Wigwam Hotel is located but I wanted to get back to Santa Fe. I skipped the exit to Holbrook only to see a fire and line of cars and trucks ahead of me on the interstate. Luckily, I was able to exit a bit before the accident on the road. I thought there might be a frontage road, but I was in the middle of nowhere, and what I thought might be a frontage road lead to a dead end. I wasn’t the only one looking for a re-route. Two semi-tractor trailers took the same route as me. I had a little jockeying to do to turn my truck around. I was amazed that the semis were able to find a dirt road and use that to back into and turn around. Those drivers are amazing.

The fiery accident was still blocking traffic when I got back, and the only way out was to go to Holbrook and take the road through the Petrified Forest. Well, I guess the Fates wanted me to see those petrified trees, so I relaxed and enjoyed the scenery.

I got to the park entrance and, dang. I couldn’t find my lifetime senior park pass. I searched every wallet pocket and cranny in the truck to no avail. This had happened to me at Bandelier last year and I had to buy a one-year pass. Lo, I was able to find that one by sheer chance, and it got me into the park.

If you ever have the chance, stop at the Petrified Forest. It is amazing. I am so glad I was able to detour around that accident and the detour brought me here. After stopping at the Painted Desert Inn, which was an old Harvey Hotel, I jumped back onto I-40 east. There was NO traffic coming from the west, so I knew the accident had traffic tied up for at least an hour. This was the third accident on the interstate on this trip.

I got to Gallup, NM, and felt like I was getting close to home. It was snowing heavily in Gallup, and the main street was full of slush.  A good friend of mine told me to stop at Earl’s to eat, so I headed there. Well, everyone must have gotten the message, because the place was packed. The parking lot was full of pick-up trucks like mine. It was blustery and cold, and I wanted to go home. No Earl for me.

It was midafternoon as I drove into the Rio Grande Valley, the sun in the west lighting up Sandia Peak, clouds playing a shadow game. I only had an hour to go, and I wanted to relish every moment.

In the heart of Albuquerque I exited from I-40 to I-25 north to Santa Fe. I could see Ski Santa Fe in the Sangre de Cristo range most of the way. The road construction around the Cochiti exit was still there, has been there ever since I began coming to the area, and will probably be there until I leave. It’s just the way it is here.

My little house was waiting. The redbud tree I had planted in January was standing tall, not a bud on it. Spring still hadn’t arrived, but I had.