1.) I got fed up with my workplace in Phoenix...they screwed me over on a job I really wanted there.
2.) Phoenix was becoming boring to me. It was a good "starter city" for me out of college, but it didn't hold anything exciting for me any longer (I do have some GREAT friends there of course though.)
3.) I've always loved the Pacific Northwest, and have considered Seattle to be the best city in that area (aside from Vancouver, British Columbia, but I don't think I'm ready to be Canadian yet). So, I looked for a job in Seattle.
4.) Found a good one, interviewed, and got an offer...they offered what I wanted, and gave me the right amount of time in which to make my move from Phoenix to Seattle. In the conditions of my employment, however, I made sure that two months into working, I would be allowed to take a whole week off (unpaid unfortunately) to make the trip back down to Phoenix to move my horse up to the area (the horse is essential to my happiness, so it had to be done!).
Now that you know the deets, onto the trip down and back to get the horse. I had planned this trip out perfectly. I knew approximately where I was going to stop on my trip down, had reservations for overnighting with my horse on the way back, and had a friend's loft to stay in whilst in Phoenix. I had budgeted it to cost me anywhere between $800-$1000 for the whole thing. I had even budgeted a couple of hundred bucks in there to get my trailer checked out before hauling it all the way back up to Seattle with a horse. Safety first!
I had planned a different route down than I was taking back up. I did this for two reasons: a.)it was calculated to shave off two hours of driving time; and b.)I felt it was essential for my sanity. If you've never driven on I-5 in California, you probably wouldn't understand. Think to yourself, flat, boring, not much scenery, lots of dairy cows. Plus, I had never been on this route (see map) before. I thought surely there would be something new to see in eastern Washington, eastern Oregon, Idaho, and eastern Nevada.
I took off after work on a Friday, figuring I could get about 5 or so hours of driving in before I would have to stop in and stay at a motel. I'm not completely alone, mind you, as my dog is chilling out in the back seat...he's very good company...never complains, doesn't ask, "Are we there yet?" He ends up sleeping on and off the entire trip. But back to night #1, we end up staying in Pendleton, Oregon.
The next day (Saturday) we take off very early, as I'm planning on making it all the way from Pendleton to Flagstaff, Arizona. Why Flagstaff? My good friend and former riding student, Monica, is showing at a Quarter Horse show on Sunday there, and I thought it would be very cool if I could stop by and watch, plus I love Flagstaff and figure that it wouldn't hurt if I hung out there for a bit on my trip down.
It's going to be a long Saturday...18 hour drive, a little over 1,000 miles. All goes well, until I hit Nevada. The first town in on US 93 is called Jackpot. Yes, that's right...Jackpot, Nevada. This is where I get pulled over for speeding. 55 mph in a 35 mph zone. Shit.
This wouldn't be so frustrating other than the fact that where I got pulled over is a total speed trap. It isn't even a town, just a gas station in the middle of nowhere. Up until this point, the speed limit is 70....wtf? Luckily, the officer cuts me some slack...and only cites me for being 10 mph over. 10 mph on a Nevada highway equals $187.00. Double shit.
For future reference, the rules of citations in Nevada are as follows:
1.) If it's a DPS ticket, no points go on your license (the only good part of this ticket)
2.) The flat fee for speeding is $87
3.) Nevada charges you an extra $10 for every mph over the speed limit you drive. So, I should have had a $287 ticket rather than $187. I tell myself it could have been much worse, obviously. But, this clearly doesn't help my planned budget.
I shake off the ticket and decide that I just have to keep going...and watch out for evil, money-making stealth speed traps.
The drive through eastern Nevada is a solemn one. I go through small towns, and come to a quick realization that it's a good thing that I gas up the Tahoe in just about every one of them. No sooner than I leave one, I pass a sign that says, "NEXT SERVICE 90 MILES." And when they say "no service" they mean it. Not only do you not pass any towns in that 90 miles, but you will pass maybe 3 houses (most of which don't look occupied), about 5 cars, and will have absolutely no cell phone service. There are signs saying, "IN AN EMERGENCY DIAL 911." I begin to wonder in my drive if you could actually reach 911 if you needed to. Alas, I just have to keep on going.
I develop a love/hate relationship with US 93 in Nevada. Part of me enjoys the serene calm of the deserted road...it's given me plenty of time to think, and just about the point I realize I'm thinking too much and borderline depressed, I find that the solution is to belt out whatever song is playing from my iPod (so glad I got that thing hardwired to my stereo). Dog looks at me like I'm in insane, but oh well. I see miles and miles of this:
Finally around 9 pm I reach Las Vegas. The lights beckon to me like a moth to the flame. You have no idea how hard it is to just drive THROUGH this city. Many many memories of this place...I smile, and hope for no traffic at the Hoover Dam.
I indeed end up having zero traffic at the Dam, and even take a second to stop and look at the new awesome bypass bridge that is coming along very well since the last time I saw it a few months earlier. I get back in and make it to I-40 for my last leg (about 2 hours) into Flagstaff. I keep my bright lights on, watching for elk (believe me, I don't want to hit one of those fuckers...that would totally kill the Tahoe). All of a sudden, I start realizing this quiet scratching sound. My truck is running just fine, so I ignore and decide to worry about it when I get to Phoenix. I will look back and realize that maybe this wasn't the best idea.
Crashing in Flagstaff feels entirely comfortable, and I'm even happy to get up early the next morning to go over and help Monica at the horse show. It feels like old times, almost like I've never left. Monica and Sammy (horse) end up doing very well, and proud teacher that I am, I cheer her on when we all hear the placings! After she finishes showing, I decide to kill some time in downtown Flag, mostly getting small gifts for folks and picking up my favorite coffee. It's actually the only coffee I've ever drank and enjoyed, called the Snowstorm from Cafe Espress.
Finally it's time for the final drive to Phoenix, which will take not quite two hours, and includes one stop along the way...Rock Springs Cafe in Rock Springs, AZ. Why may you ask? Four words: JACK DANIELS PECAN PIE I have to get my favorites in while I can!
First stop in Phoenix is of course the horse barn. I am glad to show up when no one is around, since the minute I set eyes on horse and open his stall door to give him a hug I instantly start bawling my eyes out. And before you start judging, 2 months is a long separation from a pet that you've had for 12 years...that you've raised from practically a child. (I now understand, in my own way, how hard it is for a mother to say goodbye to her son/daughter when they move on to graduation, etc).
The rest of my Sunday in Phoenix is spent relaxing, before meeting friends out downtown at Roosevelt Tavern for some Great Whites and the best grilled cheese and tomato soup...ever. Afterward, myself and my BFF in Phoenix, code-named "Lil J" make our way to MercBar to see another good friend of ours, Jamie, who recently moved back to Phoenix. I have just enough liquor for the night to make me happy, so I head back to my friend Antonella's loft (which she so graciously offered to me while she is out of town on a roadtrip of her own) to crash like a rock.
And crash like a rock I did, as this lady has a very firm bed (I'm used to those cozy soft ones, but to each their own). All is well and good, until her kitties decide to run a muck, crying for my attention! I lock them out of the room and then all is well. Sleep comes to me easily, but alas, I have to get up early again tomorrow (Monday) to take the horse trailer in for a little inspection to ensure it's all set to go the 1500 miles to Woodinville, Washington.
On the way to the auto shop the next morning, I come to the realization that the once quiet scratching noise I had heard coming from my truck had turned into a rather radical scratching noise. I decided rather than hook up and bring the trailer over, just to take the truck in and have them take a look. I figure that they should be able to identify the noise right off, but they go ahead and tell me that they will probably have to reschedule the trailer for the next day or two and concentrate solely on the truck for Monday. I agree, and have my friend Jamie pick me and up and drop me off at the loft, so I can sleep a little more and get some pool time in. A short time after I had dropped off the truck, I get a call from the auto shop. First words out of the guy's mouth, "It's bad." "How bad?" I ask. Answer..."at least $2300 bad." FUCCCCCCCKKKKKKK.
$2300 because that is what it costs to replace the transfer case in a 2003 Chevy Tahoe. That's more than DOUBLE the budget I set up for my ENTIRE trip. I bite the bullet, I mean what else can I do...I can't stay stranded in Arizona, when I only have a week off to get myself and my horse (dog too) back to Washington. I slapped as much as I could on a credit card, and then did what any girl would do, I called my parents in financial distress.
My mother is great at empathy, and is the go-to person for calming my nerves. She assures me that if I just talk to my dad that he will be there for me financially if I need it. Take into mind, those of you that know me, you know how FIERCELY INDEPENDENT I am. It is VERY, VERY HARD for me to ask my parents for money. In my eyes, it makes me feel like a disappointment, so I do my best to stray from this option. But, in the end, I don't really have a choice. My checking account is okay, but if anything else comes up, I'm going to need some help. I call my dad, and despite the beating his own bank account is probably suffering at the moment (farming is going exceptionally horrible this year from rains in the Midwest), he assures me that if I need the help, he's here for me. I don't know what else to say other than I LOVE MY PARENTS. We don't always agree on everything, but in our family, you know who you can (and unfortunately can't) count on.
For the next couple days, I spend the time catching up with friends, relaxing by the pool, and preparing my horse for the trip, all while the auto shop is sucking the life out of me, financially.
....to be continued (PART TWO tomorrow)
Song of the day: "Bone Broke" by The White Stripes (cause I'm that broke)
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