Route 66 and Random Road Trip Ramblings

"Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter the road is life."-- Jack Kerouac

Finally, Mrs. Claus is back where she belongs, here in the North Pole. I made a road trip in the sleigh yesterday to go pick her up and bring her back home. The missionary elves who live with us, Nathan Watts and Matthew Knowles are really glad to have her back as well, because now they will no longer have to suffer through my lack of culinary prowess.

Anyway, yesterday morning I started out about 4:30 a.m. I had the sleigh packed with snacks and bottled water. The CD player was loaded with suitable travel music. And, I had taken a No-Doz so I could stay awake. My plan was to be in Mesquite, Nevada by 10:30 a.m. to meet Mrs. Claus at the Virgin River Casino where she was being brought by her sister, Sharon, and niece Suzie. (Mesquite is pretty much the half-way point between Los Angeles and Lindon, UT where Missus was visiting.)

Heading east on the 210, thoroughly enjoying the music, my head was filled with pleasant thoughts of seeing my wife again after three and a half weeks of her being away. Before I knew it, I was heading north on I-15. I snuggled in behind a huge double cab pick-up loaded with kayaks. Since this particular vehicle was doing 95, it was definitely my kind of pace car.

Clipping right along, things slowed down to a crawl just north of Victorville, CA where the highway patrol was directing all traffic off the freeway. I had to backtrack to Victorville where I was rerouted to "D" Street. "D" Street, come to find out is actually Route 66. I must say it was picturesque. The sights included farms, various homespun agrarian business ventures, and an abandoned house with a collapsed roof. At one point on my right, I spied a very pretty farm house with a sign which read, "Molly Brown's Country Cooking". My stomach began to growl, but my snacks were not within grabbing distance and I didn't want to lose any time by stopping and digging them out.

The only thing about having been rerouted to Route 66 that wasn't exactly fun for me, was the speed limit. At 45 MPH, I may as well have pitched a tent, it felt so slow. Especially after averaging 85 and 90 beforehand. Eventually, I made my way back to I-15. It was pretty open at this point. Really enjoying the freedom of movement on the road now, I was listening to "Defying Gravity" from the "Wicked" soundtrack, when I glanced down at the speedometer and saw that I was doing 100 plus. Who says the sleigh can't fly? When I looked back up, I saw a sign that simply read, "Jesus" in big bold letters. I did hope at that moment that Jesus doesn't mind too much that I was basically ignoring the 70-mile-per-hour speed limit. My rather accelerated speed continued most of the way into Baker, CA. I'm reminded of when Mrs. Santa and I were caught by a six year old boy as we tried to make a surreptitious get-away from his family's Christmas party where we'd just passed out presents and candy. Disgusted and in a loud voice he yelled, "Wait a minute! You're not the real Santa. The real Santa has a sleigh and reindeer. You drive a Navigator, and I'll bet it doesn't even fly!" Mrs. Santa patted the boy on the arm and then blithely replied, "Oh, honey, you've never seen Santa drive!" I've never been much of a stop-and-smell-the-flowers kind of guy. I like to get where I'm going as quickly as possible.

In Baker, I stopped for gas and to relieve myself of excess water. The restroom at the ARCO station was typical of the ones you see on road trips; no one in their right mind would ever describe it as clean and it smelled overwhelmingly of urine that never made its way into the porcelain receptacle provided for that purpose. The walls inside of the stall were replete with gang graffiti and badly drawn stick figures with over-sized genitalia. Also, someone had written, "L. A. Lakers, one." I think the writer meant to actually say, "won", but who knows? And I've never understood the logic of someone taking the trouble of carving their gang affiliation logo into commode seats unless it's to send the message that if you join a gang your life will end up in the toilet.

Once again on the road, the next land mark in the vast wasteland known as the California/Nevada desert, is Primm, Nevada which is about forty miles outside of Las Vegas. I guess Primm exists for all those gamblers who can't quite wait to get all the way to Vegas to lose the rent money. Giant neon signs announced prime rib for nine ninety-nine, low-cost hotel rooms, and entertainment by almost famous-celebrities. One of the large hotel/casino operations there is Buffalo Bill's. The place is absolutely huge. Outside is one of the biggest roller coasters I've ever seen in my life. I suppose the thinking is if you go on a gargantuan thrill ride that will most likely scare you to death, you forget, at least for a few moments about just having blown your life savings at the craps table. I suppose their nod to an amusement park is an act of compassion when you get down to it. They really ought to be sainted.

I hit Las Vegas next; "Sin City". There certainly are a plethora of beautiful hotels that look awfully inviting. The thing is, I've no interest in gambling at all. Though, I did blow two dollars on nickel slots at the Mint once in Las Vegas when we stayed there on choir tour in college. Lady Luck has never been a close friend of mine, so I try not to push my luck . The other thing I dislike about Las Vegas is when you do stay at one of the hotels, you have to walk through the casino to get to your room. The smoke in those places could choke a horse. I always feel the need to have a chest x-ray after a stroll through a casino lobby!

Once the glitz and glamor of Sin City were in my rear-view mirror, the next point of interest was the Moapa Indian Reservation; population 206. There was also a warning sign telling me my speed would be monitored by radar. I was doing 90 and 95, and people were passing me up, so I wasn't too worried. One car that passed me was a blue Corvette convertible with Illinois license plates. The female passenger had her feet up on the dashboard. Her toenails were painted bright blue. For some reason, I found that somewhat random. I was then reminded of a Bishop's Storehouse food delivery my helper Brandon and I made a couple of weeks ago. When we pulled up to the lady's house she was sitting on the porch in a big floppy straw hat playing a bright blue ukulele. We both stared a second, and then Brandon shook his head and said, "That's just so random!" Meanwhile, back on I-15, I see signs also for the town of Glendale. I think every state must have a Glendale. I know Utah has one, as does California and Arizona; I've seen it listed as a town in other states as well. Here's where my cell phone rang. It was my wife informing me they were just leaving St. George, Utah. So, we were both closing in on Mesquite.

A short time later, I pulled into the parking lot of the Virgin River Casino, and parked in front in a Handicapped space. I have bum knees, so I get to have disabled parking. It pays to be a gimp when you're looking for parking! Though I would trade a little walking to have good knees again! It seems the moment I pulled in and parked, my sister-in-law did as well. It couldn't have been timed anymore perfectly! I got out of the car, and turned around and there she was, the love of my life, Mr. Santa Claus (aka Andrea Steele-Leavitt). I had done it! I made it to Mequite in good order and just before 10:30 a.m.; now I was reunited with Missus once again! Lady Luck aside, I am a very fortunate man!

Anyhow, that's how Santa sees it!