Driving to the Edge of the Horizon

In 1983, I drove from Victorville, California to Marquette, Michigan in the Upper Peninsula. It was the first time I had traveled most of the country by myself. After spending three plus years stationed at George, Air Force Base, I received orders for a permanent change of Station (PCS) to KI Sawyer, AFB, MI. The orders were part of my re-enlistment deal where I got to choose three bases of preference. Since two of my buddies got orders to KI Sawyer, I decided I would go too.  

Since I got more money to drive across three quarters of the country, I decided I would drive. But first I had to get my 1976 Oldsmobile from California’s High Desert to the winter wonderland of Marquette, Michigan. After getting nearly a thousand dollars worth of service, I began packing my bags. Benny told me that he had bought a trailer and was wondering if I wanted the spare room. I told him yes. 

After filling my tank at the gas station on George, I was ready for the end of the horizon drive I was about to embark on. The trunk of my car had been bashed in from a miscalculation in parking that left the trunk unable to close. To remedy the problem, I used rope to keep the trunk from popping up. It wasn’t pretty, but I knew it would get me there.  

At exactly noon, I put George, AFB in my rearview mirror. After weaving my way through Victorville, I was eastbound on Interstate Highway 40 with the horizon stretched out in front of me. I had a boombox on the passenger seat listening to some cassettes as I pushed my speed to about 90 mph. I had been over this flat road a dozen times when I drove to Nellis, AFB in Las Vegas crossing Death Valley for logistic support of our fighter jets. This was adios to all that. I could feel my heart soar on that thought. 

Driving east on Interstate 40, it took me three hours to get to the Colorado River that separates California from Arizona. When I got to Kingman, Arizona, the temperature was still over ninety degrees, but the sun was setting in a spectacular blaze across the barren landscape of saguaro cactus and beige scenery. Since I did not have air conditioning in my car, the clothing I was wearing was soaked. Here it was half way through January. While the rest of the country was digging out their driveways, I was sweltering in the twilight desert heat.  

It was dark as I began to climb the foothills that led into Williams and Flagstaff. I was not paying attention to my escalating altitude. The moon hung like a big silver droopy eye in the night sky. Surrounded by jagged mountains peaks as I approached Flagstaff, I noticed that the moonlight seemed to make the tops of the mountains white. I thought this was a strange optical effect, but I didn’t think much more as I stopped to get gas at a truck stop in the town.  

Stepping out of my car, still wearing shorts and a tshirt, I sucked in the frigid air. Looking at the pavement, I noticed the water had become ice and the white on the mountains wasn’t from the moon. It was snow. Everyone else was wearing a thick jacket. The temperature was below freezing here.  

Paying the attendant for my gas, I got back in my car and turned on the heater with my teeth now chattering. Even though I was tired from driving, I decided to press on from Flagstaff and try making it through the night. This decision was based on the calculation of my current financial circumstance. I only had a couple hundred dollars left and I knew I couldn’t afford wasting it on a hotel room for the night. If anything, I would sleep in my car if I had to, after all I had done it before.  

I got back on Interstate 40 headed toward Winslow where I doubt, I’d be standing on a corner with some woman driving by in a pickup. Oh well. I would have to skip that legend.  

Driving through the dark with only the taillights of the semitrucks to guide me as I went zipping by. I had no idea I passed through the Petrified Forest on my way to New Mexico.   

The sun was rising when I came to Luton, New Mexico where I stopped to have breakfast. It was already hot and I was very weary from spending the night on the road.  

“Hey sugar.” The waitress greeted me with a coffee pot. “Ya lookin’ a little under the weather.” 

“I’ve been driving all night.” I confessed as she poured me a cup of coffee.

“Ooo, that’s rough.” She shook her head. “So, where are ya headed?” 

“KI Sawyer.” I answered.

“And what would that be?” 

“An Air Force base.” 

“Are you in the service?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“My brother was in Vietnam.” She sighed, “And he’s never been right since.” 

I ate my breakfast and gave my waitress a good tip, cutting into my ever-evaporating funds.  

Back on the road, driving through New Mexico.

Flat. Flat. Flat.

Even the Tablelands in the distance were flat. The beige landscape made it hard to keep my eyes open. While there were occasional displays of Native art along the side of the highway. Most of the art I saw was made with turquoise and silver, but remained sublime and rushed in the attempt as it was made for tourists. Some of the cheap plastic trinkets seemed somewhat offensive to Native Americans, but humor can be somewhat subjective.  

I stopped to get gas outside of Albuquerque at a truck stop where these cheap trinkets were popular with the clientele. The truckstop was close to the Acoma Pueblo where Kratrina dolls made by actual artists were sold. I, however, did not have the time or money to indulge myself.  

Pulling out and back on the highway, I began to feel the effects of sleep deprivation. I knew that Texas and Oklahoma lay ahead. From what I had heard the flatlands stretched out for miles through the Texas Panhandle. I saw on the map that Interstate 40 went through Amarillo, home to the Cadillac Ranch. I had planned to stop near Amarillo to get some rest. 

By the time I got to Amarillo, I could barely keep my eyes open. It was already late in the afternoon. There was a rest stop a few miles from Amarillo where I pulled off, put my head on the door rest after locking the doors and closed my eyes.

It turned out to be a restless sleep as I kept thinking about how much I had driven and how much more I had to go. One thing I was grateful for was there had been no snow except on the mountain peaks near Flagstaff. My tires were new, but they were not snow tires and I wondered how they would handle if I did hit some snow. 

I woke up in the dark. My mouth was as dry as cotton. There was a momentary premonition that I was completely lost which caused me to panic until I realized I was in Texas. Stretching and yawning, I started up my car and drove toward Oklahoma City. Oil rigs had replaced the flatness of the Tableland. The oil rigs moved in a syncopated rhythm like woodpeckers drilling into the hard rocky ground. Illuminated by the stars and headlights of a moonless black sky, I chuckled as I passed them. I was disappointed that I did not see the Cadillac Ranch.  

When I got to Oklahoma City, I left Interstate 40 and merged onto Interstate 44 that would take me north into Springfield, Illinois. I only had to get through Missouri, Illinois, Wisconsin before I’d arrive at the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I began to feel better about my journey as I left the desert in my rearview mirror.  

The sun began to rise on day three as I neared St. Louis where I would cross the Mississippi River into East St. Louis, Illinois. To celebrate, I stopped in St. Louis at Denny’s to have a big breakfast. I spent lavishly with a ten dollar bill coupled with a five dollar tip, leaving me with under two hundred dollars. It didn’t matter to me now, because I could feel the end of the horizon coming to meet me.  

Interstate 40 had disappeared as it seemed a lot of highways ended in St. Louis, but I saw that Interstate 55 would take me to where I wanted to go. I saw the Arch in my rearview mirror as I crossed the Mississippi. I was pleased that there still was not a trace of snow anywhere as I began my drive through Illinois.  

I was beginning to think that winter had abandoned Illinois as I drove through Springfield, Peoria, and Joliet before tackling the labyrinth known as Chicago. I had my cup of coins next to me to put in the toll roads that ran through the arteries of Chicago. Once again, I began to feel the effects of sleep deprivation. I had driven close to two thousand miles on about six hours of sleep. I would need to take a rest as soon as I put Chicago in my rearview.  

Tenuously I approached the second most populated city in the country with highways that defied logic or reason, but with a toll booth every mile . I had heard rumors of drivers becoming so lost and confused that they wound up in Canada. As I entered the Chicago maze of highways, I armed myself with the coins I would need to pass through the maze. As I drove I kept my eyes wide open to see where the next turn off was. I had to find Interstate 94 that would take me north through Wisconsin and then into Michigan. Yes, I was nearing the end of my journey at the end of the horizon.  

During a rush to get into the lane for the entrance to Interstate 94, someone cut me off and I drove past it. I hit my horn, but the other driver only gave me a one finger salute. I was momentarily lost.

While stationed in the High Desert, I had driven quite a few times to my aunt and uncle’s house in the San Fernando Valley. After driving on the Antelope Freeway, which is nothing more than a four-lane road through the desert, I would come to the San Fernando Expressway. Immediately I was immersed in the crazy traffic of Los Angeles. It did not freak me out no matter how heavy the traffic was and I always managed to get through it. I would have to use the same mindset now. Because of the unexpected detour, my coin supply was running short and I still had quite a few tolls left to go.  

I pulled up to one of the booths where a uniformed woman stood checking the video feed from about a dozen cameras. She smiled as I signaled, I needed to talk to her.

“Yes, can I help you?” She opened the window of the booth.

“Do you have change for a five?” I asked, holding the bill. 

“Sure.” She said in an attempt to be friendly, she asked.” Where are you headed?” 

“Marquette, Michigan.” I said as she handed me twenty quarters.

“Ooo, cold up there.” She pretended to shiver.

I could not believe in the middle of January; it wasn’t even sweater weather in the Windy City. I began to feel like winter was never coming, no snow, no subfreezing temperatures. Was it spring and someone forgot to tell me?

“Thank you, ma’am.” I waved as I pulled away from her booth. 

“Take care.” She waved back and went back to monitoring her screens. 

Once I was able to get on Interstate 94, I was in Wisconsin before the hour. It was dark as day three came to a close. On my left were the lights of the towns in southern Wisconsin and to my right was Lake Michigan. I made it as far as Kenosia before I pulled off into a rest stop. I cursed myself for not being able to endure another four hours or so of driving to make it to my destination. Putting my head on the arm rest and locking the doors, I was asleep as soon as I shut my eyes.

         My dream took me to the end of the horizon. I pulled into a driveway and was greeted by my two buddies. I made it. The buzz of the road was still in my head, but I was where I wanted to be. I had left behind a failed marriage and some memories of the High Desert that were just that, memories. I had no idea I was dreaming, because the images were so real until the dragons appeared and breathed fire everywhere.

         I woke up freezing. The temperature was below freezing. With my car heater shut off when I turned the engine off, I felt the harshness of the cold air outside. Opening my car door, I decided to take off my shorts and put on my Wranglers. I had some wool socks which I also put on along with a warm sweatshirt. It was at this juncture, I realized I did not have a warm jacket. Blame the warm weather in Southern California even though it did get rather brisk in the High Desert during the winter. Still, I found you survive with just a lightweight jacket. My military field jacket was packed in my duffle bag. I did not feel like unpacking it, because I was starving.  

When I left the rest stop, I saw I was no longer on Interstate 94, instead the sign on the highway read “41.” Was I lost? I looked at the map, but it did not show where Interstate 94 intersected with Interstate 41. Whatever the rationale, 94 disappeared and was replaced by 41. I stopped at a Waffle House and spoke to the waitress.

“Does Interstate 94 turn into Interstate 41?” I asked her.

“I dunno.” She shook her head, “What would you like to order?” 

“Waffles, I guess.” 

“Coffee?” 

“Please.”

“Tell ya what, I’ll ask my manager.” She nodded and walked up to a guy who appeared as if he hadn’t even started shaving. She came back to my table, “My manager says you go up Interstate 41 until you get to Green Bay where you get on Highway 141.”

“Thank you so much.” I wrote the directions on my hand with a Sharpie. She was nice, so I had to ask her, “One more question.”

“Yes?” 

“Where is the snow?” 

She laughed and shook her head, “It’s been a really mild winter, hasn’t it?” 

So, with my directions tattooed on my hand, I began to drive north again with Lake Michigan to my right and the rest of the world to my left.

Driving through snowless Wisconsin farm country, I saw how beautiful this part of the country was. With acres and acres of farmland, the rolling hills were as scenic as anything I had seen in my entire trip. I wanted to stop, but I was coming to the end of the horizon and wanted to get there before nightfall. I still had to get through Green Bay and find Highway 141. Barely a country road, Highway 141 had two-way traffic and uneven pavement. 

As it turned out, I got to Marinette, Michigan as the sun set and the snow began to fall. The snowfall was as heavy as any I had ever seen. Even with my windshield wipers on, the snow could not be cleared away. I began to swerve and sway. What was even more distressing was as I approached Escanaba, there was a sign posted that read, “You are now entering the Eastern Time Zone.” I was traveling north not east, because Lake Michigan was east. If I was entering the Eastern Time Zone, would I end up getting wet?  

Things got worse once I got to Escanaba. Approaching a four way stop, I pressed the brake pedal and went sliding through the intersection without stopping at all. There was a police car on the side of the road. The policeman sat watching me slide through without engaging. After my third time sliding through this intersection, I decided to pull into an all-night store. There was plowed snow in front of the building. I ended up parking by running into the plowed snow. Shaking from hitting the snowbank, I walked in and paid for a drink.

“Hey, I’m new here, how do you stop your car?” I asked the clerk.

“You hit something.” He answered without looking up from his magazine.

“Great, thanks.” 

“Don’t mention it.” He replied as I walked out into the falling snow which had already covered my tire tracks. 

What was supposed to take less than an hour to reach my new base, took nearly three hours. I arrived at my buddy’s trailer a little after ten in the evening. The snow was already three feet deep, and I did not have any snow boots.

“How was the trip?” My buddy asked as he came out to help me with my bags.

“Well, I’m here.” 

“You need boots.” He shrugged as we went inside his nice warm trailer. I had arrived after traveling nearly two thousand miles without seeing a single snowflake, but as soon as I crossed the border into the Upper Peninsula, I would be nearly buried in snow. In the two years I would be at KI Sawyer AFB, I would see snow eleven out of twelve months. I would never complain again about not having any snow.