Taking the silver bird to a place farther west than I’ve ever been

                        
This is all I know about the state of Arizona: It’s a breeding ground for rock-ribbed Republican presidential candidates, both of whom -- Barry Goldwater and John McCain -- lost. It’s the spring training home for a number of major league teams. It’s got desert, mountains, cacti and roadrunners, with perhaps a Joshua Tree in the mix. It’s blistering hot nine months out of the year. “Dry heat,” they all say. Its capital city is Phoenix. It was the 48th state to join the Union. And Mark Lindsay, the charismatic pony-tailed lead singer of Paul Revere and the Raiders, had a smash single 40 years ago with a pop-confection infectious bit of ear candy called Arizona: “Hey, Arizona, take off your hobo shoes/Arizona, have another look at the world, my my Arizona, get off your 8-ball blues/Arizona, hey won’tcha go my way.” I loved that song when I was a freshman in high school and Lindsay’s follow-up, Silver Bird, has stayed with me, too, just as uplifting as it ever was. So that’s where I’m heading in a few days’ time, out to Arizona on a Silver Bird ... and I can’t wait. “Traveling,” my wife says, “is something we should do while we’re still able to enjoy it.” Having just celebrated another birthday -- I’ve never been this old and felt so young -- I’m feeding the need to cover a great distance and, thankfully, a good high school friend of mine who lives in the Tucson area has been more than agreeable to putting my wife and I up for a few days as we experience the great American Southwest. My wife has lists. Lots of lists, ranging from places she’d like to see to clothing she plans to wear: collapsible hats and clamdiggers, sweaters and sweatshirts, airplane outfits and hiking clothing ... on and on, fancy dinner restaurant togs and knock-about casuals. I respect that kind of prior planning and wish I were more like her but, well, I’m more the kind of guy who throws a bunch of T-shirts, jeans, shorts, sneakers and socks into a suitcase and hopes for warm, sunny weather and a tan to bring back. And, oh yes, I always take along my transistor radio. And my pillow. I never leave home without it. Over the last 15 months, I’ve been to the great frozen north of Wisconsin to the sultry riverside environs of Alabama, from Florida’s sultry Gulf Coast beaches to Ohio’s welcome-home embrace, from the strangely calm airports of Houston and Atlanta to the life-assuring rhythms of small-town Kansas... and for all that freedom, I’m grateful. But this trip will be special. I’ve never been farther west than Kansas City, which seethed with history and barbecue, Tea Baggers rallying the banks of the Mississippi River and the blues floating from every bar along the waterfront. Folks were open to new ideas, new directions and fresh starts. I will be heading deeper into the nation than I’ve ever ventured and my wife, ever the optimist, is certain that it will be a life-changing event. “You know how to talk with people,” she said, trying to decide whether to pack an ivory or emerald sweater. “Just don’t get lost in the desert.” And then she started singing A Horse with No Name, a hit by a band called America, in 1972. She has a surprisingly sweet voice and she made the words sound not a bit ominous: “I’ve been through the desert/on a horse with no name/It felt good to be out of the rain.” When we touch down in Arizona, it’ll feel good to be in a place we’ve never been, anticipating a fine few days with a friend who flew almost all the way across the country to join our friends and family as we were married on the beach in Kitty Hawk all those months ago. Every year, we exchange Christmas cards with him and, invariably, we trade written remarks in the spirit of the season, ones that say that THIS will be the year we finally get a chance to go west and fulfill that long-wished-for promise. And now that our reunion is imminent, I can’t help smiling. Travel is a tonic for the tattered soul and mine is in need of revitalization. Besides, I’ve never experienced a spring training baseball game ... and my friend has three tickets on the first-base line ... and the next day, it’s a long hike in a place called Sabino Canyon. Life is a wonderful thing. I plan not to waste it waiting for what might happen. It’s to make it happen. Mike Dewey can be e-mailed at CarolinamikeD@aol.com or snail-mailed at 6211 Cardinal Drive, New Bern, NC 28560.


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