Great Expectations (and reality)

Once again, we are on the road. Our major Spring trip was curtailed by the tax hit we took this year. A person might think that two people living on social security and a state pension might not have a tax issue. Not so! In any case I spent a day cancelling campground reservations and rearranging our car rental to accommodate a 4-day excursion to Phoenix for spring baseball games. Having shifted plans at the last minute, we left some holes in our preparations and execution.
I left the paperwork for the rental car at home and the folks at Enterprise we helpful yet baffled by my insistence on having a car reserved. Ultimately, I had to call Josh and walk him through the labyrinth of my computer storage process to find my online reservation information. He was patient, or at least he seemed so. Being on the phone, I could not see him rolling his eyes or grinding his teeth at his father’s understanding of technology. By the time he located our information another busload of tourists had arrived at the rental car center. The line at Budget was long by the time I walked down to the correct agency.
We loaded our belongings, an hour and a half later, into a Jeep Compass hybrid. It had all of the electronic bells and whistles of the current breed of cars. It was 20 minutes before I figured out how to move the seat forward so I could reach the pedal. The car was all buttons. There was no slot for the key to slide into. Its mere presence in the car was enough to make things work, as long as I could step on the brake to start the blessed thing! (I still can’t figure out how to lower the seat, and, while I enjoy riding tall in the saddle, I hit my head every time I climb in or out. I use this metaphor only partly in jest. After a day of sitting in plane seating, I stiffen up quickly anytime I sit for a few minutes. When I stand, I toddle around stiffly like the old cowboys I remember from the Wyoming of my youth as they emerged from the Wonder Bar after a Saturday afternoon break for liquid refreshment.) Lydia set the GPS on her phone and we, like the cowboys, wandered into the sun. Our reactions were slower than the GPS instructions. We saw parts of Phoenix few tourists see or ever should see. I grew immune to the honking and single finger salutes of others. (Truly, if Phoenix wants to remain a tourist Mecca, its citizens need to develop a little patience and Christian charity – pardon the mixture of faiths here.)
Ultimately, we found our hotel, remained long enough to drop off our luggage and check the efficiency of the sanitary facilities, before we again tested the steel of the local citizenry as we wandered out to find a plate of dinner. It was late by the time we ventured from the restaurant, to-go boxes in hand. Traffic was lighter. I think perhaps word had gotten out concerning our presence and many chose to remain at home.
Our room had no closets. (Well truthfully, we found out this morning that the locked door was our closet. We had only to pull on the knob rather than try to turn it.) The air conditioner has one setting, 68 degrees. There are no ice trays for the in-room refrigerator’s freezer compartment and no ice machines on the premises. The weather is lovely however, the sunrise out our window this morning was spectacular and tonight we get to watch baseball and eat hotdogs under the lights.
It’s not what we expected, but it certainly is nice.

The Road