Another Journey: Day 3

Day Three--Monday, May 12, 2008

OK, a new day and we're to head for El Paso, Texas. But this hybrid and I are starting off with a new relationship. First, I have to say I'm very impressed that the little line of squares that tells me how much gas has been used hasn't moved at all! None of them have disappeared! None! I only filled up once, in Tempe, after arriving there Saturday night and we've come over a hundred miles from Phoenix to get here (then more trying to find a place to eat dinner after the book gig yesterday afternoon when I got pretty well lost trying to find a much-touted place up in the hills on Skyline Drive, but I finally figured it out). So, if I read this gas-gauge thing correctly, it says we got here from Phoenix without using any fuel at all!

Whatever, I'm impressed with this rig; I admit it. So, I've been thinking over our relationship and I've decided I haven't been fair. I've been looking at the hybrid as a car . . . like, you know, a car. But it's a hybrid. Like a mule. And like a mule it can do a lot of work, maybe as much work as a pack-horse, but it's not a horse, it's a mule. And a mule can be contrary and confusing and a pain in the ass, but if you don't expect it to be a horse you won't be surprised when it gets weird and obstinate. Right?

Right. So, off we go, the hybrid and I, on down 10E toward El Paso with, according to the little squares on the dash, a still-full tank of gas.

The land south of Tucson is very flat but doesn't seem to be peopled with as many Saguaros as before. In fact, I don't see any. Maybe they're all at the convention up north. Before long the flat land gives way to a sort of rolling, undulating topography (don't you just love to use a word like that in a sentence?), and as I'm watching the speed, keeping an eye on the little squares (still all there) and noting the slight changes in the landscape, suddenly I hear three distinct beeps! With the first one I start to panic, with the second I look to see that the passenger seat belt is still fastened from the other day, and with the third I begin to decelerate . . . But . . . there's no fourth! Just three damned beeps! And then nothing. Nothing at all. There appears to be no problem. So I take a deep breath and think about it. The beeps seemed to be slightly lower in tone than the A-bomb alert from Saturday. There's no damned reason for them. It's just trying to get to me. It's a mule.

After undulating for a few miles, we come around a bend and begin a long decent into a deep, wide valley. It's kind of amazing to see, because everything has been so relatively flat for the last couple of days I assumed we were at, like, sea-level, but this grade will probably bottom out at 500 to 1000 feet below where it started. And it's getting windy, pushing us around a bit. Mule doesn't like it.

Before long, we approach the Continental Divide. It seems funny to have the Continental Divide be so far west. We're only a bit more than 700 miles from the west coast, so you'd think the CD would be closer to the middle of the country. But go figure. It probably has more to do with the Rocky Mountains and which ocean the waters drain into.

The air is very brown down here. I saw that in Phoenix, too, making a snarky comment about smog, and my friend Rick said that a good part of it was dust from the desert floor kicked up by the wind. But, he added, smiling, it's also smog. Down here, as we settle into the floor of this valley, the dust is blowing pretty well and signs warn of dust storms and the possibility of zero visibility.

Pulling up into the hills on the other side of this broad valley there's a phenomenal area that looks like a giant's playground; instead of regular hills made up of solid masses of dirt and impacted stone, these are made of great piles of rounded rocks that look like some huge kid played with them, rolled them around and stacked them. It's really quite spectacular.

Entering New Mexico it's dry and flat and windy as hell, with giant dust devils hundreds of feet high off to the side of the road twirling like brownish-red mini-cyclones. I note the political tone down here, writ large on a huge billboard that says "ONE NATION--UNDER GOD."

After some miles I feel the need for a bathroom break. A couple of squares have disappeared by now, but there's no apparent need for gas, so I park by a truck stop. Inside, as I walk toward the restroom, three guys, two older and one younger, are behind the counter having a spirited conversation, with the young one saying, "It's comin', I'm just waitin' for it." The older of the three says, "These earthquakes and these storms . . ." I want to stop and listen, but can't, so go on into the men's room and wonder what they're talking about. When I come out, the young one is saying, "McCain's just gonna keep doing the same thing." The older one seems to be in agreement and adds, "Yeah, I don't know if Obama can do everything he says he will, but I'm willing to roll the dice."

Grinning with surprise, I go out, fire up the mule, get back on the highway and turn on the radio. Few stations are playing, but I find the dulcet tones of Rush Limbaugh and listen for as long as I can stand it. Clear Channel then provides The Choirboy, Sean Hannity, telling me they're "putting the Stop Hillary Express to bed and ratcheting up the Stop Obama Express." I consider calling him about the guys at the truck stop, but decide not to bother.

The wind blows us through Las Cruces and over the border into Texas and on to El Paso. Looking off to the south as you near the city, the incredible poverty of Juarez, Mexico is just a stone's throw away, right down below the highway and across the Rio Grande. It's dramatic, and heartbreaking.

Pulling into the downtown hotel I look down and see that there are still four little squares on the gas gauge. All the way from Phoenix with a stopover in Tucson and here we are in El Paso with gas to spare. This mule is skittish and contrary, but damn, it's practical.

The book event at Barnes & Noble here is a tonic. This whole celebrity thing continues to boggle my mind. Pulling into a strange city, knowing no one, and having a large group of strangers waiting, apparently happily, to see you is . . . well, it's hard to explain how it feels. Men and women, young and old, a mix of ethnicities, and they're all there with smiles on their faces. I'm reminded of the guy who once asked me, "How does it feel to have half a relationship formed with millions of people?" It feels good, very good, but it carries with it a certain responsibility. Clearly it's about M*A*S*H. We have in common a love for this show that became a social phenomenon and I'm happy to carry the banner for its message. But the embrace of it--and of me--the sense of personal relationship and appreciation, is almost overwhelming at times.

So I thank them for coming and talk a bit about the book, about my personal journeys and how my sense of social responsibility and the extraordinary luck I've had in my career intertwine, and then ask what questions they might have. This evening's group is again a mix of people with different concerns, but a couple of them stand out. A young woman is here after driving, as I have, from Tucson. Her mother, she says, was upset about missing me there, so she's here to get me to sign a book for her mother and one for her father and is then going to drive all the way back. A bit stunned at this, but happy to oblige, I wanted to write something about the extraordinary lengths she'd gone to, but she wouldn't let me. She said she didn't want them to know she'd come all the way down here because she thought they'd be mad. Despite my protests, she took the two books and left to make the drive back. Amazing!

Then there was a question about the hope of meeting Shelley, which allowed me to apologize and explain her absence. This is followed by a voice from the back of the crowd, a Latino man who asks with a grin, "Did you ever live in San Diego?" Seeing something in his eyes, I said, "Not since I joined the Marines and went through boot camp there." And he said, "I know, I was there with you." He came up and produced a photo I haven't seen in fifty years, a group shot of all of us in Platoon 374 at MCRD, the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego. What an incredible hoot! After Arturo and I talked for a bit, the young woman from Tucson was back, saying she'd called her brother and he was mad because she didn't get a book for him, so she needed a third. And now, she said, she was "busted" because her folks knew about her jaunt, so she wanted a picture with me to be able to show them.

This crowd was wonderful. We laughed and talked about all kinds of things. But this life is hard, sometimes, to square with reality. People reach out in the most incredibly generous ways, wanting to say hello, to express gratitude for what the show meant to them, to know a little something about what I'm doing and why I do it. It is deeply touching and so very humbling.

People from the El Paso Coalition to Abolish the Death Penalty cosponsored this event. A woman from an anti-poverty organization came. Two doctors and a nurse brought their sons to meet me because of what M*A*S*H meant to them. A man asked about the political scene and if I'd be willing to say who I was supporting for president. I said I wasn't sure it would be appropriate to say my candidate's name, but I could say it was very prominent in the news and that it wasn't McCain and it wasn't Clinton.

To read other entries in Mike Farrell's book tour diary click here.