Six years after college graduation, I was washing dishes at the Capital Oyster Bar in downtown Austin. Not exactly on the fast track to the top, was I? Some kind of change was in order, so I quit my job and took a long drive—4,200 miles to be exact. What follows is a recollection of that journey, bearing in mind that it occurred nearly three decades ago.
I learned about a company based in Dallas that hired people to drive cars to various cities around the USA. There are others, known as “drive-away” operations. They had a car that needed to get to Seattle, Washington. I had always thought that city, tucked away in the nation’s northwest corner, was beautiful and somewhat exotic. It was certainly different from Texas. The company handed me the keys to a metallic-blue Buick with automatic transmission and told me to have it in Seattle by a certain date. I think I was given 10 days, but I honestly do not recall. Nor do I remember how I was paid for my work. I would not get rich, but—oh, my, what an experience!
I was 29 years old and had seen little of the western United States, so that was about to change. My excursion, which took place in May 1982, started with me driving to Amarillo in the Texas Panhandle. I dipped into the northeast quadrant of New Mexico before turning north for Denver. Being in the Rocky Mountains was breathtaking, as one alpine vista after another made me glad to be alive. At the Continental Divide, I parked the Buick and took numerous photos with a cheapie camera.
I headed west, toward Salt Lake City, Utah. Prior to my arrival, I had a typically western experience. Right there on the highway, coming at me was a herd of cattle. I had no choice but to stop and wait for them to pass by, along with a man on horseback who gave me a nice wave of the hand. I was not in Salt Lake City long, but I had to see the LDS Temple. This is a holy place for adherents of the Mormon faith, a weird offshoot of Christianity. I got a tour of a nearby building from a nice lady who was somewhat taken back by my questions. I was clearly not a prospective convert since I expressed doubt about the Mormons’ so-called prophet, Joseph Smith, getting divine revelations on a mountaintop in upstate New York in 1823. She did not seem surprised when I asked about the Mormons’ long history of polygamy. How many wives did Brigham Young have? She knew the answer—55—but was quick to explain the various extenuating circumstances which made it necessary. I was not buying.
After crossing into Idaho, I really felt like I was a long way from home. I circled the capitol building in Boise before resuming my northwest trek. Soon I was in Washington, but still far from Seattle. I drove almost the entire length of that state. Much as the Rockies had dazzled me in Colorado, the Cascades did the same there. I recall driving amid such mountain scenery as the Beatles’ song “Birthday” played on the radio. I sang along in full throat.
Seattle, a city known for dreary weather, was nothing blue skies and sunshine when I got there. The contract stated that I was to take the car directly to the office, which I chose not to do. Instead, I drove to a few places I wanted to see such as the 605-foot tall Space Needle which marked the site of the 1962 Seattle World’s Fair and the wharves where the novelist Jack London once lived and worked. It was my good fortune that the Seattle Supersonics had a basketball game that night. It was played at the Kingdome, surely the ugliest sports facility in North American history. Resembling nothing so much as a mausoleum, it was home to the city’s three pro franchises—the Sonics of the NBA, the Seahawks of the NFL and the Mariners of major league baseball. Anyway, I had a seat close to the court and got to see the local boys lose their final game of the season to San Antonio. The Kingdome was mercifully razed in 2000.
I really did not know how I would get back to Texas, but it worked out very well. Near Sea-Tac Airport was another drive-away business with a car destined for Dallas. I got it and headed home. In this case, I would hug the west coast down to Los Angeles before turning east. I went through Portland and stopped in a small Oregon town overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Who knew Oregon was so beautiful? During my brief stopover, I met a young man with a somewhat provincial attitude: “This is ours. Don’t move here.” I told him, “Fine, but only if you promise to stay out of Texas, OK?” I made a slight detour to Eugene, home of the University of Oregon, before resuming my trip.
I had grown tired of long-distance driving well before I reached Seattle. Every morning, I woke up in a motel room and knew I had to drive another 400 miles. Putting gas in the car, eating fast food and avoiding highway patrolmen were about all I did day after day. Nevertheless, I was seeing some of the most splendid scenery imaginable. Northern California, with such memorably named places as Crescent City, Eureka and Ukiah, was quite nice. Why, oh why, did I not take a side trip to see the giant redwood trees? Mainly because I was sick of driving and wanted to get home. Even so, I paused after reaching the fabled city of San Francisco. Eight years later I would be back, accompanied by a girlfriend as we ran in the Bay-to-Breakers 12K race with 50,000 others.
I hurried down the coast to LA before making a 90-degree left turn. This is where I really felt burned out, with a lot of desert in front of me. Honestly, I remember almost nothing about the remainder of the trip other than this feeling of weariness. I had to travel through southern California, Arizona and New Mexico—some long, hot driving—before reaching the Lone Star State again, and even then I had a long way to go. I got to Dallas, took the car to an agency near Love Field and said hallelujah, I am back.
In fact, I resumed my dishwashing job at the restaurant for a few months. But I had plans and acted on them. I went back to UT and took courses in journalism and creative writing, worked on the Daily Texan, got some pieces published, was hired to do editorial work at a typesetting company and had the stones to say publicly that I was going to write a book. I have been a writer and editor ever since. Had I not gone to Seattle, maybe I would still be scrubbing pots and pans but I doubt it.
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