Been there; done that

Goin' down that long lonesome highway
bound for the mountains and the plains
Sure ain't nothin' here gonna tie me
and I got some friends I like to see again
One of these day I'm gonna settle down
but till I do I won't be hangin' round
Goin' down that long lonesome highway
gonna live life my way
        -- David Houston

Many travelers focus much of their attention on landmarks and artifacts. Many times, while stopped at scenic overlooks, I’ve watched with amusement as others arrive, screech to a stop, pile out of their vehicle and turn their backs to the view so one of their party or a volunteer can snap a photo proving that they were wherever they were.

I’ve wondered, facetiously, whether they get a chance to appreciate the natural wonders once their pictures were processed after the end of the trip. Now, of course, such travelers can see what they missed right away – reviewing digital images saved on their cameras while they drive to the next outlook.

Whether they are postcards, key chains, t-shirts or actual historical objects of art or daily enterprise, souvenirs are also in demand by many tourists. It often strikes me as odd when people willingly pay a premium for items in gift shops or along the roadside, buying items they wouldn’t look at twice in an urban retail outlet.

I wonder if these knick-knacks are important because, like the line-‘em-up-and-shoot-‘em photos, the provide tangible evidence that “I was there.” Or maybe the experience doesn’t quite seem real unless such travelers have something they can hold or wear. In any event, the souvenir industry is clearly a multi-billion dollar deal and the purchase of things can become a significant part of a traveler’s budget.

It’s certainly not for me to conclude that these practices are somehow wrong, foolish, inconsequential or wasteful. Each of us values things – both tangible and otherwise – in our own way; if a photo or physical object helps recapture magical moments from trips or other experiences, I say, “more power to you.”

Between 1967 and 1976, I alternated between San Diego and southwestern Colorado. If I had lived in Denver or along the Interstate 25 corridor, I probably would have done most of my traveling between states on freeways. But, living on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains, I took the “blue” highways – two-lane ribbons of asphalt that passed right through the middle of towns and that featured wildlife and cross-traffic.

My favorite may have been highway 160, a not-quite-transcontinental route that begins in Missouri and ends in Arizona. This highway is Main Street for the San Luis Valley, which was important to me during much of that period; and it’s a primary trail through the Navajo Nation, where I relocated, briefly, in 1976.


have entered Arizona many times by way of 160. The road dips very briefly (less than 10 miles) into New Mexico before passing into Arizona, a mile or so south of Four Corners, the intersection of those two states plus Colorado and Utah.

The first six or eight times I passed near that landmark, I turned off and drove less than a mile to the actual spot where four states collide. Somehow, those artificial lines – agreed to by politicians and fixed in space shortly after the Civil War, it’s a rather stark and lonely site.

I understand that there is a visitor’s center on site now. When I make my pilgrimages, it was little more than a large concrete slab with some plaques attached, surrounded by unmarked parking spaces and informal shelters apparently constructed by Native American artisans who were selling artifacts – largely turquoise and other jewelry.

I don’t recall restrooms, drinking fountains, snack bars or any other attractions or amenities; but, for some reason, I felt compelled to take the detour and stand in that spot.

If my route took me there on this trip, I certainly would stop again. I’d stop because my previous visits have created a nostalgic value. I’d stop to see what memories and insights retracing somewhat compulsive footsteps from my past would prompt.

But, for the most part, I’ve eschewed such opportunities during my 17,000-mile-long current trek. I have a much more muted need to create a tally of touchstones and don’t mind missing some of the “not-to-be-missed” attractions along the way.

I’ll gladly make a detour and give up as many hours as I can to touch base with a person. Conversation has been the most rewarding part of this particular adventure. I don’t regret any of the times I decided to forego an excursion because someone in the building was willing to sit and talk about his or her life and times.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m traveling with my eyes open. I’m thoroughly enjoying the changes in landscape and often stop for a closer look at something along the way. This experience has been greatly enriched by the ever-changing context. New places, things and faces have provided continuous stimuli.