Day 1 Phoenix to Ft. Stockton

Day 1 Phoenix to Ft. Stockton

It is my intention to keep a blog of our 2017 summer journey highlighting our days of pilgrimage. I hope our children find it interesting.    

I have spent many hours these last several months preparing for this trip. Leaving home for over 3-weeks is somewhat daunting and adding in visits to multiple countries while considering the well being of our 4 children adds an extra dose of overwhelmed.

The bookings were completed weeks ago and the packing finished well before last minute. So, slipping out the door in those pre-dawn hours with just one teenaged boy was seamless.  I love driving during the early morning hours. There is a meditative calmness in the car that seems to transcend to the small number of other vehicles on the road. The glow of the sun behind the mountain always wraps me in a certain kind of warmth, a reassurance for the day’s travel.

Our first stop was in Willcox, AZ. John had cut his foot the night before and needed some tending so he could slip his shoes on. After some cleaning and bandaging we were set to go.

On our way into the store, I noticed a man just finishing a conversation with someone in the parking lot. His eyes were quick to focus on me. He was wearing ill-fitting, torn jeans and had what appeared to be a holster with a sidearm attached to his thigh. His shirt was askew and slightly dirty. He was unshaven and his mannerisms were that of someone coming down from a high. We walked in the store and up to the Starbucks counter. I noticed he had followed us in and was standing half behind a kiosk near the check stands. He was looking over at me. He blinked inconsistently and his body twitched and writhed almost unperceivably.  I asked the barista if she knew him, thinking he might be the town tweaker. She said she didn’t, which turned my initial feeling of discomfort into something I don’t generally feel in these situations, abject fear.

I am in unsafe or questionable areas often and am approached for money or some sort of other request for help at least a few times per month. Most of the time I engage in conversation with these people and at most I feel a sense of awkwardness. Standing in that Safeway at 6 in morning, I had a sense of dread because by now John and I had moved to the deli area and the man had followed us, again standing slightly behind a display case. I told John that the guy was scary and freaking me out and that we needed to go to the cashier and ask for an escort from the store. Which is what we did and the cashier agreed that he was frightening and had her manager call the police.

Back on the road again, I thought about how out of the ordinary that experience was for me. I generally (and perhaps naively) don’t get overly concerned with thoughts that others might bring harm. Not in that context anyway. My fears revolve more around distracted or impaired drivers. I have rarely if ever asked for help out of fear that someone might intentionally hurt one of our children or me. And for that I am thankful.