The end of daylight hours found us in western Oklahoma hurtling ever westward at ever-increasing speeds. We had been lucky because we had not had to deal with rain, but the horizon in front of us and to the north looked ominous. Crossing the Texas boarder in the dark, the speed limit increased to 75 mph, so we increased our pace. Not having a functioning speedometer, we timed ourselves between mile markers. Of course, for us to be accurate using this method we actually had to use math. I am pretty sure I had told my math teachers on numerous occasions that I would never have to use what they were trying to teach me. So why did I have to learn it? Lee remembered the correct formula (Rate = Distance Time). There are 3600 seconds in an hour, so a mile marker going by in 42 seconds meant we would be going about 85 mph!
We had been lucky to escape rain to this point but it looked like our luck was running out. For hours we drove on, hoping to make Albuquerque before stopping. Lightning and thunder began, and soon the entire sky was in constant illumination from the rapid-fire bursts. Seemingly parallel to our progress and just yards to our right, we skirted the storm. Lee had picked up a safety pamphlet in Oklahoma on what to do in lightning storms and tornados. It said "Don't try to outrun a tornado, and that being in a car with a roof is a safe place in lightning. ROOF! We don't have no stinking roof! Would a blue tarp qualify?
The lightning show continued with dozens of ground strikes occurring simultaneously. At many times the lightning was horizontal and fractured off into fingers of erratic light, seeking something to make contact with. One such bolt fired just above our heads as we ran head-on into a wall of cold, fast-moving air. Knowing a downpour was imminent, I took the exit that we were just coming up to: San Jon, New Mexico.
Filling up at the sole gas station, we asked the attendant if there was a motel in town. He directed us to the San Jon Motel, which was in a residential neighborhood and only a few blocks away. As we pulled into the gravel parking lot of the small L-shaped facility, Lee commented that it looked like the Bate's Motel from "Psycho!"
As Lee stood in front of the lobby door, pushing the ringer button that was supposed to roust the clerk, the yellowish light above him flickered. I was thinking that maybe we should sleep in the car with a tarp pulled over us, but this was our lucky night-he had a room available!
We used duct tape to fasten a tarp to the windshield and cockpit, and had just finished when the deluge came. Lee used the restroom and returned holding a roll of toilet paper and a towel. In black magic marker "Property of the San Jon Motel" had been written on them. In fact, everything in the room had been marked in the same manner. A small sign taped to the bathroom mirror read: " If you wish a souvenir towel, they are available for purchase in the lobby. It is far cheaper to buy one than to pay court costs!" The towels looked 40 years old and completely worn-out. I decided that I didn't need a souvenir bad enough to steal or buy it!
It was past 1 a.m. when I pulled down the sheets and climbed in. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the sheets and pillowcases were plastic. As I dozed off, I wondered if the plastic was to keep old odors in, to eliminate laundry, or if it made for easy cleanup if one just happened to be stabbed to death in one's sleep! Despite these worries I still slept soundly.
We left at 6 a.m. with the goal of making San Diego that day. The rain had moved on and we drove at a good pace. Upon reaching Holbrook, Arizona, we left I-40 and took beautiful secondary roads to Payson, and on to Phoenix. Dropping from over 6,000 feet above sea level into the desert valley, the views were spectacular and the temperature change dramatic. In the desert it was 95 degrees.