A traveler in the USA has some real advantages to enjoy. Our weakness is the shortage of cultural and historical aspects of travel. Let's talk about one way to lessen these disadvantages.
'Leaving Yuma' is a good example. It is delicious to do a good job of it. Start off by admitting the grim truth, without any sugar-coating or pep talks: Yuma sucks to high heaven.
And then let the first heat wave hit you. What happens? In Yuma, you can't even bring your dog in the car when you go grocery shopping during the daylight hours, except for a few weeks per year. Today is probably the last day.
Then wallow in it a little bit! Laundromats will soon become hot -- combine that with them being desperately crowded. Take a chance and grab a laundry cart that an old snowbird-biddy thinks belongs to her, and see what happens.
Parking lots are congested. People back out without looking what's behind them. After all, their necks won't twist that far, and only newer cars have backup cameras.
Sunglasses or not, you will still be grimacing and squinting through the windshield. Just imagine what the black asphalt of that parking lot feels like in mid-summer. "It's only a dry heat,' indeed!
With a certain amount of melodrama and playfulness, I consider this sunlight and aridity as the ultimate evil. Imagine it in theological terms. (And don't weaken this by adding "in the manner of past centuries." Look at the way modern Democrats act towards Trump.)
Traveling can't be anything more than trivial scenery unless you imaginatively expand into your setting. And now is the perfect time, in Yuma.
But you can't leave yet; you are waiting for one last package to get in. Why is it taking so long? When is it finally going to get here?
When you just can't stand it anymore, then, leave Yuma. You aren't just driving, leaving, transporting yourself. You are running for your life, towards a type of salvation. You have just invented 'theological traveling.'
|The shadow of summer EVIL hangs over Yuma, even in January.|