Get Comfortable Behind the Wheel If You Expect To Hit the Book Festival Circuit

 

            Online sales may be great. Same goes for those brick and mortar stores. But nothing gets the word out there like author presence at book festivals. Trouble is, those festivals mean lots of driving or worse yet, flying. I’ve avoided the latter so far, since I didn’t want to re-mortgage my house in order to pay for the extra weight in my luggage. But driving to some of those places can be quite a challenge. Albuquerque was no exception. It took me nine hours from Phoenix, both coming and going, even though I took different routes.

            If you’re familiar with Arizona, then you know that there’s basically one highway to get you from Phoenix to Flagstaff and then another to go east into New Mexico. Sure, there are smaller roads but you have to share them with mule deer, get use to the fact that there are no guard rails, and enjoy hair pinned turns every other mile. I chose the major state road to get there and spent 7 of the 9 hours in serious prayer.

            I think I was driving the only car. At least it seemed that way surrounded by tractor trailers going 85 miles an hour around curves, twists and turns.( Speed limit was 75 ). And the few downhill miles were worse. I thought it prudent to slow down to 60 miles an hour. Apparently the state of Arizona does not. After the first ten minutes I got used to the honking and horn blaring as everything passed me. Even my husband wanted me to speed up.

            “Are you going to be stepping on the brake every second? I think a golf cart just passed you!”

            “You can speed up when it’s your turn to drive.”

            “I’ll remember you said that when I take over the wheel.”

            All I could think of was getting run off the road by one of those trucks. Maybe they’ll find my novels scattered in the desert and they’ll donate them to schools…

            Needless to say, when it came time for the return trip to Phoenix, I knew I needed to find a different route. Another author suggested going through the lovely mountains in Heber-Overgaard and then finalizing my descent into Payson before taking something called the “B-line” to Phoenix. Anything had to be better than the tractor trailer nightmare so I opted for that route.

            The good news – I was able to go 45 miles an hour around the bends, drop-offs, twists and snakes all the way home. The bad news – my husband hated every minute of it, even though I mentioned the scenery.

            “Look how scenic this is! Enjoy the mountains!”

            “I’ve been enjoying the same mountain for the past 50 minutes. It should only take 10 to get around it!”

            And then there were the signs. I’ve never seen so many warning signs in my life for the same series of roads:

                        WATCH OUT FOR DEER

                        WATCH OUT FOR ELK

                        WATCH OUT FOR MOOSE

                        DANGER – FALLING ROCKS

                        DANGER – UNEVEN ROAD

                        DANGER – FLOOD ZONE   (Now? We haven’t had rain in 176 days)

                        DANGER – STEEP CURVE

                        DANGER – WINDING CURVE

                        BUMP

                        STEEP HILL (Usually followed by 8%, 7%, or 6%. All of them are bad).

            And then there were the signs that had symbols. I didn’t recognize any of them! But I thought my husband might.

            “What’s the round thing with the balls in the air?”

            “Darn if I know. Wait…wait…I think it means falling rocks.”

            “It doesn’t look like any falling rock sign I’ve ever seen. Usually the rocks are shaped like rocks, not balloons in the air.”

            “Well maybe these are boulders. Just speed up!”

            Worst of all was the sign that said “JUMP.” It was on a steep downhill somewhere between Payson and a little known town of Rye. I freaked.

            “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

            “Don’t ask me.”

            “Do I speed up or slow down?”

            “Speed up.”

            I slowed down. Long enough to see that when I got close to the sign, some moron scraped off the B and painted a J. Thank you, whoever  you were, for taking 10 years off my life.

            When I finally saw the sign that said “Phoenix-Mesa 15 miles” I felt like kissing the ground.

            The next book festival is in Tucson. It’s a flat road and only about two hours from Phoenix. Yeah, I know. More tractor trailers. But at least they can pass me and my carload of books without having me worry that I’ll driving off of a cliff!

            So, the next time you meet an author at a book festival, remember the lengths they went to in order to get there!