VERONICA KUFFEL

Departure Log 8:

Walie Down in Balloon Town – Page, AZ

NOVEMBER 5-7, 2022

“The Boxer” – Simon and Garfunkel, 1970

As you’ve come to know, I have an affinity for alternate living. I don’t know how to explain it. My favorite childhood stories were about little creatures making homes out of scraps. I even tried to write a book or two about it. 

It’s not the safest option but I like to make do with the little resources I have. Moreover, I can at least give you a pattern that lead me to build this van–out of the scraps I had–and wake up in the desert months later.

But as it turned out, my mental and physical scraps dwindled with every hundred miles. And pretty soon, everything would come to a sputtering halt.

I woke up outside of Page near an old ranch. My phone pierced the numbers 6:00 in the dark. I turned my heated blanket back on and opened the curtain to watch the sunrise. The weather is naturally warmer in the desert, but nights would build up frost on my windows.

My alarm went off again and I decided to get up. I squatted for my first morning relief and enjoyed the landscape. I opened the back doors and brewed coffee on my single burner stove. Krakauer kept me company as I munched on a few frozen Nature Valley bars. It filled me with such calm and content, although I was reading about a literal earth-shattering volcano near Mount Rainier communities.

Regardless, I finished a few pages with the last sips of my coffee. The sun was up by the time I turned the car on. It takes a while for Walie to get warm, and cool aggressive air shot through the vents. Despite his makeover, I still smelt the van I bought months ago in the breeze. 

It’s quiet nostalgia that had me grinning as I finished my chapter.

I finally fumbled over the jagged trail for a morning hike. I found an underrated path called Toadstool Trail and pulled off to try it out. 

On the path, I wiped my nose and caught the scent of something familiar. I brought my hand back to my face and got a whiff of desert rocks and sand on my palm. I immediately recognized it from my childhood in Arizona. I remembered climbing around outside and getting my hands all dirty. It’s a very clear bundle of memories long forgotten.

It got me excited to finally reach Phoenix. I was so close.

The Balloon Regatta Fair didn’t seem like much at the time, so I felt content watching some balloons take off before I took off. On my drive out of Page, I saw small little balls float over the city. It was only drawing closer that I saw their different colors, waving goodbye as I got on the highway.

Thirty miles out of Page, I’m on my routine call with Dean when my engine light flickers red. Not a few seconds later, the actual engine cuts out. 

She only had ohs, ums and a series of other concerning sounds to figure out what happened. At the time, it was the same for me.

I hung up and sat frozen. I’m not a mechanic, but I knew enough about cars to figure out the issue. But on top of that, I was in the territory of every driver’s nightmare: the side of a quiet highway in the desert, no buildings for miles. At least the sun was up, but it wasn’t much to console me.

I waited for the engine to cool down and tried to drive again. I was good for about 30 seconds before the engine’s temperature spiked and sputtered out of commission. I waited again and opened the hood. There was a splatter of some liquid and my coolant was completely drained.

I did some research and called everyone: my warranty, my parents, my friends, etc. Eventually, a tow took me back to Page, but it was the weekend. All mechanics were closed until Monday.

Walie was, officially, down in balloon town. I was only four hours from Phoenix.

I don’t need to be more descriptive when I say I was devastated. With help, I got a hotel for the weekend and collected myself… as much as I could. 

It was hard. It was so hard. I came this far. I drove so many miles. I laughed, I cried and I persisted through it all. I couldn’t help having come this far and feeling like a failure.

But I rallied. I reminded myself that this is the way it goes. If you don’t have a major van repair on your trip, you’re lucky. It’s the oldest trope and the most common problem. As much as it sucked, it wasn’t necessarily my fault. I had enough money saved for repair, too; all I had to do now was wait.

Luckily, I was able to experience the Balloon Regatta Festival to its fullest. That night, I went out to the street fair and got some dinner. There were plenty of local products for sale, mostly southern and traditionally Mexican. I grabbed a few postcards and stickers along with my chicken adobado. 

By the time I walked back, hot air balloons were set and displayed across the main street. Forget about tiny flying dots–these swollen fabric bubbles were giants. Muffled booms signaled the ignition flames all around us. Families gathered with food and blankets to watch the colorful clouds dance with their fire.

It was a nice distraction, and I’ll have to admit, it was a nice break from nature. I got back to my hotel soon after, played some Minecraft and fell asleep. 

The next few days went by. I woke up, I ate and worked out. I walked to the only coffee shop that opened until 4 (all others were 2 or 3) and wrote some entries. When the coffee shop closed, I walked the 30 minutes to the Ford dealership to check on Walie and grab some supplies. 

I was so close to buying a skateboard. There are a few shops and a skate park in Page, but all of them were closed. I walked past schools and neighborhoods to the very edge of town. I reminisced in front of rock-covered yards and the smell of ferociously kept grass. It took me back once again to my childhood years in Phoenix. 

I chuckled as I realized I was walking along the City of Page Rim Trail, a path-hike that connects the city between the cactus patches. Most trails in the area were either scheduled far in advance or I needed a car to reach them. I was too tired to try.

It still boggles me to see towns strewn among the desert. In the Midwest where there is little to no elevation or unique patches, it’s easy to build a city and forget there was ever land before it. Down here, you can’t ignore it because it’s too big and wild to bury.

Now and then, there comes a moment where I really feel like I’m embracing van life. That day, it was walking 30 minutes to the mechanic to check on my van and grab dinner for the night. I walked back with that, a cork board and an empty pick jar. 

Spontaneity or insanity? Who’s to say.

After the festival ended on Sunday, Page was quiet once again. I checked out of my hotel on Monday and walked to the mechanic. They were able to squeeze me in for a diagnostic, but depending on the damage, I could’ve been stuck there longer.

I walked back to my reoccurring coffee shop, LP Espresso, and got some work done. I prayed for Walie’s recovery. 

I eventually got a call that both my dad and I predicted. A valve broke and it just needed to be replaced!

A few hours later, I walked the City of Page Rim Trail one last time to reunite with Walie. I paid and turned the key in tears as he fluttered on. 

Against my better judgment, I left Page behind me during sunset. It was dark and I should’ve waited. But I needed to get out of there. 

And lucky for me, Walie stayed strong through the rest of my trip. All that was left were the four hours ahead of me. One more night and one more day.