Jamie Koerner

    It is interesting how culture changes as you pass through different regions of the United States. I recently traveled with my boyfriend, Derek, from Nebraska to Oklahoma, then west through New Mexico and into Arizona, where my mom and step-dad live. We started the drive on a Monday night, after we had finished putting the pages together for the week's newspaper.
     It was dark and humid when we began. Fog began to fill the air in southern Nebraska, cutting our speed to about 40 mph because visibility was about 10 feet from the windshield. If you put your hand outside the window, it came back dripping wet with dew.
     The further south we drove, the worse the weather got. It was the night of the storm that caused floods and killed four in north Texas. We were just north of the storms, but watched them as lightning flashed through the sky about every second. It seemed like a fierce storm, but we didn't realize the severity of it until we arrived at our destination the next day and read the Tuesday, June 19, USA Today article, "Floods kill at least four in North Texas, One girl is missing from Gainesville."
     We drove alongside the storm that night in Texas and were lucky to view it from a distance.
     As the sun rose, we were in New Mexico and with the sun the humidity began to fade. It was about lunchtime, so we decided to pull off the road to find a relaxing place for a picnic. We found a dirt road, leading to an open field, and stopped for a break from the long drive.
     After about five minutes, the farmer who owned the land nearby drove onto the deserted road with his family alongside him in a pick-up truck. They were there to drive their combine to another plot of land. Derek talked to them for a bit; before long, they had offered for us to use their private pond for a more scenic place for a picnic. We agreed and followed the family to their lake in the desert of New Mexico, where we spent about a half an hour in the blistering sun.
     By mid-afternoon, we were through Albuquerque, N.M., and approaching Santa Fe, where we stayed for the night. The town has a building code that requires adobe-style housing and businesses throughout the city. It is a beautiful city with a central hub, The Plaza, that was bustling with locals and travelers.
     The streets were slim, but the aesthetics and feel of the city were relaxing, serene and very southwestern. The people acted friendly and welcoming. The only building in the city that is not within the adobe code is the Catholic church, Saint Francis Cathedral, that stands approximately 100 feet. The church combines Romanesque, modern and adobe to create an exquisite site for the eyes. Standing over the rest of the businesses in Santa Fe, the church was a celebrated stop to our New Mexico visit.
     The next morning we headed west on Interstate 40 via Flagstaff. On the way, we stopped at a souvenir shop outside of Petrified Forest National Park near Holbrook, Ariz. It was interesting, to say the least.
     The shop looked like a deserted theme park, adorned with dinosaurs and weirdly placed mannequins. The public restroom was out of order because workers broke a water line while digging for petrified wood. We moved on from there.
     Near Flagstaff, the mountains began to grow, along with the heat. We headed south past Sedona, Ariz., where the mountains are red and radiant at sunset and made a stop about halfway to Phoenix at Montezuma's Castle National Monument.
     It is a must-see if you have not yet seen it; I went once last year, but told Derek, who is a history major and has studied Indian tribes, that he would enjoy the visit. It is a short walk to the site where the "castle," built within the wall of a high plateau in the Arizona desert, can be viewed.
     Like anything, it is just different seeing it with your own eyes. I will never forget the picture that comes to mind when blending the history of the Sinagua tribe that farmed the land around the area with seeing the actual site of Montezuma's castle and the surrounding terrain-nearly 1,500 years ago the tribe was tilling the land and living in the area on which we were standing.
     After we left, we headed farther south to Phoenix, then a bit west to Fountain Hills, Ariz., where my family lives. We were exhausted, dehydrated and hungry, but after about 25 hours of driving, we had reached our destination. We experienced different landscapes, culture and lifestyles, but all in all, we were glad to be settled for awhile.
     We left Fountain Hills June 26 and took a new route home through Colorado Springs and east back to Nebraska. Those travels turned out to be just as diverse and unexpected.