Morning Coffee: Standing on a Corner –

It Was A Long, Long Time Ago. In A Land Far Away!

October 05, 2026

Good morning, folks.

What’s the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done?
I received this story suggestion while I was doodling, and it brought to mind a memory…

To tell this story, I have to rewind to my early days of adulthood, when I was continuing my education and my roommates were contributing generously to my spontaneity.

One night, while we were sitting around entertaining ourselves, somebody issued a challenge: Go stand on a corner in Winslow, Arizona.

Vintage pickup driving through a desert crossroads beneath weathered signs — _{^{The stop signs were posted across the street in this one town.}}.

My buddy and I decided we had to go right then, dressed as we were. I had on shorts and a tank top. He had on jeans, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. My pickup would provide the transportation. Planning would have to catch up with us somewhere along the road.

We left the south side of Oklahoma City at three in the morning. By six, we had reached the Texas state line. We kept stopping for things we had forgotten, and by noon we had made it to Amarillo. With speed limits around 55 miles an hour, the journey was giving us plenty of time to reconsider our decision.

Somewhere west of Amarillo, we pulled over and fell asleep. Four or maybe six hours later, we woke up and continued our mission.

At the New Mexico state line, a brightly lit welcome to the Land of Enchantment appeared ahead of us. Coming west across that wide stretch of country, it was something to behold. From a distance, I thought we might have to stop and check in. As we got closer, I discovered we could enter freely. Later, I learned we could leave freely, too, provided neither of us got arrested.

By the time we reached Albuquerque, it was rush hour. I remember feeling strangely lonely. I could change lanes without anybody honking at me.

West of the city, the road grew dark again. We made plenty of pit stops along the way. Out in those wide stretches of desert, we also spotted what looked like promising sites for a little roadside golf. Fortunately, we had forgotten the clubs along with nearly everything else.

In Arizona, we stopped at a store with a big totem out front and a Texaco sign. We had one credit card between us, so we charged every supply we thought we might need, packed the pickup, and headed for Winslow.

Finally, we saw the exit.

We found a corner with a little sign telling us we had reached the place. We parked, stepped out of the truck—I want to be clear that we did not hop out—and walked over. We tried to look like two men who stood on corners in Arizona all the time.

Then we sang about standing on a corner in Winslow.

As if on cue, a woman in a flatbed truck drove past, heading west. She did not slow down. She did not look at us. Apparently, the song had oversold that part.

We had traveled so far that we needed proof before we went home. I pulled into a nearby motel and asked for directions to the interstate, though I already knew where it was. I came away with a business card and a book of matches.

You’d have to go there to get those, I reasoned.

On the return trip, my right front headlight went out just as we approached a trooper waiting in the median. He listened to the story of our mission, watched me give the bumper a kick, and saw the headlight come back on. We laughed, and he sent us on our way.

We seemed to make better time heading home. I suggested we must have a tailwind and somehow be traveling in the jet stream. My buddy accepted that explanation without question.

Come to think of it, I’ve barely mentioned him in this story. I reached over once to make sure he was warm. He was. He also appeared to be breathing and moving, both encouraging signs.

A silent partner can be the best kind of traveling companion.

Especially when you’re driving hundreds of miles to stand on a corner and discover the girl in the flatbed truck has other plans.