I had been looking for
Cactus Jack for several years. Cindy, my deceased wife, and I had
discussed my quest while she was still alive. Although a simple
man, he always seems to be having a good time. He kind of reminded
me of Edward Abbey a man on a continual quest for nature and beauty
and the good things in life, and a bit of a rebel. I found him when
I stopped in a huge, sleazy truck stop on I-40 in Arizona, before a
northerly turn would take me through the Navajo Nation. I
approached a greasy haired kid at the counter and asked, "Do you
sell Cactus Jack guys you know, the funky deals that fit over the
antenna on your truck?" He lifted his right arm and pointed to
several vertical rows of Cactus Jacks in various colors
combinations. "Ah, I have found the Holy Grail!!" I exclaimed
excitedly. At this point, he thought I was way too excited for
someone who had just found some rubber cactus deals in a truck
stop, and pretended to get busy. I pulled several down, checked out
their wardrobes and figured the one with the red, white, and blue
bandana and the red cowboy hat and sunglasses would not only be
patriotic but go with my red truck. I had found my Cactus
Jack.
I roamed excitedly out
to the parking lot, the fumes from idling 18-wheelers mixing with
the smell of hot asphalt. The temperature showed 104 degrees. I
pulled him out of the bag, slid him over my bug covered antenna,
slid down the bright red hat and capped it off with the little O
ring that had been crammed in the corner of the bag to prevent the
hat from flying off. I looked around to see if any of the truckers
had watched my ceremony. Luckily, I was alone.
I wheeled out of the
truck stop and onto I-40 for several miles. Cactus Jack's arms were
blowing wildly in the wind, but he seemed to be really enjoying
himself. My destination was Canyon De Chelly, an immense,
spectacular canyon filled with Anasazi ruins. Cindy had done a
whirlwind afternoon there some years ago on a trip from Phoenix. We
had talked about going there together sometime. We always had a
list of trips on the agenda, with several dates locked in for the
upcoming months. This was one of those trips we never had a chance
to do together one of a thousand.
I passed a flash flood
sign that seemed like an oxymoron, kind of like the icy road signs
I see around Durango in the summer, as the smoke of a distant
forest fire wafts to the heavens. There was a hitchhiker on the
shoulder of the road. His face was tanned with the leathery
appearance of an old Western saddle. I wondered how he ended up in
the middle of the Navajo Reservation looking for a ride. As my mind
drifted, I was snapped back into reality by a tumbleweed crashing
across the desert. The sign on the side of the road said "Many
Farms." I wondered how there could be many, let alone one. These
people live a long way from everywhere, and food could become as
scarce as a trout in "Dry Wash" another parched arroyo I had just
passed.
Cactus Jack has another
advantage on me since he has no need for food or drink. This allows
him to spend even more time on the hood of my truck looking
longingly into the distance of a sketchy county road running
through the heart of the reservation.
When I drive a road like
this, I tend to spend more time looking away from the road than at
the road. Cindy would get on me about this. Truth is, she enjoyed
the landscapes that we drove or hiked through as much as I did, and
we could just listen to some good tunes and cruise through scenic
country for hours. Conversation at times was not important the
landscape rolling out in front of the truck was the center of
attention.
Across my other
shoulder, a dust devil ripped at the parched, cracked landscape and
sent a towering funnel cloud up into the hazy sky. I assumed the
big, red sunglasses that hugged Cactus Jack's face would protect
his beady little eyes from the dust swirling around him.
A bent road sign
signaled a turn off for Rough Rock, and Canyon De Chelly soon after
that. Long story short, I gathered the information that I needed at
the visitor center for my upcoming journey. I had a nice chat with
a cute, young, tanned gal behind the counter. Her park service
uniform was creaseless. She seemed to know the area well, and I
wondered if she knew how lucky she was to be stationed there. This
would be a job she would look back for the rest of her life. I
wheeled back out onto the lonely county road, potholes bouncing my
truck around, as Cactus Jack thrashed wildly.
The desert and the
canyon country were a huge part of the life that Cindy and I
shared. The many hikes we had done, the many camp sites we had
occupied, the red rocks at sunset, the white cliffs nearby, the
canyon wrens chirping in the morning, the occasional hummingbird
flirting by, the cactus blooming in the spring, the water found in
the most precious of spots like gold to a prospector all added up
to the total experience we shared so many times. The canyon and
desert are so beautiful and rejuvenating and invigorating. They can
feel lonely and desolate one minute, full of life the next. I
wished that Cindy would have known Cactus Jack, but then again I
have a lot of thoughts that I wish Cindy would have been part of
today, or yesterday, or tomorrow, or the day after that.
As I reflect on my trip
with Cactus Jack, I can't help but think how his arms seem to be
permanently bent backward. At times during the last several months
since Cindy's accident I, too, have felt like my arms were bent
backward, blowing madly in the wind. However, unlike Cactus Jack,
whose little green arms appear to be forever bent in a contorted,
funky direction, I can straighten mine out. I can raise them to the
heavens and move them forward, much like I need to do and am doing.
Although I have felt like Cactus Jack at times, and continue to, I
must go on. I need to remain on a continual quest for nature and
beauty and the good things in life. Cindy would have liked Cactus
Jack. I see a little bit of her in him.
-Jerry
Harms
