Sky high in Arizona



“And look at the way we live, I mean, our lifestyle, you know. We live in LA and they are still stuck in Tucson”

When I found out I was going to be touring Arizona, like most of my points of reference, all I could think of was Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion. More specifically, Romy and Michelle's home town of Tuscon Arizona, where everyone dressed in pastels and all the cool people escaped to LA or New York, or life in a private jet. 

When we first crossed the boarder from California into Arizona the terrain changed immediately, palm trees and people were quickly replaced by cacti and no one in sight. That is apart from the boarder patrol who pulled us over because we were driving incredibly close to Mexico. I dreamt about what would happen if we just happened to make a sharp right at any given moment. Life could suddenly resemble an episode of Breaking Bad just like that. 

Despite the rocky start and pop-culture impressions though, Arizona grew on me. It's warm in terms of temperature and personality. So much so it's inescapable - you just have to go ahead and embrace it.

I really fell in love with Arizona when I saw it from above though. In the middle of the night we were driven to somewhere between Phoenix and Arizona, aka the middle of no where, and just as the sun started to rise, we took off. From above you could see cactus and coyotes (not the Tyra Banks kind), and nothing much else. And yet, it was so beautiful. Peaceful. The desert glowed under the rising sun, and it was like we were the only people out there to witness it. A fleeting moment that will stay with me always.

That day I wore a blue denim dress I'd bought from a Forever21 store in Phoenix. I teamed it with my Acne pistols - which would take on a whole new meaning later that day when I got to hold an actual pistol - and gold chain belt. After holding said pistol in Sedona, I stumbled upon a real life cowboy store where, in my gun toting glory, an old man with a handle bar moustache and southern drawl talked me into buying a genuine Cripple Creek cowboy hat. And that's how my cowgirl realness look just happened to come about.


After the balloon ride we were dropped off at a gas station where we waited to be picked up by our tour. We went inside to get some burgers and shakes and when it was time to come out, there he was. Tall and burly and head to toe in leather, I approached him without even thinking about it. 'Amazing bike,' I said. I could tell he was both startled and surprised by my unexpected accent. I played it up as I questioned his patches and asked to take his photo. His name was Keith and like and episode of Sons of Anarchy, he was the president of a Vietnam Vets charter. He parked his bike to the side and lit up a cigar as a roar of bikes descended on the station. As I managed to fathom what was taking place in front of me, I thought about what my life would be like if I just got on the back of his bike and rode away, Lana del Rey playing in my head for full effect. Could I be a biker girl? What would life be like on the road? Before I had time to decide, my ride pulled up. I shook Keith's hand and skipped across the parking lot. I'll probably never get another chance to be a biker girl, but I'll never forget my man Keith.

You can read about my whole west coast tour here

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