I learned something new this week after four decades of travel: when the weather report calls for an extreme heat event, trust that it truly is a bad time to take your elderly cat on a multiday road trip across the desert.
We try to bend conditions to our will. Yes, I had a plan. Someone had rented my Sedona home for August and was arriving as scheduled. We planned on a day and a half to show him the ins and outs of the house and give him a quick tour of Sedona. I had Airbnb bookings paid for in Crescent City and Oregon—how could I possibly delay this trip? So I left anyway, heart in my throat, with a plan to drive through the hottest part of the desert at 4 a.m.
I’ve been a budget traveler since my first adventure in my 30s—when I went to Maui with $200, a one-year-old, and my first long-distance backpacking hike to Havasupai. A fearful kid, I had these dueling parts of myself: a fear of the unknown and a tremendous appetite to see this amazing planet. It’s nature I love, and what I go to see; cities are the places you must go through to get there, sometimes.
This trip was planned to be pretty mellow. I wouldn’t be hiring a pirate to jet-ski me down the Napali coast of Kauai, and I definitely wouldn’t be forgetting my car registration so I had to hitchhike to Rocky Point with cat and cooler—both things I have done in the past. It was just me, an elderly cat, an aging but well-running Honda Accord, and a long trek north. What could go wrong?
The weather, for one: an extreme heat event that covered all three potential routes north. I chatted with my new buddy Perplexity AI about my route quite a bit. A trek through the California desert was off the table at first; Nevada’s Death Valley was clearly a no. Yet Utah would have added seven hours to the trek—something I couldn’t bear to do. But then the light bulb went off: I’d just drive to Kingman day one, spend the night, and cross the desert at 4 a.m. That seemed kinda clever of me, I thought.
I wish I was in the better class of hotel guests. Certainly, I greatly enjoy a lovely, quiet place with amenities. The cruel reality of life is that I’m a Motel 6 woman. Yep—$60 for that first Kingman room. It was 106° when I arrived. Got the signature stained stairwells and walkways, bits and pieces of trash on the property. I hauled my stuff up the steps—ya gotta do the upstairs rooms for any peace—and I cranked up the AC.
Fig has a mini suitcase of all the supplements needed to keep her healthy, and one of those was omega-3 fish oils. Wouldn’t you know, I hadn’t made sure it was closed properly, and it spilled all over. In the heat, the bag smells awful—and now it’s mingled into clothes and blankets and cat pee, making me a very aromatic person.
The ice machine was broken. I looked at the pool beside the busy road with semis roaring by a few feet away and wanted to get in anyway. But there was a large group of large people dive-bombing into the pool, shrieking, chlorinated water splashing all over, and I couldn’t make myself do it.
I eyed the hotels next door for a better pool setup. I’m not above sneaking into a pool, even at this advanced age—but would you believe the Motel 6 pool was the best bet in the row of budget hotels? On my investigation, I met Chaz, a shirtless, tattooed guy with a tricked-out 4-wheel drive covered with toys who had driven from Michigan. We chatted for a few minutes, and he explained his plan was to sleep and leave at midnight. Hmm—interesting. We had a similar plan, but he was getting four hours on me. Later, I would come to regret I had not followed his example.
We were on the road at 3:45—good timing, I had thought, and it wasn’t 106°. I think it was in the 90s. But what I had not taken into account was that I would be in this heat zone the entire day: nine hours of driving, and even most of the next day. I was in a brutal heat zone, and as I drove through the desert, I truly felt afraid—more afraid than driving through Mexico alone. If my car died, I would be in a very dangerous position with my beloved furry companion. And so I drove and drove and drove and drove, praying. It would be up to 116 that day in Mohave.
Fig has started to become somewhat incontinent. She’s OK if she has a litter box at all times in easy reach, but despite many, many stops, she sometimes does get pee in her dedicated cat car seat, which I cover with a small blanket or towel to change out.
With Perplexity AI, I had searched Motel 6s along my route (another plus: pets are free, when many chains charge as much for the pet as for the human). I’m looking for not on the interstate, quiet, good reviews, and cheap—not a lot of choices that automatically fit together. But this next Motel 6 wasn’t bad. It was in Santa Nella, and I thought it had been another hotel chain (a nicer one) in an earlier incarnation—but the rooms were big, it had a fridge, and oh my god, the ice machine worked. Only problem was, it was still 106°! This time, the pool was green and filled with a passel of screaming kids, with a barking dog racing around. I waited it out, went down the street for some authentic aloo gobi at Taste of India, and eventually I got the green, chlorine-stinky pool to myself for 20 minutes.
I thought since I was heading north in California, I was through the worst of the heat and could leave late at 7 a.m. But this, too, was another miscalculation. The next nine hours would be brutally hot as well, despite the freeway sign that said NORTH—which was initially reassuring but then felt misleading.
Fig pees outside like a dog on these trips but can’t always make it to the next stop. Yesterday we stopped at least 10 times—a couple at rest areas, but I have a sad report: many rest areas are closed in California. So it was neighborhoods, aside railroad tracks, and gas stations. And her blanket and three towels got peed on, too. Sigh. Stopping to clean her and change out her bedding over and over again.
Things did finally perk up once we hit the 101 north of Ukiah. It was still hot, but now at least it was pretty, and I was reminded of why we were here. In another hour or so, we saw our first redwoods—gorgeous and red and impressive. I had been looking forward to hanging out with these gentle giants. And then it happened: after three days in the heat, about an hour from Eureka, it started to cool off.
And that’s where we are as I type away—a sketchy-looking, beat-up Eureka Motel 6. It’s cool! About 62°! And despite such a long, long day, Fig actually wanted to walk along the coast and was mystified by all the new plants she had never seen or smelled. Literally the first thing I did on arrival was laundry. So we made it.
Today is a much shorter drive to Crescent City, where I rented one of those fancy RVs for three days. We are getting out of the Motel 6 loop today.. Stay tuned for further adventures of a bobcat on the prowl.
I’ve made myself and Fig a promise, though: if an extreme heat event is happening on my planned route, I need to delay my trip—no matter the cost and inconvenience.
Photo above is a disgrnuntled Fig at 3 am in the Motel 6 in Santa Nella.