Morning in Tucson

“One cup of coffee, waitress, ain’t quite enough. Tonight I need a donut and a dream.”

Lyric from The Mills Brothers song “A Donut and A Dream.”

It’s morning in Tucson, and I’m waking up – before sunup, thanks to Stella – thinking something dangerous and daring.  How about allowing myself…a donut? Or two?

Hell, this is still America, isn’t it? A traveling man can down a donut if he’s a mind to, can’t he? Or two.

What we need back in the Bay Area, if you ask me, is more donut shops.  Places called Chick’s and Dollie’s that make, right there on the premises, real, old-fashioned, old-time honest-to-goodness donuts.  Not franchise places.

We had shops like that when I was a kid.  And Saturday morning – this is Saturday morning, by the way – was the best time for donuts.

These days it’s an organic, whole grain- multi-grain-gluten-free-free-range-Whole Foods-how’s-your-mantra, Starbucks-overpriced-coffee-make-mine-a-decaf-low-fat latte-with-muffins-at-two-bucks-a-pop world.

Not the kind of change I care to believe in, thank you.

Here in Tucson – I spotted the lit-up red-on-yellow sign last night as I curled off I-10 headed for Motel 6 – you find places like The Donut Wheel.

Actually, it was smart and helpful of that dog Stella to have rustled me up at the crack of dawn, around 5 o’clock.  I’m glad she did it.  Reminded me how beautiful mornings can be in the Southwest; I miss that part of traveling to Albuquerque, Santa Fe and, Los Alamos and points north for work in days of yore.

Today, even from the Motel 6 parking lot alongside the interstate, morning is a pretty sight, a treat for the senses: a scallop of moon in a cobalt sky; cloud strokes of dusty rose at the horizon; a freight train’s reedy whistle slicing through the silence; that desert air – clean, crisp, a touch of sage or pine – biting the inside your nostrils, burning the rim of your eyes.

It feels good, healthy in way, even if we’re headed across a gravel road in search of donuts.

Get a load-a dem donuts

The red neon sign outside The Donut Wheel announces it’s open.  Inside it’s quiet, warm, the fresh-baked aroma inviting you to stay, have look, have a donut.  Or two. Couple of old birds are at a table by the window, before the Saturday morning rush. And the counter is a donut devotee’s delight – little gems of all varieties and types, with toppings galore; bars and twists and fritters, too.  The price is right – 75 cents for a donut, a bit more for the specialty items.

A young Asian man is at the counter. A few Chinese-style lanterns hang from the ceiling — they’re made of paper printed with red, white and blue, stars and stripes. His family runs the place, he says, bought it about 12 years ago. Everything you see here, they make, fresh every day. Business is good, he says, smiling, better on Saturday.  It’s an American Dream thing. A donut and a dream.

The drive here on I-10 from San Bernardino – 429 miles – is memorable mostly only for it sameness, and a thicket of  Friday afetrnoon traffic through Phoenix.  Otherwise, it’s long, straight road; some climbing; lots of big-rig trucks; light car traffic; a smattering of motor homes and camping trailers; singles and couples, no kids, older friends riding together.  At rest areas we stop and nod or chat.  Stella’s a topic of friendly conversation.  Did everybody have a Springer at one time in their life or what?

We rock

A couple of observations: Avoid following for any length of time trucks hauling cattle.  The West has many pleasant and evocative scents.  This is not one of them. And beware of big rigs bearing down on you from behind. Not a comforting sight from the rear-view, especially when one has a cab painted bright yellow with blue flames licking out from the grille. Remember the movie “Duel”?

And a tip:  Do try to have a listen to that Mills Brothers tune, “A Donut and A Dream.”  It’s an obscure one but a delight, well worth the effort.  Like going for donuts on a Tucson morning.

Onward…