….and boy will they rule.  Still blissfully basking in existential dread a few days before the Retribution Revolution became a certainty we set off into the west.  Eventually Linda, immersed in Harari, attributed the outcome to the Algorithm but I, ever negative and cynical, figure it’s just

America – that’s Who We Are, that’s what [and who] we want and the kind of country we [well a clear majority of us] want to present to the world. Whatever it was or is, the Saturday before the deal went down we began our migration after the three and half hours it took to load the food,

close up and, after a brief last visit with Dean, 91 now, leave Libre to get on down

the road[s]; Pass Creek to160 to Fort Garland, Linda then driving south and across the San Luis,

further up the Conejos drainage than she would have liked to a chill windy improvisatory

lunch on a muddy side road before Cumbres Pass, over which I took us and

to Chama at which point

she drove again, straight into a speeding ticket in the Jicarilla Nation approaching Dulce

and down to the foothills. I took us through Bloomfield/Farmington’s annoying “safety zones”

to Shiprock for gas, timing not bad until a wait at Beclabito

for roadwork set us back half an hour and therefore onto 160 after dark with a mile of traffic

behind and endless incoming lights all the way to Kayenta where fortunately

the hotel was restful, dog-friendly, and had a good restaurant…

It became morning with a considerable breakfast provided but we only opted for warm beverages with sausage patties for the dogs before discovering one of the [new] tires

was fifteen pounds down on a Sunday morning with pretty much nothing open except a fortuitous minimal Valero where a mysterious Diné tire whisperer declared all sound and said just put air in the one…which I duly did.  Three days and one election later the air’s still there.

With Agathla to the north L. drove west into and out of intermittent blizzards

until Tuba City and the Hogan for the much-anticipated blue corn meal pancakes as well as

excellent eggs and hash browns [not shown].  By the time we were done it was somehow eleven, two and a half hours on the road and miles to go…Downhill from the City of Tubas

we were surprised to see Van’s Trading Post, a favorite end of day destination for gas

and trinkets on those long ago trips up through Hopi from Albuquerque, in ruins…but time flies,

I guess, as did we.

Twenty-four hours out of Libre we finally reached the end of 160 and turned north……more to come.