So sort of first thing Tuesday we were closing, loading food, loading the last of the truck and up the icy road to Dean’s for brief goodbyes.

Away at 9:19

to the ‘burg for blankets from the ‘bib, gas and an attempt to mail a package but the Post Office had no electricity.  Down the interstate we observed many power poles snapped and blown over from the continuous winds [at least until we were out of range of San Isabel, our cheapshit local electrical coop] as well as plenty semi-trailers littering the east side of the roadside.

I took over at a rest stop halfway to Santa Fe so L. could find us a way to Tortilla Flats there

for immense green chili enchiladas before visiting a disconcertingly unfocused, hysterical gallerist to drop work; not particularly reassuring but definitely, despite what must be a very crowded field of fellow Not Very Professional “art professionals”, a likely candidate for NVP of the year, Santa Fe division, where competition for such a dubious honor is fierce indeed.  Perhaps, in leaving work with this crazed narcissist, WE were the NVPs…but so’s the USA, today, hey.

Subsequently south into the sun for Albuquerque, homemade red chili enchiladas and an excellent visit with our friends

then next morning got in the line of trucks booming west on 40 until Grant’s

where we veered off for Zuni, a quiet road across nice country

to Z-town, much seedier than remembered; the places we’d liked all gone,

many traders closed, the open ones decidedly non-native and sleazy.  This one, for instance, was run by a pair of smarmy Pakistanis with wares of uncertain provenance;

By fortuitous chance we did get a little white bear fetish, perfect for Linda’s little white truck, from a guy in a parking lot who needed five bucks to buy turquoise. He said.

L. drove north through Gallup [not shown], also sadder than remembered, and across the high muddy country to eat leftover enchiladas, red and green, beyond Ganado.

After miles of dry roads over windy plateaus we reached the mesas, but found nothing;

in Tuba City the last trading post was closed, saving us again and

putting us into late light up 89,

and, on 89A, last light down to the river.

I drove into the dark and the mtns.; Jacob Lake, Fredonia, Kanab

and its highly recommended [particularly in winter] Parry Motel.  We enjoyed much-needed and hilarious barbecue across the street at the touristy Iron Horse before

retiring to our most quiet and comfortable room to contemplate

‘ho’ made pies in Mount Carmel Jct. on the morrow before Cedar Breaks, Cedar City and breakfast.

Maybe.

M