The Desert

Turtles

Morning in the Mojave

The desert was beautiful, as it always is in the morning. The air cool and dry. Endless horizons, hypnotic. Unlike the past few days in New England. Hot, sticky. On Monday it was forecast to be 92° and 92% humidity. People who were complaining two weeks ago that summer would never come are complaining now that it's here. Everyone with a convertible has it down. Unlike the desert which was lovely in the 70s.

There were few cars on the road and the speed limit was 75mph. What's not to love?

Every rest stop we frequented we seemed to come to just as the cleaning crews left. We caught up with these folks, "Opportunity Crew" emblazoned across their red shirts, happily unstopping sinks clogged with paper towels (why do people do this?) and making the place spic 'n span.

There were dogs and weary drivers at these stops. Older folks, mainly. (I don't say "old" folks any more. I'm one of them.) A young couple parked next to us near the "pet rest" area stood out. Not just because they were young but because they were giving their turtles (not desert tortoises) a rest, searching for warm fresh water for their enclosures. They were from New Jersey, presumably all four of them.

Grand Canyon Exits

Boo ponders his options

Boo had taken to meowing loudly from his crate as soon as we got into the car. He knew we'd let him out once we were on the freeway. Not sure of the reason behind my logic but it felt prudent to me not to have him footloose while on city streets. That and his meowing made us nuts so we had to relent.

Sometimes he hung out on top of his crate. Sometimes he found a nook to curl up in to sleep. Cats sure sleep a lot. We were pleased, believe it or not, that he wasn't shy about using the litter box. Who knows what happens when one's cat becomes severely constipated. Can't be good.

As Boo surveyed the landscape I was crushed each time we passed an exit for the Grand Canyon, one of my favorite places in the world. We had to push on but decided to drive into Flagstaff, find someplace to buy some grub to supplement our own disparate grub and have a picnic. The best I can say about Flagstaff's "Farmer's Market" is that the bathrooms were clean and they had goat cheese. Not much "farm" at the FFM. That and it's not a Sizzler or a Chile's, our other options.

We did eventually find a park to sit down in. Took Boo with us and fed him bacon in his crate. We all seemed to need that respite.

New Mexico

Go out and find this wine. Buy it.
Seriously. Do it now.
The chicken concurs.

As we crossed into New Mexico we were welcomed by such beautiful geological formations. Each state has its own character. We learned that is certainly true. As we plunged through the gorge, a train raced along next to us. A bullet shooting trough the wilderness.

Gallup was less enchanting. A beggar approached our car as we left the Motel 6 reception area. We entertained ourselves with a game of Scrabble and two bottles of amazing pinot noir from our last trip up to Portland.  I heartily recommend the Illahe Reserve 2010.

About the chicken

Her name is not Waldo but you might just see her now and then in my photos. She is the only living remnant from my glorious California garden. When my sister Becky came to take what plants she could back to her home in Phoenix she encouraged me...no, insisted...that I take the chicken along for the ride. She has no name except "the chicken." Look for her now and then as she had the best seat in the house, on the dashboard.


Next...a small hangover.