Driving Across the USA

I’ve always thought, wouldn’t it be great to have plenty of time to drive across the United States someday? There are so many places I’ve always wanted to see. And I like to be able to pull off the road on a whim if I see something that looks interesting.

Well, I have some time this year and am driving across the country. I have some planned stops and home-away-from-home destinations, but I also have my freedom and 4 full months.

I started out with some trepidations as a woman traveling alone, but have gotten used to it and am feeling more at ease as the trip goes on.

Quick Tips:

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Eldorado is connected to Silver Legacy and Circus Circus, also both hotels and casinos. They are all very nice and right on the main street, so I prefer to stay at one of those three. You can walk inside among them on the upper mezzanine, which has shops, restaurants, and slot machines. My “economy” room, which I got for under $40, was smaller than most in those hotels—advertised at 160 square feet—but plenty big enough for me. Nicely decorated, with a queen bed and all the amenities. It might not be big enough for someone taller—some of the ceiling was low-ish and the shower head was barely higher than 5 feet—perfect for me. I’ve been in their regular rooms too, and they are excellent and still a good deal.

My room came with a free breakfast buffet. It was good, just about every kind of breakfast food you could think of plus salads and desserts.

I got a good deal here from one of the travel coupon books you find at rest areas. The room was nice, what you would expect from a Ramada. It was right in town, near shopping and restaurants. And the view was great.

You know when you drive through a small town, and you see a hotel on the main street? A brick building, several stories high, looking kind of run down? At a first glance, I wondered what I’d got myself into. But once I got in there, I felt fine. The hotel is homey and, in its retro wild West way, has class. The hotel caters to bikers; signs welcome them and there’s special parking out front for motorcycles. I guess they’re kind of the modern cowboys. Or outlaws. In the elevator, a list of famous people who’d stayed or played there was posted. It included Wayne Newton, Stephen King, and Pretty Boy Floyd.

My room was very inexpensive, and it was nice but not fancy. The mattress cover bunched up under the sheet all night, not the best thing for a princess and the pea person, but it was okay.

I had a light dinner--salad and a baked potato--in the café, and it was good. Very casual atmosphere, the kind of place where the waitresses call you honey.

The Budget Inn was one of at least a dozen on a strip of old Route 66. Price and high-speed Internet were my main criteria, and they were, respectively, low and available. The room was clean, the bed was comfortable, and there was even shampoo. Nothing special by any means, but I was happy with it.

I found a coupon from one of those motel discount books. When I called ahead, the clerk wouldn't tell me whether they'd honor the coupon, but said come on in. When I got there, she said they only had double rooms so I'd have to pay about $10 more. I started to leave and she changed her mind. She gave me the room at the coupon price, asking me to leave one of the beds untouched, which was fine with me. The room was okay, nothing special but comfortable enough. Which was exactly what I needed.

It was well after dark and I'd driven much longer than I'd expected. When the desk clerk, a young Navajo woman, quoted me the AAA rate, close to $100, I flinched visibly. But I was exhausted and was going to stay there at whatever price. She took pity on me, I think, and offered me some promotion at a substantial discount. I was grateful.

Apparently the motel is owned or at least operated by the Navajo Nation. It was very nice, clean, and attractive. Microwave, fridge, and coffee maker in the room, and free wireless Internet. It was a step up from the budget hotels where I'd been staying, and I was glad for that.

The Hogan Restaurant is adjacent to the motel. I considered it for breakfast. I walked in there mid-morning, and it looked clean and cheery, with a few people eating their meals. I waited a few minutes but no hostess or wait staff showed up, so I decided to move on.

I stayed here only because it was getting late and I had to stop for the night. The motel was run by an ethnic East Indian man. (I was glad of that. In other Texas towns, I’d seen motels advertising that they were “American Owned and Operated,” which seemed blatantly racist.) He made a point of telling me that the area was very safe (I was concerned, traveling alone), he kept calling me “dear,” and he gave me a room close to the office, all of which made me feel safe.

This was a very basic country motel. Clean. Painted cinder block walls. No concept of a nonsmoking room (the smell wasn’t extreme). The door was held together with nails. One double bed, and the sheets were threadbare, but it was comfortable. The shower was excellent, but the tub drained slowly. The sink had the faucets reversed (hot water on the right). No Gideon bible, but there was a copy of The Watchtower. Hmm. The picture on the wall looked rather avant-garde...for the '50s! All in all, I was happy with the place. For $27.99 a night, why not?

I liked the menu cover for the Route 66 diner in the hotel complex, so I stopped there in the morning for a light breakfast. It was already 10am and I was the only customer. The diner offers inexpensive country fare; my tea and toast were okay, but not enough to tell how good the food is. The waitress, an older woman, sat at a table with her purse, cell phone, and keys on it and smoked. Two tables had marker-on-paper-bag signs saying “No Smoking Table.” A man came out of the kitchen and talked with the waitress. He was tall, with a cowboy hat, overalls, and tattoos on his arms. I don’t know what his role was; a woman was also in the kitchen, and I assumed she was the cook. I felt comfortable sitting there and jotting down stuff for this journal. Though I was a little put off by the tapestry on the wall (for sale, $15.99) saying “America-Love It or Leave It.”

The motel desk gave me a coupon for this restaurant, which was right next door. It didn't appeal to me—I was craving Thai food—so I drove around for 15 minutes looking for alternatives before I decided it was my best bet.

I walked in 10 minutes before closing time, but the staff was friendly and didn't seem to mind. The menu gave a wide variety of choices. It emphasized Greek food, so I ordered a salad and spanakopita, which came with rice and vegetables. It was better than I expected, actually pretty good. The atmosphere and service were both excellent. I was glad I went there.

I turned off the road at Miller Point Overlook because of the sign for restrooms. I had no idea what was there. I looked down into the gorge and it was a stunning view. Two cars were already there. A couple with a dog were getting packed back up in one of them. They told me they’d taken the first stairway down and it was well worth it. They also said that a woman was down there, alone. That made me feel better about walking alone, so I took that stairway down. The woman was a German tourist who had rented a car in Las Vegas and was traveling by herself to Death Valley, Joshua Tree, Mono Lake, and other places. She said she’d walked around in the gorge and that the trail was well worthwhile. So I took the next stairway down and walked around for about an hour. There is a 4-mile loop starting at the visitor center/campground that was less than a mile down the road from where I parked. If you start at the campground, you don’t have to do the stairways down and back up—they weren’t very hard, though. The rest of the walk was easy, and the views were stunning. I did less than half of the loop, then doubled back.

I saw the sign saying Dinosaur Tracks as I drove by, and decided to pull over on the spur of the moment. I drove down the dirt road maybe 100 yards to the small parking lot. Some Navajo women were selling jewelry under a little shelter there. When you drive up, a Navajo guide takes you in hand and shows you around. The guide lives in a small settlement that's visible from the spot; the families there apparently are the caretakers of the site.

There are a lot of dinosaur footprints, and they are amazing. The guide was friendly and seemed very knowledgeable.

However, I ended up feeling like I was taken advantage of. He didn't mention that there was a charge for the walk, which took maybe 45 minutes, but I knew I would give him some money. I thought maybe $20, but he asked for $50 and I gave it to him. Then I felt like a fool for having paid so much. And as a result of feeling cheated, I wasn't sure what I could believe what he said. Dino footprints, yes. Eggs and coprolite, probably yes. Are the rocks he gave me really pieces of both? I don’t know. Did NASA really practice with their moon lander right nearby? Likely. Did they really let the Navajo young people try out the remote controls for it? Hmmm. Googling, I find that they did just that in 1996. Maybe they also did it in 1979 as he said. Did he really pay $180, the marked price for the Pendleton blanket he tried to sell me for $125? No way. He did give me his name and address, so I may still write and tell him how I feel.

I also felt pressured, in a minor way, about buying the jewelry, which was very inexpensive. The woman selling it and her young daughter told me the significance of some of the stones and designs they used, and I bought a couple of pieces. Looking at them later, I'm glad I did.

And the site, as I said, is amazing. Tons of dino footprints, and eggs, and coprolite, and other cool rocks, and imprints from dinosaurs’ bodies. The guide also offered a tour (at additional charge) to petroglyphs not far away, which I declined. I’m glad I stopped there, but wish I’d had more presence of mind about the money part.

I entered Grand Canyon National Park, South Rim, at the East entrance. The first stop was Desert View Point. After looking at the canyon from the viewing platform, I climbed up in the round Watchtower building. The view was spectacular both from the tower and from the ground.

The Watchtower, which opened in 1933, was designed by architect Mary Colter to be in harmony with its surroundings. It is five stories tall. The ground floor has park information and a gift shop. You climb up the narrow stairways to reach the upper levels. The center is open so you can look up and down. The interior has a Native American theme, very tastefully done.

The Desert View area also has a shop and snack bar, and a bookstore/information center.

I drove the 26-mile road along the rim, stopping a few times for the views. The squirrels were totally unafraid of people, and a large crow also edged up to me one time as I was taking photos. Near the west end of the road, I stopped and walked about ¾ mile each way on the Rim Trail. Easy walk and, of course, amazing views. Some of the drop-offs were so steep, and people got so close to them, that it made me dizzy.

I stopped at the Grand Canyon Village, which seems to be the central area for tourists. I didn’t get a good impression of it, due partly to confusing signs about where it was and partly to an unfriendly clerk at the gift shop.

There's no question that the Grand Canyon is a must-see. I'm glad I went midweek and in May so it wasn't even more crowded.

Zion National Park is a beautiful area with impressive rock formations, many of them with Biblical names, such as Angels Landing and Court of the Patriarchs, given by the Mormon settlers.

As I drove into the town of Springdale from the west, I made the mistake of parking my car at the very first town shuttle bus stop. Since I was driving east through the park on Highway 9, I could have parked a lot closer.

The bus dropped me at the park entrance. Right outside the entrance there are a few shops and restaurants and a big screen theater that has a movie of the park. I walked into the park and stopped briefly at the Visitor Center and gift shop, which were very nice.

Cars aren't allowed on the 6-mile Scenic Drive, and the park shuttle runs every 10 or 15 minutes. I took it to the end of the line, Sinawava temple. The shuttle driver said that the Indians used to go to this place to pay their respects to Sinawava, the coyote god or spirit. I took the Riverside walk there. It is about 2 miles, paved, and easy, and it was delightful. Beautiful rocks, vegetation, friendly(!) squirrels (the park is very clear that you are not to feed them) who are totally unafraid of people. Then I went to the Weeping Rock trail, an easy half-hour round-trip walk to a lovely place where water drips from the rocks.

By then it was time to leave. Everything took about half the time the park literature said to allow. I walk fast, but I stopped a lot to look around and take photos.

I really enjoyed my afternoon in the park, and could have easily spent another day there.

I didn't know anything about the meteor crater, but saw the signs on the road and decided to take a look. This is a great place! The crater is amazing—2.4 miles wide and 550 feet deep. It was used as a training site for the Apollo astronauts. The observation decks give good views. A guided tour, which I didn't take, is included with admission. It involves walking a mile and takes an hour. Best of all is the museum. It shows everything about the crater, meteors, meteorites, and impacts, and throws in a good amount of general astronomy. It’s very hands-on. I pressed buttons to specify the size and density of a hypothetical meteor, and the angle at which it would hit the earth, and the exhibit simulated the atmospheric entry and impact, and showed how big the crater would be. It should be great for kids of all ages.

There’s a nice gift shop (with tastefully kitschy memorabilia) and a Subway food place, which is good because the crater is out in the middle of nowhere.

What is it about gems and crystals that so fascinates people? Imagine a pirate gloating over his treasure chest, sparkling jewels dripping over the edge. All that plundering was hard work—he could have been killed!—but he got the prize.

I just came from the Petrified Forest. As the wood turned into rock, much of it crystallized into stone of many colors. Much of it shines and sparkles. Some of the landmark areas are named Rainbow Forest, Agate House, Jasper Forest, and Crystal Forest.

Now, I love to look at rocks. Sometimes I pick them up and take them home. But I do that less and less as the years go by. I enjoy experiencing the sight of them and leaving them where they are. Yesterday, when I was at the dinosaur footprint site, the guide had to press me into taking rocks, and I only took a few small ones.

But today…oh, the sparkling colors! And, the allure of the forbidden! Signs all over the place let you know that taking any rocks at all incurs a steep fine.

I wanted the pretty-colored sparkling things. Badly. I had my rationalization down pat. All the rock shops (I’d stopped at several) have literally tons of petrified wood for sale. So does the curio shop in the park. So much has already been taken. And there’s so much left. Big rounds and long trunks are all over the place for miles and miles on end. What difference would a tiny piece make? While walking, I’d look around to see if anyone was in sight who would see me do the evil deed. (With your park admission comes a little form you can fill in to narc on anyone you see taking a rock.) I picked up stones, looked at them, put them back down. I figured that if I put one…maybe two…very small ones, of course…into my pants, they wouldn’t find them if they searched me. I had it all planned out.

But discretion won over avarice. I don’t have even the smallest stone.

(Rainbow Forest museum was good, as was the walk next to it. I also walked at the Crystal Forest and Agate Bridge. It was all well worthwhile. The Painted Desert is also part of the park, and I am reviewing it separately.)

The Painted Desert is part of the Petrified Forest National Park, on the north end near I-40. I entered the park from the South and went through the rest of the park before getting to the Painted Desert. It was late in the day when I got there, and the shadows made for interesting visual effects. The scenery was dramatic, and I pulled off the road at several view areas. The visitor center was closed by then, so I didn't get to see it.

I had a beautiful drive through the rolling mountains, meadows, and vineyards of Sonoma and Napa counties. Then a quick zip of freeways to Sacramento. And then into the foothills and over the Sierra Nevada. As I climbed to 3000 and 4000 feet, the sky clouded over and it started raining. Then I came to a view of snowy peaks—beautiful. Then there was snow along the road. I stopped at Donner Peak and walked past the snow to the restroom in my short sleeves and sandals—a trucker was wearing shorts. From 80 degrees to snow, in just a couple of hours.

I glided down into Reno and checked into my room at the El Dorado. Then I took a walk around town and through the casinos. Reno’s an interesting place. Lots of tourists, midweek like this mostly retired people—couples and laughing groups of older women. I played the slots a little and lost maybe $15.

The next morning at the breakfast buffet, I was seated next to a couple of younger guys who worked for a lumber company in Fresno and were in town on business, but of course getting in some gambling. They were friendly, and talking with them made me feel less alone.

After breakfast, I took another walk around town. I went over to the Sands Regency. When I was looking for rooms, it looked really inexpensive and maybe worthwhile. I was glad I didn’t choose it. The casino was much smaller than the El Dorado, and it was just…a little shabby. One review I read said that there were some colorful characters among the gamblers there. I didn’t see that, and didn't stick around.

I had a couple of hours to play the slots. Worked myself up from $5 in nickels to $40. Then switched to a quarter machine and cashed out at $85. So I came out ahead even after paying for the room.

I got on the road to Ely about noon. About 30 miles east of Reno, I turned off on highway 50, called “the loneliest road in America.” I love this road. Once you get past Fallon, the traffic thins out. The terrain is pretty much desert, with sagebrush. High elevation, so it’s too cold for cactus, I guess. The road passes through a succession of valleys, with passes through hills to get to the next valley. Later in the drive, from around Eureka, some of the hills are pretty high—there was snow on nearby peaks—and the road is winding going through them.

But mostly, the road is straight and there’s hardly any traffic. At one point I pulled over on a dirt road for a 10-minute stop, and not a single car passed in either direction. I had to pass only three or four cars. Just one passed me, with a California vanity license plate that read SAN JOSE. It was also a woman driving alone. When I stopped in Austin, I saw her stopped there too. She’d driven behind me for at least 30 miles, so I almost felt like I knew her. I considered saying hi, but she was busy talking on her cell phone, and then she got into the car and sped away.

Signs warn that it is open range—I hear that the road is dangerous at night because if a cow wanders onto the road you can’t see it. But I didn’t see any. I did see 6 or 8 horses out in the middle of nowhere. I also saw a man on horseback on a dirt road paralleling the road. He was leading another horse, loaded down with his gear, and both horses were moving at a quick trot. I remembered him later in town, where the signs talked about this being Pony Express territory. He was getting around the same way the cowboys and Indians used to.

Some people find driving through the desert monotonous. Not me. I find it endlessly fascinating. There’s always something to notice. It was greener than usual due to spring rains. Here an arroyo, there a bird flying. The mirages on and alongside the road. Outside Fallon, there was a big tree, and it was filled with…I looked as closely as I could…shoes! Right around there, I heard a sudden noise and looked up to see a small sleek plane rising low over the road, sideways. There’s a military base out there.

I was listening to music as I drove. Incubus singing their song about “whatever tomorrow brings, I’ll be there with open arms,” which talks about the difference between letting your fear steer you and steering yourself. And Jennifer Berezan’s “End of Desire,” about a state of mind where everything’s fine the way it is and there’s nothing else you want.

And…when I took a rest stop in Eureka, I decided to photograph a rustic shed. And the camera wouldn’t work. It’s a good, almost new, digital camera. So as I drove on, I was struggling with feeling upset. And I was thinking about the first song, and how it would it be if I wasn’t fearful. And I brought myself out of being upset, and figured out what I'd do. Right, when I’m not fearful, I get creative, which is great for problem solving. And thinking about the other song, about that spiritual consciousness where everything’s perfect.

And I was going over the mountains, and I was looking at some rocky outcroppings. And I got a feeling of immanence, connection with the earth as a living organism. A taste of transcendence, going beyond myself into the All. Just a small taste. I resolved to take some time to sit in nature and be with the rocks and plants. Kind of a bit of vision quest. In a way, that’s what the trip’s about, though I hadn’t thought of it like that.

In Ely, I stayed at the Hotel Nevada and Gambling Hall. The casino was unimpressive after Reno, and the casino at the Jailhouse Motel across the street was worse, sleepy and not many of the kinds of slots I like. I got my complimentary margarita at the Hotel—it came from what looked like a soft-serve ice-cream machine. Signs pointed to “Live Gambling—Twenty-one and Poker—Downstairs." I walked down, and there were two tables, with one person gambling. Also a couple of coin-operated pool tables, unused. Back upstairs, I quickly lost all my Reno winnings. Easy come, easy go.

I headed south from Ely. More of the same desert landscapes—I find them endlessly interesting. Today it was mostly valleys, only occasional hilly passes. I felt more in tune with the land. Yesterday I stopped to look for sage growing near the road, but couldn’t tell whether the plants were sage or not. Today I recognized it right away. I stopped and picked some, got myself in a meditative state. I always am careful not to take too much from any plant. Maybe it’s silly, but I talked to the plants. Anthropomorphic, I guess. I don’t believe that plants, or rocks, have consciousness or a sense of identity at all like people do. Other kinds of consciousness, sure, depending on how you define the word.

I took the business loop through the small town of Pioche. It was quaint and cute but I didn’t see anything to stop for. A little further down the road, I saw a sign for restrooms on the right, Cathedral Gorge State Park, and took the turnoff. I was glad I did—it was one of the peaks of the trip (see separate review).

Outside Panaca, I got stopped for speeding. They must have a radar sensor that reports back to the police car, because the cop came out from town to stop me as I was driving in. He was not nice, the kind of guy who is a cop so he can bully people, but I just deflected that (easy enough when you’re old enough to be his mother). He said I was going 12 miles over the speed limit, 57 in a 45 mph zone. He let me off with a warning, and said the ticket would have been $155. I drove within the speed limit (or almost so) for the rest of the day. I got to Cedar City, Utah, and spent the night there.

The next morning I had a very pleasant drive, about an hour, from Cedar City to Zion National Park (see review), where I spent most of the afternoon.

I drove east out of the park through the Mt. Carmel junction, then Fredonia and Jacob Lake, and then over the bridge over Marble Canyon. Here I realized I’d miscalculated. I thought I’d be able to find a hotel there, but I hadn’t looked closely enough on the web. I only saw one motel and wasn’t moved to stop there. So I had to keep driving. It was almost dark when I decided to turn off to Tuba City, and fully so when I got to Tuba City. This was the first, but not the last, time I broke my rule about driving only in daylight.

I can’t believe I am covering so much territory and doing so much in a day. Today I walked around the dinosaur footprints, drove to the Grand Canyon, and toured around it by car and on foot—and then drove all the way to Flagstaff.

I ended the day feeling like a fool and a stupid gringo for paying way too much at the dinosaur track place (see review). Still, I don't regret stopping there; it was fascinating and off the beaten track.

After the dinosaur tracks, I stopped at the junction of Highways 89 and 64 at Cameron, with a motel, a large store, and a gallery. The gallery has the most beautiful Indian crafts, including some venerable older items. Prices start in the high three digits, well above my price range. An older native man was the proprietor, or clerk, or maybe the artist-in-residence. He was playing an Indian flute, making the most beautiful music, the whole time I walked around in there. The store, in a separate building, had everything from tourist dreck to high-quality pottery and other crafts, and the prices seemed reasonable.

The drive from Cameron to the Grand Canyon was on Route 64 and was beautiful, especially the last 20 or so miles. And there I was back into the mainstream tourist scene (see review).

From the Grand Canyon, I took Highway 180 into Flagstaff. The drive was very nice, no traffic at all, over mountains, with pine trees and some aspens or birch. It was early evening, and I saw four or five groups of deer, happily munching and unafraid of cars.

In Flagstaff, I turned right on Route 66. There are loads of motels, restaurants, and stores. I stayed at Budget Inn. It was fine, right for my budget, and—what mattered most—it had free wireless Internet.

I’d been considering driving though Hopi country after Flagstaff, but after today's experience, I decided to skip it. I did call the Hopi Cultural Center, which seems to be mostly a hotel and restaurant. The hotel is out of my price range, and the woman on the phone said there are no activities going on, just vendors outside the hotel. I am not really into shopping, and given that there are no ceremonies or other activities that they knew of open to the public, I have no reason to go there. Oh, I could hire a guide and hike, but that’s exactly what today’s experience turned me off to.

My home is the road now. My community consists of the cars that I am driving behind or in front of, and oh yeah, the people in those cars. I go through the towns. Some cars turn off after only 5, 20, or 50 miles. Those people live in the places I am passing through. They sleep in the same place every night. In my home, they are the transients. They come onto the road and then they leave. I live there.

I left Flagstaff with no set itinerary. I’d seen both the Meteor Crater and the Petrified Forest on the map, and decided to go to each one based on how I felt at that moment (see separate reviews).

As I was driving, I heard a radio broadcast that said "have your picture taken on a corner in Winslow, Arizona with a girl in a flatbed Ford." Winslow was less than 10 miles past the meteor crater. I’m not a big Eagles fan, but I got off I-40 and drove through the town on Rt. 66. It was a quiet town, dusty and a little run-down. I didn’t see a flatbed Ford.

Some notes from the road:

Route 66

Route 66 doesn’t still exist on maps, but it still symbolizes the allure of the road. And I’ve been driving on it much of the day, and will for many days more. I started in Flagstaff and called it a night in Gallup. Both motels are on motel rows on Route 66. I drove mostly on I-40, which seems to have replaced Route 66 as the main road. But Route 66 still goes though many towns that I-40 bypasses. The signs say "Historic Route 66." The souvenir stands have Route 66 T-shirts, baseball caps, shot glasses, etc. I’m getting my kicks.

Traveling Alone

Sometimes it seems that everyone else is traveling in couples. That makes me wistful.
But I just now stopped for ten minutes at a Painted Desert overlook. In that time I saw two separate women driving alone. One, slightly older, with Massachusetts plates, and a younger one from Michigan. Her car looked rickety--I hope she makes it to her destination—-but she had some nice-looking camera equipment.

*****

I crossed into New Mexico and spent the night in Gallup. The next morning, I wanted to go south to the Zuni Pueblo, but it was hard to find the route, especially with major roadwork going on. First I overshot on I-40, then when I backtracked, I followed signs that led me in a circle and disappeared. So I stopped for directions at the first place I found, one of the many that advertise "Indian Jewelry and Crafts—Low Prices—Dealers Welcome."

The sales clerk, a Navajo woman about my age named Rose, was very nice. We talked as I browsed, about our lives. She asked, wasn’t I lonely traveling, and living, alone. I said no, I have lots of friends. She said she gets lonely. I asked if she lived alone, and she said no, she has a husband, but—ehhh, you know. I said, I used to have a husband, and I at the time I thought I wanted him, but I’m finding some advantages to not having him anymore.

I ended up buying a couple pieces of the lower-end pottery at a good price. Rose's directions, however, took me in another circle. I decided to head east on I-40 and forget the pueblo, but I accidentally went west, and the next exit was the right road, 602 south. I enjoyed the drive, but didn’t find the pueblo worth the visit. It was small, and all I did was go into one store, which had nice things, but out of my price range, and I wasn’t in shopping mode.

As I drove east from the pueblo on 53 (which eventually leads back to I-40), I noticed some haze or dust in the distance. Soon I was driving though a full-fledged sandstorm. Dust was blowing all over the place, and tumbleweed was tumbling. At one point, about a dozen tumbleweeds were bouncing on the road, coming towards me—they looked like strange bunnies hopping down the road. Right about then, I passed a road sign that said SANDSTORMS EXIST. (The next day, the newspaper said winds had been up to 60mph.)

Soon after I got back on I-40, I took the turnoff to the Acoma pueblo, Sky City. The drive is nice—a gradual climb for about ten miles. Then you turn a corner, and come to an overlook with signs that say no photos from here without a permit. You can see across the valley and to the mesa where the pueblo is. Sky City is the longest continuously-occupied settlement in the USA. It was originally built on the mesa for defense from enemies. The valley floor is full of stunning rock formations, and cows grazing with no fences. You have to stop at the visitor center, at the foot of the mesa. To go further, you have to be with one of the tours that leave regularly until 4:30pm. I was later than that, so all I could do was browse in the gift shop. Still, the views were worth the drive. And not being able to photograph it adds to the feelings of respect and awe for the beautiful land.

From Sky City, I drove to the Sky City Casino, owned and operated by the same Acoma people. Quite a contrast. Lots of bright lights and the ka-chink of coins in the slots. It did have one thing in common with the pueblo—no photographing was allowed on the casino floor.

The wind was still high, and walking from the car to the casino and store was an experience. I had to shield my face, but still got sand in my eyes. I continued on to Albuquerque and got to my friends’ house just after dark.

I had a four-day break in my driving, taking it easy in Albuquerque with friends.

One day we took a day trip to Taos. First we stopped at Santa Fe and grabbed some takeout food, then stopped at a road pullout called Camel Rock to eat it at a picnic table. The rock is beautiful; we walked up to it on a short path. The rest area is pretty trashed out and it was windy, so we didn't stay long.

The drive to Taos is very pretty, a lot of it along the Rio Grande. We saw some people kayaking down the river. In Taos, we walked around the plaza and went into a few shops, but it was getting late and we didn’t stay long. I bought some T-shirts and Navajo pottery. We didn't go to the pueblo.

Another evening we went for a walk along the Rio Grande in Albuquerque. Apparently there's an irrigation and drainage system that involves canals, and there are many miles of bike/walking trails along the river and canals.

On Saturday, we drove to Madrid and Cerillos (see separate review).

The morning I left, we went to the Albuquerque Flea Market. This was my last day in the Southwest, and I had souvenir fever. The flea market was so big it was daunting. I didn’t make it through even half of it. It had the usual flea market mix of vendors, but also had many (including Native Americans) selling local jewelry, including a lot of silver and turquoise, and some other crafts. I couldn’t afford the higher-quality goods, but managed to buy some nice inexpensive things without going for much schlock.

Then I hit the road again.

My friends took me on a day trip from Albuquerque to Madrid and Cerillos, two small towns in the hills east of town. It’s about an hour's scenic drive to Madrid, an old mining town that turned into a ghost town and since then has grown into a artist/bohemian enclave. You can walk around town and browse the galleries and get espresso. There’s also a museum of facts and artifacts of the town’s mining days, which we didn’t go to. Everything’s cute and quirky, and everyone’s friendly; the town needs the tourists, who come in pretty good numbers. I enjoyed walking around and browsing, but the goods were a bit too pricey for me.

Cerillos is just a short drive from Madrid. It was also a mining town and is now tiny; it hasn't had the resurgence that Madrid has. The buildings are very Southwestern, a lot of weathered adobe. It doesn't seem to get many tourists, though there’s a store with a petting zoo (the sign says) that would undoubtedly like to have them. It was after 5 when we got there, and none of the few stores were open. The old buildings, including the opera house, were worth a look.

I’d checked online about following the old Route 66, and it looked like possible most of the way to Amarillo. But I didn't have detailed directions, so I settled for taking a few I-40 business loops that were also Route 66. I also took a short loop, as advised, as in the small town of Glenrio on the New Mexico-Texas border, to see the ruins of Route 66 businesses. There wasn’t much there, and the road turned into a dirt one right past town. Later, I found a part of Route 66 that was the frontage road and drove on it for a while. There were no other cars, so it gave me respite from passing and being passed by the 18-wheelers on the interstate. But it was slowing me down, and I was right next to I-40 anyway, so I got back on after ten miles or so.

Trying to follow Route 66 was my undoing in Amarillo. When I reached the downtown, the Rt. 66 signs disappeared. I was still on the I-40 business loop, so I thought I could find a cheap motel before leaving town. But the ones I passed were too cheap even for me—the neighborhood didn’t look good—and the road didn’t rejoin I-40 until well past the end of town.

So I went on another 10 or 15 miles and stopped in Conway at a small motel (see review).

The sunset was stunning. I walked over to the field next to the motel to photograph it. I also saw…half a dozen old VW frames upturned and half-buried. The poor man’s answer to the Cadillac Ranch in nearby Amarillo—the Bug Garden?

The next day was Sunday. When I got on the road, most of the radio stations were playing church services. Most of the traffic was semi trucks; I wondered if everyone was at church and, sure enough, many more cars appeared in the afternoon. I heard two anti-abortion talks, and one preacher who went on about how gambling and cohabitation are sins. I passed a turn-off for a tourist attraction—the biggest cross in the Western hemisphere—and passed the Blessed Mary Café. Between the church stuff and the patriotic stuff, I wasn’t too comfortable in Texas, so I skipped the sightseeing and just tried to make time.

Oklahoma wasn’t much better, but it somehow seemed a little friendlier. I stopped at the Cherokee Trading Post and Restaurant. The food must be good, because it seemed to be where all the locals went after church, at least on Mother's Day. I remembered to call my mom and ex-mother-in-law.

Soon after I crossed into Oklahoma, the land went from dry and deserty to green and then greener. At one point, I started to feel humidity—there’s a definite sensation to it, and a smell as well. Lots of roadside wildflowers, and then lakes.

After my speeding warning in Nevada, I'd tried to stay closer to the speed limit, but I’d relaxed about it by Oklahoma. The limit was 70, and I got into a few groups of cars and trucks going about 80. But I was going a little faster when I rounded a corner and saw several police cars watching for someone like me. One of them pulled out and soon caught up and pulled me over. Unlike the one in Nevada, this cop was a nice guy. He told me I was going a little fast coming down the hill. I played it (and it was true) like I was not paying the best attention because I was tired from driving for so long. He chatted with me about where I was going, and wrote me out a warning. I stayed within 5 mph of the speed limit for the rest of the day.

By the time I got to the Arkansas border, I could tell I was out of the Southwest and into the South. Though Arkansas is deep South, it somehow felt more progressive. Almost immediately, I saw an SUV with a Re-elect Hillary bumper sticker.

I stopped for the night at a Motel 6 in Little Rock. In the morning, I had a sad surprise. I knew that hundreds of bugs were dying each day on my car; that's always a given. But doesn't it seem like birds manage to fly away in plenty of time when you drive up to them? Well, they don't always. I had to pull out the remains of a small bird from my car's front grill. It wasn't easy, and I was sad. Poor little thing.

Before I left. I asked a maid where the ice machine was. I've wondered about regional accents, whether they are dying out as television and chain stores homogenize the country. Well, I could barely understand the girl's answer, and I lived in the South for 12 years. Then she added something else that I couldn't understand at all--I'm glad it wasn't important. And I'm glad that regional dialects are alive and thriving.

When I got to Tennessee later that day, I stopped at the Memphis welcome center (see review). Then I drove on to my friends' place (and my old home) in central Tennessee, where I would spend the next week. And so ends the first leg of my travels. I will write about the rest of them in later journals.

As I came into Tennessee on I-40 at Memphis, I saw the sign for the welcome center. It was time for a rest stop, so I pulled over. It was very nice. The welcome center had two large metal sculptures of rock-and-roll royalty--Elvis and B.B. King. Slightly bizarre but enjoyable. I also took a refreshing walk along the river.