Gods, but I'm tired.
Yesterday's drive proved far more stressful than I had hoped. The heat of the New Mexico and Arizona deserts served to turn the already spongy brake into a novelty lever I could push with my feet as we descended from the mountains south of Flagstaff. The experience, which included a minor scare that had me worried I would rear-end tarotchan's Toyota, resembled nothing so much as a demented version of Thunder Mountain. I actually started swearing in French at one point.
On the upside, we stopped at the Navajo Co-op near Thoreau, NM and indulged in art and jewelry (and confirmed that I got seriously touristed when I bought the "marriage jar" at the trading post in OK.) Everything they had on display was beautiful, and it didn't seem strained or out of place like collections kept by the dealers I've seen in gtr. Phoenix.
Eastern AZ was trippy, and the several miles of billboards set at about 100 yards apart wore down my defenses sufficiently that I am extrememly disappointed that we didn't take the time to sample the TACOS! of ORTEGA. ("Ortega" being the town and not the brand name as you might expect.) As further evidence of my deteriorating mental state, TACOS! has officially become my call for a food stop... or to release built up road tension... or just to be silly. Come to think of it, it's not too surprising that my fellow travellers haven't taken any of my TACOS! cries too seriously.
I ate enchiladas for dinner. I'm hoping we can have the terrible beauty that is Waffle House before we hit the road.