Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

Made it home in less than five hours. It was cold this morning so I had to bundle up. You can tell Fall is here and Winter is coming. I was on the road by 0730.

I left Cortez via US 491. The road, like everything until after Moab when I got on I-70 east to head home, was a two laner. The area was mostly farmland and it went on forever. As you get so accustomed to seeing here, there were mountains in the distance. I turned around to get this shot of sleeping Ute Mountain.





Here's the legend that I copied from a web site:

In the very old days, the Sleeping Ute Mountain was a Great Warrior God. He came to help fight against the Evil Ones who were causing much trouble.

A tremendous battle between the Great Warrior God and the Evil Ones followed. As they stepped hard upon the earth and braced themselves to fight, their feet pushed the land into mountains and valleys. This is how the country of this region came to be as it is today.

The Great Warrior God was hurt, so he lay down to rest and fell into a deep sleep. The blood from his wound turned into living water for all creatures to drink.
When the fog or clouds settle over the Sleeping Warrior God, it is a sign that he is changing his blankets for the four seasons. When the Indians see the light green blanket over their "God", they know it is spring. The dark green blanket is summer, the yellow and red one is fall, and the white one is winter.

The Indians believe that when the clouds gather on the highest peak, the Warrior God is pleased with his people and is letting rain clouds slip from his pockets. They also believe that the Great Warrior God will rise again to help them in the fight against their enemies.

After Dove Creek, I crossed into Utah.


From Monticello to Moab is almost other-worldly. Red rock outcroppings everywhere. This is one of my favorites. If you'll notice there's a small hole in the middle, at the bottom of the rock. To give you an idea how big it is, that hole is easily the size of a garage. This is on private property but plenty of people have crossed the fence or driven in there to have a look at it.



The scenery continues all the way to Moab, with stones rising from the ground to make the oddest shapes.









I came into Moab fairly quickly. You can always tell you're close when this ledge appears.






I rode through Moab and took 128 toward Cisco. There are high canyon walls on each side of the narrow road and the Colorado River runs alongside. At one point, you come to the confluence of the Colorado and the Delores. It's unbelievably beautiful and on the weekends, it's a slow, slow drive.









Today, there was a bike race. The canyon runs for 34 miles and when I came out, I stopped at the bike aid station and asked about their race. One group was riding 68 miles - out and back - and the other was doing a century ride. Not sure where they went after they did a round trip to get the extra 32 miles. There were hundreds of bicyclists, brightly clad in many-colored racing jerseys. It was a great day for a ride - cycle or bike.

There's another 15 miles or so to get to the cutoff for the interstate. I stopped and took a picture of where I'd just been.



And then it was on I-70 east, headed home.



I crossed the state line into Colorado once more and rode a little more than a half hour to the hospital. Judy is working today but I wanted to check in and let her know I was OK.





I pulled into the house.



And so, the ride is finished.

I rode 5114.5 miles over 19 days and visited 16 different states (with Colorado and Texas getting two different rides). I saw millions of acres of trees and rich land, thousands and thousands of cows and horses, pasture land, ranchland, farms, wilderness, major rivers and small streams, ponds and lakes, some interstates, and mostly backroads of America.

I lost seven pounds and one pant size. (I'm thinking about leaving again tomorrow to try to lose another seven that way.) I got a sunburn.



I saw friends and family I haven't seen for years. I visited my "first love" (Judy wasn't threatened a bit) and resolved a 34 year old question.

I crossed the Tallahatchie River but didn't see Billy Joe McAllister floating anywhere (for those of you too young to have experienced the Bobbie Gentry phenomenon in 1967, no one knows what got thrown off before Billy Joe McAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge).

I burned 113.93 gallons of premium. That comes to almost 49 miles/gallon. I made 44 stops to put gas in the tank and most places were in the $2.80's per gallon. The cheapest was in Greenville, TN at $1.99 for premium; the most expensive at Monticello, UT at $3.43.

I was glad to see Scot, Sylvia, Peter, Desiree, Kevin, Dean, Uncle Rudolph, Aunt Alma, Uncle Woodard, Aunt Veronica, Brett, Scott, Mark, Gina, Park, Rachel, Jamey, Andi, Bob, Ski, Sharon, Michael, Dave, Bao, Jeff, Colleen, Lindsay, Emily, Cindy and any others I failed to name. I appreciated everyone's generous and kind hospitality.

There were many, many people I talked to who left impressions on me, including the old guy with a Ranger cap in the Delta Blues Museum who told me his life story about three tours in Vietnam and ironically, whose son is in the 101st Airborne in Afghanistan - the very same unit that replaced Ruppert's unit earlier this year. Who would have thought it? There were many other random people and stories that I didn't include in my blog. The old black lady with the eyepatch in Mississippi who looked like an old ninja that Quentin Tarrantino would have cast when she was in her prime who told me to "be careful". The couple at The Big Texan who are traveling along Route 66 to California who shared their concern about bedbugs with me. The strangers and my brief encounters with them as they asked me enviously about my trip, and then wished me a safe ride. Even the old sourpuss who was going to charge me 42 cents for ice made an impression. The wolves circling around in the car in Arkansas who confirmed Ski's adage that "an armed society is a polite society" aren't going to be forgotten soon. The hotel clerks who graciously gave me discounts. Other bikers who stopped and yakked.

My kids texted and called me throughout the trip. Reilly helped me every night with the map and if not for Ruppert's gloves and plexiglass cleaner, the trip wouldn't have been as friendly.

I talked to Judy every night and am still amazed she lets me do all the things I want to do. You'd think that after more than 30 years of being together, she would have grown tired of my weird ideas and impulsive need to get off the beaten path.

I'm still searching for the perfect set of ear buds, an IPOD whose battery lasts more than 4.5 hours, and the world's best chicken fried steak.

My Harley was a gem throughout, asking only to be topped off with premium gas and never faltering as a result. Plenty of power when I needed it and it made for a confident ride. I saw hundreds of splotches on the road and I knew something met its fate there; thousands of pieces of blown truck tires that were always on my mind when I was around semis; and all the hundreds of dead animals and resultant chunks of meat that if they had to be run over, I was glad it wasn't my motorcycle that did it.

My two best friends when the ride got hot and sticky were my Old Spice Classic deodorant and my bar of Safeguard - both of which were almost used up.

For the first time in my life I was on a trip where it was about the journey, not the destination. It was the height of self-indulgence. Having the freedom to do whatever you want, when you want, is an experience I highly recommend for everyone. At least once, anyway.

In 1967, Craig Peterson rented a Honda 65 and he let his brother Chris and me (both of us were 13 when Craig was 16) learn to ride it in a field. We fell over plenty while we tried to get the hang of the clutch and throttle, the brakes and the gears. Wherever Craig is, he has no idea that he put me on a 43 year love affair with motorcycles. There's a simultaneous exhilaration and sense of calmness that results from riding a bike. I know those emotions are contradictory but if you ride, you know the deal.

And so, that's it. I want to thank my friends and family for following me and "riding along" as Cindy so aptly put it.

Ride safe. And, of course, Sho' You Right!!!

Get your kicks on Route 66

455 miles today.

I woke up with a sore throat, runny nose and cough. I've been teetering for days now, ready to fall on the side of sickness. I think my white blood cells have rallied, though. Feeling OK now.

I left Tucumcari this morning and the weather was cooler. The rain last night dropped the temperature significantly but the skies were clear and bright blue, so it was a good day to ride. Almost immediately, I got on Route 66.

















I read somewhere that it's just going to fall into disrepair and won't be maintained anymore. That process has started.





















Route 66 parallels I-40. The road is a quilt of asphalt patching, some of which is elevated significantly. The asphalt on the sides of the road (it's a narrow two-laner) are crumbling and weeds and flowers are growing in their stead. At one point, the road changes from one side of the interstate to the other, and in doing so, it goes through a small narrow bridge under I-40. Whether it was because of the rain, or just general decline, that area was filled with mud and water. The bike, already dirty from my travels, was mud-caked after that little endeavor. It's a pretty cool thing to ride on it, as it's history and filled with stories but it's very difficult to imagine this road as being the only thing from California to Chicago. What a tough trip that must have been.

http://www.historic66.com/

There wasn't much to see. It resembles a poorly used frontage road more than anything else. I passed by a derelict cemetery that must have been part of a community once upon a time.


























An old gas station came into view and I stopped for a picture. One pump, two dogs, an outbuilding that may have been a house, and the station. It had seen better years.

















At one point, the interstate was on my left and immediately to the right was a grassy area, maybe 100 feet wide, and it was bordered by train tracks. There were cows and a bull grazing in that area. Beyond the tracks was the wild and flat area of New Mexico that went on forever. Lots of sagebrush and not much else.

A train came by and I did my arm pump communication with the engineer again. I was rewarded with two blasts. I raced ahead, stopped the bike and caught a picture as he came abreast of me. He gave me another blast as he went on. Coincidentally, Route 66 quit at that point and put me back on the interstate.


I'd been riding for a while and was still more than an hour from Albuquerque when billboards appeared advertising a stop where everything imaginable was for sale. Everything. Probably twenty billboards, imploring people to stop and buy gag gifts, New Mexico souveniers, t-shirts, food, Navajo rugs - you name it. I rode past and eyeballed a mammoth warehouse that was doing a brisk business.

A short time later, more billboards appeared for yet again another similar place. One of the billboards advertised "World Famous Fudge". I was immediately sold. A piece of fudge would taste good, and I could see "World Famous Fudge" that up to that moment, I had been unaware even existed. I'm a sucker for superlatives.

Kind of reminds me when Ruppert and Reilly were young. Before Father's Day one year, I got a t-shirt that read "World's Greatest Father". Pretty moving for me as I had been unaware there was a contest, much less that my little family had quietly registered me for the title. I suspected competition was awfully keen. After all, it was for the WORLD'S greatest. No essays; no interviews. I don't know how I managed to garner the votes, but, here was the proof - a t-shirt that said "World's Greatest Father". So, I put it on before we went out and practiced my most humble expression in the bathroom in front of the mirror. I anticipated being mobbed by people when they found out the winner was in their town, and I figured I'd be asked some parenting questions - all of which I knew the answers to because I had been told I was the "World's Greatest Father". Imagine my surprise when I saw other men wearing similar shirts. Well, that couldn't be. Maybe they were Great, or maybe even Greater, but there could only be one Greatest. I knew they were poseurs. I didn't chastise anyone for being a charlatan that day but I vowed to get in touch with the governing body that decided I was the Greatest to tell them how many people were wearing shirts under false pretenses. That's still on my things to do list.

So, now there was a "World Famous Fudge" in a behemoth-sized gift shop 15 miles east of Moriarity, New Mexico. It could happen but I was dubious. I went in and bought souveniers, of course. My bike is listing now from all the crap I've bought. I found the small display and asked the lady if I could buy a piece. "Sorry, no. You have to buy 1/2 pound." I heard THE accent so I asked her, auf Deutsch, if she was German. She smiled and seemed surprised that someone spoke German so we launched into a discussion in Gerlish - a combination of German and English. Both of us were doing it. She was from Rheinland Pfalz and for 20 years, she'd gone to Germany for four weeks every Christmas. I asked her how she ended up out here "in the boonies" as she said. Married a GI many years ago. What else could the answer have been? With my new friendship now firmly cemented, I tried to buy a piece of the "World Famous Fudge" but she didn't acquiesce. She told me that if she was the boss, it would be different. But, she wasn't the boss, and 1/4 pound was the rule. In retrospect, what was I thinking? Get an exception to rules from a German? Was I forgetting my own heritage? So, I still don't know if it's good fudge. Nor do I know if people around the world talk about it. I mulled that over until I was about 50 miles from Albuquerque where I saw mountains in the distance. I thought it might have been the Continental Divide but I didn't have time to figure it out.

I must have had a petit mal seizure because I thought I was still about 30 miles from Albuquerque when suddenly the highway changed from a regular four lane to six then eight lanes. Full of cars. Albuquerque has over a half million people and there were all on the interstate, in separate cars, changing lanes abruptly. They weren't making me feel very welcome. Before I went farther west, I-25 loomed ahead and I took the exit, believing the traffic would thin. It went to 10 lanes. "What the hey?!?!?" Ten lanes? What kind of community needs to fill up 10 lanes of traffic?

I got off for gas and a girl at the pump told me about a short cut to US 550. If I'd gotten back on I-25, I would have come to the turnoff, but I'm always up for a short cut when shared by a native Albuquerquean. Well, she had a sick sense of humor.

"Take that road, at the second light go right, and there it is." It was nearly 40 minutes later; I'd asked at least eight people where 550 was; I had made a half a dozen turns on to different streets; and I had driven through a congested part of the city. But, hey, there it was finally.

On the way, I passed some kind of activity at the WalMart in Bernalillo (I was on 528 and getting close to 550). Police cars were everywhere, preventing cars from turning into the shopping center. I glanced over and saw crowds of people and at least two ambulances. Lights were flashing everywhere. I assumed someone had been shot but it was nothing that sensational. See below:

http://www.koat.com/news/25053836/detail.html

US 550 was a fast four lane that went through at least two Indian reservations, the Zia's and the Apache's.


The Zia Indians are famous for this symbol that you may recognize:


Unfortunately, they must not have made any money from it as I passed a small community across the street from this station:


The community looked as forlorn as the Big Chief Gas Station Market.

Further down the road, I came across a marker for a route that an expedition from Coronado's army took in 1541. (This is for the benefit of the serious historians.)


The reservation land was full of sagebrush and not much else. The terrain changed some as I climbed to 7,000 feet and passed a marker for the Continental Divide. Along the way there were some small mesas and rock outcroppings but for the most part, the land was wide open.




Further along was the Jicarilla Apache Indian Reservation. Very similar to the Zia's reservation except their community seemed to be a little more on the ball. They had a water tower with the town name and a school with the same name and a few other places with the same name.

It kind of reminded me of Mister Mxyzptlk, the imp who was Superman's nemesis in the '60s when I was a big Superman comic book fan. If Mister Mxyzptlk could be tricked into saying his name backwards, or writing it backwards, he was sent back to the 5th dimension where he would stay at least three months, at which time he could come back and plague Superman and it would start all over again. Anyway, Dzil H-Na- -Dith-Hle might be something like that. First, you spend a few years learning how to say it with just the right inflection and then you say it backwards, and you get to go to the casino. Of which there was one on the Apache reservation so I'm not being out of line...

When I got to Farmington, NM, I'd planned to head for Cortez, cutting through the Navajo Nation and the Ute Reservation. But, I saw a sign for Aztec and I decided to change my plan.

When I worked for TSA, at one point we had eleven airports, one of which was Farmington. The other ten were in Colorado. Geographically, it made sense to have Farmington as whenever we checked on Cortez and Durango, it was the third point of a triangle and was only an hour from each. (Eventually Farmington went to New Mexico when Governor Richardson decided he wanted NM airports handled by NM TSA people.)

When I traveled to those airports, I usually went through Aztec and stopped at Chubby Chicken. It's not a place you'd look at and think to stop. Chubby Chicken is in a refurbished two room house and frankly, it looks like a place to run away from.


I'd been told about the place by the TSA folks in Durango, however, and after I stopped there once, I made it a practice to go everytime I was at our southern airports. The breakfast burritos are out of this world good. Nearly everything in that part of the country, including hamburgers at MacDonald's, have green chilis. One of the guys I worked with in Afghanistan was from New Mexico and his wife sent cans of green chilis to him that he took to the mess hall and sprinkled on his food. So, it's a local cultural thing. Once I took a cooler to Chubby Chicken and filled it up with those breakfast burritos, freezing them when I got home and enjoying them for some time.

So, once the idea took root, I headed in the opposite direction. It was only 10 miles out of the way and I fully intended to reverse course and ride through those two Indian reservations to get to Cortez. But, as I stood in front of Chubby Chicken, leaning on my bike and munching on my breakfast burrito at 4 PM, I decided to head for Durango instead. The reservation drive is hot, barren and depressing. The drive to Durango is fairly scenic and the mountains begin to appear. From Durango to Cortez is only about 45 minutes going that route and it's one of my favorite roads in the state. So I took a circuitous route that added probably an hour or so to my ride.

I got to the state line


and then started to get close to Durango.


Durango sits in a valley and is a popular vacation spot.


I went through town and got on the road for Cortez. It's another beautiful ride with much changing scenery.




I rode into Cortez and pulled into the Holiday Inn Express. There were more than 60 bikes in the parking lot. I talked to a guy and he said they were from Ontario, doing a loop through Las Vegas and back. There were more than 90 people riding on the bikes. Naturally, there was no room in the house and they sent me to the EconoLodge - a dump if there ever was one. But, with few rooms remaining, and the last non-smoking room in the place, I took it.

The ride tomorrow will go through Utah on US 191 through Moab and then follow the Colorado River after Arches National Park. I'll ride to Cisco on state road 128 and cross back into Colorado on I-70. That will be a fine ride with beautiful rock formations everywhere. It's amazing scenery and I've enjoyed it everytime I've been on it in a car. On the bike, it'll be doubly so.

Thanks for reading and for posting. I'll make my last update after I get home tomorrow afternoon.

Whew!!!

603 miles today. On the road for more than 13 hours. Again, more than I thought I was going to ride, but events conspired to keep me on the road.

I didn't get to bed until about 2 AM. I finished the blog after 1:15 since I know my loyal friends and family want to know where I am and what I'm doing. I was still pretty wound up after the big day so I read the paper and flipped channels. When I finally fell asleep, it was fitful and I woke up at 7:15. Not much rest.

I was out of the hotel and back on I-30 west, headed for Dallas, by 8:30. Usually when I start the day's ride, I have a shirt on over the t-shirt and my leather jacket with gloves. As the day warms, I progressively lose clothing. Today, however, the Texas heat was apparent when I walked out of the hotel. I rode today with just a t-shirt and it was immediately comfortable. I-30 must be a consumer goods corridor. There were hundreds of semi-trucks roaring up and down the highway. Hundreds. (Well, not in the picture but trust me, they were non-stop.)



You can't help but feel some apprehension when you're riding at 75 and passing them. I try not to think about what a blown tire would do to me... Ever the macabre...

East Texas is wide open.



I daydreamed as I rode, pretending to play cowboy. Riding my iron horse, with my helmet/cowboy hat and my work boots in lieu of cowboy boots, I was all set to ride the range except for my trusty six-shooter. Again, yet another reason to carry a weapon on trips like this. You can't be a cowboy without a Peacemaker.

At Greenville, about 45 miles before Dallas, I jumped off the interstate and caught a state road. 308, I think. It was two lane for a while and little traveled. As I came more north of Dallas, the road became four lane. McKinney, Denton and Decatur are towns in their own right but being only about 40 miles north of Dallas and Ft Worth, they've probably become bedroom communities for the commuters. The roads were crowded but still speedy. I stopped in Denton to run into a Kroger's, looking for Diet Big Red. Alas, they didn't carry it. No rhyme or reason why you can find a product made in Waco, Texas in a grocery store in Sellersburg, Indiana but you can't find it two hours away from the bottling plant.

At Decatur, I got on 287 and headed northwest. The road was four lane and absent of much traffic. The hours flew by and as late afternoon came on, I was in Childress when the clouds gave an indication that something would soon be amiss. I probably should have just stayed in the Quick Mart but I decided to take a chance. Hey, I've got rain gear if anything should happen. I was about 15 miles from that town when the first drops splattered hard. I wheeled quickly to the side of the road and donned the rain gear before taking off again. In moments, I was engulfed. I mean under water. It was unreal. I couldn't see anything. The windshield was covered with rain and despite the wind hitting it, the rain wasn't sliding off. I had water on both sides of the shield, both sides of my sunglasses, inside the rain gear, and of course, my boots were soaked. Again. I kept going, almost blindly, and noticed three cars had pulled to the side of the road. They wisely decided not to even attempt to drive in it. Having no where to go - when you're in the middle of the Texas plains, there's zero shelter - I elected not to stop with the cars and risk getting washed away. I rode like I was in a washing machine for about 15 minutes. I had so much water on my face, I was spitting it out. But, in short order, I left it behind. At the next town, I stripped down to t-shirt and jeans again, and replaced the rain gear in the saddle bags.

That didn't last long, though. I was 40 miles from Amarillo when it started again. At 60 miles out, the sky looked blue and cloudy ahead, but not a cause for concern. At 40 miles, however, the light blue color turned dark purple and it was as if night had fallen. It was 5:15 and I was plunged into darkness.



I could see ahead in the distance, and I assumed it was Amarillo, that the clouds were broken ahead and the sky was clear and blue, with plenty of sunny daylight.




I had the rain gear on again and it rained for 40 miles.

That road had paralleled a train track off and on for hours. In the rain, I noticed an engine coming my way. I pumped my left arm wildly, giving the engineer the universal sign for "blow the horn". He obliged with two long pulls. I tried to count the cars - he was pulling coal - and I came up with something like 90. It's hard to keep your eyes on the road in the rain with a windshield you can't see through while also attempting to count train cars. Unless you're Marty Feldman, that is.

Ten to fifteen minutes later, another train came toward me. Again, wet and feeling saturated, I reached out to the engineer and he obliged with a long pull. It made me grin when I thought about how old I was and still trying to get the train to sound the whistle... Admit it, you'd do it, too.

Once in Amarillo, I could see they'd had a strong storm. Behind me, the clouds were heavy, purple and showing no signs of breaking up. In the past, I'd driven by The Big Texan many times. Always either in a hurry to get somewhere else; or having eaten somewhere else and not hungry; or too early or too late to catch a meal, it just never worked out. I was determined to stop today. Getting out of the weather was only a small part of it - I wanted to continue my quest for the best chicken fried steak on the planet. "Now, here's a likely candidate to take the title," I thought.

I wheeled in and took a few pictures and then went inside.

It's a big place and as much a tourist stop as it is a regular place for locals.





What's made the name for the place is the "if you eat it, it's free" campaign. The billboards for The Big Texan appeared when I was almost four hours away. They do a booming business.

The catch is a $72 meal that you pay for and if you can eat it in an hour, you get your money back. While I was eating my meal, two young and slim guys decided to take the challenge. The restaurant has a table on a raised platform in front of the grill and one of the cowboy waiters announces to everyone (at least 200 people eating at long tables) that the competition is on. You have to eat a 72 ounce steak (that's 4 1/2 pounds), a shrimp cocktail, a salad, a baked potato and a roll with butter. In an hour or less. Joey Chestnutt, the professional eater who is the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Champ, downed all of it in just under 9 minutes. A Siberian Tiger ate it in 90 seconds (just the steak). But, for most normal people, it's going to take the entire hour if you can do it at all. I might have attempted it in my prime and been a contender, but nowadays, there's no way to do that. Although, the record for the oldest person to successfully eat it all within the time limit is a 69 year old woman... Here's the web site with other information.

http://www.bigtexan.com/

Sadly, for me, a great chicken fried remains elusive. I was disappointed that even here, in the heart of beef country, I batted 0 for 2 for a good chicken fried steak. I know it's out there somewhere and it gives me purpose to continue looking.



When I came out after about an hour, Amarillo was wet and the clouds were still overhead but it looked like the rain was finished. I decided to keep riding instead of having a big day tomorrow. I pushed on for Tucumcari, NM on I-40. It's about 90 minutes from Amarillo and it was only 7:30 PM, so I thought I could handle it easily.

The sky began to grow dark as the sun set. Somehow I missed the Cadillac Ranch just outside of town.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cadillac_Ranch

There's a big windmill farm west of Amarillo and I watched that for a while.

I noticed the sky was darkening to the southwest, more so than a normal sunset. As I rode, it grew darker and larger, and the clouds overhead also turned that ominous purple color. "Not again," I said to myself.

I kept riding and once I crossed into New Mexico, I could see that to the north, it was a clear and beautiful sky. To the south- and northwest, it was beginning to look like the end of the world. You can tell the difference between night and a nasty storm. Night is just dark; a dreadful storm is as black as an inkwell. Heavy rolling clouds were to my left and ahead to my right. I couldn't tell if they were coming at me or moving away. Then, the lightning show started. Lightning was dancing sideways between the clouds. I could see that somewhere not too far away, a storm of significant proportions was being let loose. It had to have been the same storm I twice encountered in Texas a few hours earlier, except this one had somehow increased in ugliness and vigor. I tried to outrun it by doing 75 - hey, it's an interstate. Trucks were barreling along and the wind was blowing. When I was 14 miles from Tucumcari, I could see the city lights. I made it to the first exit and quickly got a hotel room before this place got drenched.

So, not much to report today. Lots of miles and lots of wide open spaces and big sky country. The rain was just another event after all. And, as I write this, my boots are dry. I rode long enough after they got wet that the air dried them.

Tomorrow, I'm headed for Albuquerque and then I'll peel off on US 550 for either Cortez or Durango. Both routes are nice rides but I'm leaning toward the Cortez roads as they go through the Navajo Nation and the Ute Reservation. The topography is much different and for still another change in scenery, I'm thinking of driving through Moab on Saturday to get home.

Thanks for reading and for posting.