Travel Log #3: Detour


I have awoken in Albuquerque, New Mexico shivering atop a paper thin sheet residing within the sketchiest hotel room I’ve ever been. I don’t even want to get into it, but maybe cheaper ain’t always better. It looks like the second cousin of the hotel room from the Shining and the carpets do NOT help.


Arizona was beautiful. We stopped to eat and stretch our legs at Flagstaff. First to this nice old timey diner – that was short staffed and so not full, but requiring a twenty minute wait. The petrified park couldn’t wait that long if we’re to catch it under the sun, so we picked up another helping of greasy food from Jack in the Box as opposed to In-N-Out a handful of hours ago. I want my mother to retire here. I want that more than anything.

We listened to an assortment of disparate tunes from The Eminem Show, The Lion King soundtrack, Jack White, The Dixie Chicks, Marty Robbins, Kenny Chesney, N’sync, Nirvana, and 2 Pac among others. I had a bag full of CDs that I wasn’t sure were in working order nor whether any of the musical acts were worth a listen, so as we drove and jammed out I thinned the heard a little bit at every stop. 


The mountains and forestry were far beyond anything that I’ve seen in the Las Vegas side of Nevada since I’ve moved there. The fresh air reinvigorated us. We were stable again, both in our hearts and lungs. 


We passed by an attraction labeled as “Bearizona” which is supposedly exactly what it sounds like (hopefully) and by the gull of happenstance, if I ever pass it by again I will stop and try not to get mauled by too many bears.

My phone never really worked while deep in the state of Arizona. It was nice.


Sarahann looked amazing surrounded by the sunset of the petrified park. All those greens, blues, pinks, oranges, and her everything. We barely made it through the park with an hour to spare for sightseeing, but I wouldn’t have wanted it any different.

I’m here with my woman now, who’s in the shower, as I sip on coffee made with the use of our bottled water. The sinks don’t look up to par for drinking water. I hope my Sarah doesn’t come out of the bathroom tasting of copper as it is. It’s almost my turn next. My back is killing me, my ass is still asleep, and my heart won’t stop ticking loudly from inside my chest.

By tonight we’ll make it to Sarah’s apartment in Denton. Her home. Our home. 

Sarah walks out of the shower and says, “There are like long long LONG black hairs all over our towels. No!” She laughs.

I’m up next!

-T.D.

P.S. Hopefully to that museum next, if I can get Sarah to stop worrying about money. I took all those extra shifts so we could enjoy this trip. I just know how much she loves Georgia O’Keeffe and I’d like to make her smile only a billion more times before we have to get all serious again.

Laters.

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