I don’t grasp the gritty intrigue that I have had over the decades of Gallup, New Mexico – but the railroad line running parallel to the main drag, smack dap in Native American culture may have something to do with it. I want this place, someday, to be home base for a month or two in the summer to explore all of magical New Mexico.
Rains hit hard coming into the city last night, and challenged us the next day through Flagstaff in the form of sleet and snow. Only when we descended into Williams did the sun break through.
We opted for Chinese in Kingman at a hole-in-the-wall place, where Highway 93 intersects I-40. The food was good, and we ate it all. Hordes of folks were heading home from Las Vegas to Phoenix; thankfully we were going the other way.
After crossing the Colorado River into Needles, the long hall through the Mojave Desert began – cool and flooded by the recent deluge. This is the long trek to Barstow. After four days on the road, it seems to never end.
The mighty I-40 terminates not on the coast as do many east-west interstates, but blasts into the I-15 – the corridor between LA and Vegas. Here the high desert has become a minor metropolis. I am thinking next to nothing was here when I last lived in California.
The clouds approaching the El Cajon Pass seemed nuclear in nature; so low hanging I thought we would pierce them. We did, as did thousands of holiday travelers wanting to get home.
The journey down the pass was slow but steady, and eerily dark given the sun had not set.
We made it to the house, and I still had the energy to shop for provisions. I grilled some fresh salmon and veggies, randomly turned on the TV and gleefully watched the Green Bay Packers devastate the Lions in the 4th Quarter. Perfect timing! Damn it is good to be home!
