The day had come to leave Michael, 'Nita, and Steven and hit the road. It was great seeing them but the snows of November are coming to Connecticut whether I'm safely home or not.
I wasn't quite sure where I was headed other than east. I was scheduled to meet Greta in Tucson but not for a couple of days. I had reduced my load again and packed more things off to CT. For some inexplicable reason I had put the California map into the box.
But how tough could it be? Arizona is too big to miss and I was sure they would hand out tourist maps at the border visitor center. I'd just take this road (Rt 92) east and eventually something would magically appear.
Like a train museum in Campo. The road had dwindled until it was a rough two land through some hard scrabble ranch land, then this delightful little museum popped up and called for attention
It was simple and unassuming, and closed, but it was a chance to get off the bike and stretch my legs.
|A metaphor for our lives?|
It runs across the desert and then has big gaps in it when it comes to the hills. I didn't get real close to it but it didn't look unclimbable. Maybe the point is to funnel anyone crossing into choke points where they are more easily apprehended.
|Going on and on for mile after mile. |
I can't imagine how many of millions of dollars were squandered on this.
In Yuma his directions were a little vague but it turns out there is a strip of inexpensive motels, all cheap, and all with vacancies. The Yuma Cabana was right in the middle and looked as good as any. Just give me the key and let me put my head on a pillow.
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