Yesterday, after a short stop at Allsup's in Santa Rosa, NM for, well, you know why I stop at Allsup's...I headed south on 54 to Las Cruces. Two lanes of pure joy, I must say. As you can see, I stopped a few times along the way.
One of my favorite stops was in Duran. I could see it was once a neat little town. After the railroad decided not to stop there, anymore, it just kind of died away.
I stopped a local and chatted for a bit. I asked her "how much is a place in Duran, should I want to move here."
She told me that nothing is for sale. All the land is owned by families and they don't want anyone new moving in. I think she just didn't like my hat.
I'm just a guy who finds the world an interesting place and likes to capture certain moments with a camera. They aren't for sale, or anything. I just like them. Well, usually. I've taken a lot of photos I don't like, as well.
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I stopped along the back roads I was taking home in a little ghost of a town named Prescott. I let Biggie stretch her legs while I had a cigar and enjoyed the quiet of the neglected baseball Diamond on the edge of town. As we sat there, I watched a young father giving his toddler a ride on his motorcycle. Around the block he went...then again....
“I’m hungry,” I said to myself after getting my tires fixed in Shamrock, TX. Hmmm...Wynoka is only a few hours away.So with German food and bier on my mind, I texted Dieter to see if he had room. He replied with some obscure text I didn’t understand so decided to call.
The first time I heard Navajo spoken as a natural course of conversation was in Holbrook, Arizona. I was in an art gallery that sold various Indian art. The owner, Nakai, spoke to one of the locals, who dropped by, in his native tongue. He sold me a ring in English.
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