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One of my most vivid memories is of camping on the rim of the Grand Canyon
in 1990. The moon had been up when we turned in, gone down as I slept, and
when I scooched out to pee the night air was so clear and stars so bright
I reached up like a primitive to touch them. We'd hoped to camp near Flagstaff
last night but after a day of fighting 50+ mph gusts on the drive from
Albuquerque we pulled off for gas and were tempted by Flagstaff's classic
tourist strip of bowling alleys and motels. One good thing Arizona has going
for it is you can buy liquor in grocery stores. Guns and booze, no problem,
but when
SB
1070 takes effect on July 28, even looking Latino will be cause
for detainment. We opted not to bowl, bought some Bulleit and a 12-pack of
Negra Modelo for $8.88--less than you pay for a 6-pack of same in Seattle--and
found a charming "American-owned" family run
motel which exceeded
our expectations. My notebook tells me I spent $15.75 for a motel near here
in 1990. Last night's stay was $59.95, a fraction of season peak price $159.
Sarah turned on the heater when we entered, causing diaphanous gold curtains
to billow like something out of Arthurian legend. It snowed at night and
the morning light pooled at base of serpentine drapes filled me with something
more than the peace of a good night's sleep. |
