From the Continental Divide...It's Downhill All the Way

O.K.

For the record: I made it. In the same number of pieces I started with.

Got a good start Wednesday morning, officially 7:30 am, in reality more like 8:45 after dropping off my key, topping off the tank and getting the car washed. (Hate starting a trip in a filthy vehicle.)

The windmills outside Spanish Fork were hypnotic to the point of almost ending the trip down an embankment right then and there. I don't think I saw more than half a dozen vehicles going my way from there to Price. Stopped for lunch in Moab and continued down into Navajo country. I was just wondering if I would get the chance to see Shiprock when this perfect nineteenth century sailing vessel appeared as a gray silhouette on the horizon. Stunning. Made it as far as Grants, NM before stopping.

Thursday was pure road from Grants, NM to Shawnee, OK. The two biggest sights were, again, windfarms. Somewhere in NM south of the highway there is a table mount covered with windmills, each as tall above the table as the table is above the valley floor. Felt like I was travelling through the 21st century or something. In Texas, there was another windfarm along the road about two miles long with dozens of towers. They dipped partially behind a rise for awhile so the towers weren't visible and the blades (combined with the motion of the car) looked like they were walking across the plain.

I spent half of Friday in Shawnee when my car suddenly became incontinent and sent coolant all over the gas station apron. Fortunately, it happened first thing in the morning so the engine didn't overheat. The gentleman who came out form town took a look and decided I didn't need a new radiator after all. After following him back to town, he replaced the thermostat and the fluids and I was back on track. I made it only to Forrest City, AR, 30 miles west of Memphis before quitting for the day. I did, however, have a nice lunch at Big Daddy's in (the aptly named) Ozark, AR. The main wall consists of the remnants of an Art Deco curved wood and stainless steel barber shop imported from Germany in the 1930s. They make a good BBQ beef sandwich with onion rings and Big Daddy's logo branded into the top of the bun. They gave me a Big Daddy pen as a souvenir. (They don't see a lot of people there on a dead small town main street in the middle of the afternoon.)

Saturday was a long stretch from Arkansas to Dothan, AL. The most memorable moments were the horrendous traffic through Birmingham (Birmhingham=worst traffic, Oklahoma City=worst roads, Florida=worst drivers) and the red beans and rice at the Smokehouse in I-have-no-idea-where, Alabama. My waitress, Ms Sunny Woods, originally from Nevada by way of UC Davis and then Florida where she met her now-ex husband who took her back here to Alabama to be near his family (business was slow and she talks fast), was honest enough to recommend against the barbecue ("You can get better almost anywhere around. We buy our sauce."). Spent the night in Dothan about 30 miles from the Florida border.

Sunday was almost entirely Florida. I got a late start and lost another hour crossing into the Eastern time zone. Florida drivers drive like the New Yorkers they used to be. In spite of their best efforts I arrived safe and no less sound than when I left about 7:30 Sunday evening. I cut in front of Ida which went into Mississippi and Alabama a day later.

Mom is well.