Apartment maintenance necessitated an impromptu weekend away from home. Due to slightly toxic fumes and the inability to use our shower before Monday, we decided to get outta town. We are heading east towards the Arizona border to the town of Duncan, just this side of New Mexico. Apparently, this will be the 4th visit to that tiny outpost, spending a night or more, though not all stays involved, both Caroline and me, and we’ve been through there at other times.
Who knew that we’d get out so early that there would be time to flitter away? That’s just what happened when Caroline told me she was ready to leave as 2:00 p.m. came around. A decision had to be made: where would hang out a bit to delay our adventure due to appetite and dining options? Well, traffic on a Friday played a role here. I knew it would have to be past the intersection of Highway 202 and Highway 60 so the worst of the traffic would be behind us. Starbucks was the answer, just not one in a grocery store, and that’s just where we are. Caroline is knocking out some DuoLingo stuff before getting to knitting my next pair of socks, and as for me, obviously, I took the photo and am writing this paragraph. But I’m almost done here; it’s only 3:10, and I’m thinking we’ll leave here in about 30 minutes, so I’ll return to writing about our first trip to Hawaii in which, after visiting three other islands, we have arrived on Molokai.
A key part of this journey east has other requirements, such as stopping for dinner in Guayo’s El Rey in Miami. You might think, “Hey John, what about La Paloma Mexican restaurant over in Solomon?” I’d love to inform you that Solomon is only 35 miles from where we’re staying, so either Saturday night or Sunday afternoon, we’ll be stopping there, too. Then there’s the Ranch House restaurant right there in Duncan where we’ll likely take lunch tomorrow as we do like supporting the local economy. As for activities, I’m still eyeballing those options, with Caroline already having voiced the idea that we could simply hang out, sit in the garden, walk along the likely dry riverbed of the Gila River, write, knit, and do other nothingnesses.
The “Enable The Big Lie” sign was on the way into Miami and required a U-turn around to take a closer look as neither of us could believe it hadn’t been defaced or if it even meant what we thought it meant. These rural corners of Arizona are chock full of extremist rightwing fascists who are so tanked up on anger that, even if I were inclined to put bumper stickers on cars, I couldn’t at this time due to the potential of imbeciles to target our car in a hate crime. Hell, even driving a hybrid feels like flirting with potential risk, as who other than some lefty pansy would consider anything that won’t haul 42 tons and burn diesel?
When we leave the metropolitan area, I go on guard to stay out of the way of the white, angry, 20- to 55-year-old men driving trucks with wheels as big as my wife is tall, and conversely, when we approach cities, I’m on guard once again keeping an eye out for the maniacs driving like animals on the hunt aiming for home, where there must be a fresh lamb awaiting slaughter.
With my brain making me feel the rumblies of stress, we required a stop at Taylor Freeze in Pima in need of a treat that only one of their chocolate shakes could satisfy.