I wanted to stay longer at the gas station/trading post/casino and enjoy Nickie's parking space, but I kept moving.
|Almost as good as stealing a parking space.|
A friend told me this is A Duck. NOW I see it!
A fat, happy duck. What a lucky duck! I wonder if she gets tired of the show.
A Mary Colter building at Desert View. This is near the eastern edge of the park, near the border of the Navajo nation.
Having your picture taken under the bell is reported to bring good luck. I don't need no stinkin' luck! But, I don't turn it down, either.
I've been thinking of a name for the New Mexico cabin. Like Cold Comfort Farm, or Tara. I wonder if Ms. Colter would object to me borrowing this name. It feels right. I could go ahead and do it, and if she minds she'll let me know.
I wasn't crazy about the idea of driving back down 64/180 in the dark, but it was that or sleeping on 64/180 with the elk. I saw two carcasses in broad daylight that reminded me to stay alert. They had been killed by elk. [SOUTH RIM-SHOT!]
There's a thing that should have a name. You're nervously driving at night on a lonely, two-lane, elk-strewn highway. The speed limit is 65 mph, but no way in Elk you're going to do 65.
You get behind someone else who is not going to do 65, and he has his brights on, managing the occasional oncoming car and large ungulate. It feels comfy. Reassuring. He's doing the heavy-lifting of holding up impatient elk-proof traffic, and you just draft behind him. Someone comes up behind you, you shrug. I'd go WAY faster than this, but that guy! Everyone gives you a pass when they pass.
That was the guy behind me for the last 50 miles. Hat tip, Dude, for at least keeping your brights off. It was fun getting to know you. I was happy to realize that when I made Elk Impact, there would be another human who knew about it. And an elk. I think we bonded a little.