Sedona, Az. The day began with a wonderful breakfast at the Inn in Zuni. They serve some awesome food, including blue corn pancakes. The meal is communal, and the people who stay at Halona are always really nice. There were two men named Mark and David (new and old testament) and two women named Gert and Wilhelmina. Now those aren't old testament, just OLD! As you leave Zuni you climb through pleasant, pine forested hills and then drop down into Gallup, New Mexico, part new and upcoming and part lost in Route 66 time. I stopped at the Indian Art Plaza, Mariann Eaton's idea, and it has been closed for a month. The thread was broken. Many art sellers in Gallup are struggling mightily. So I called Marcus and he answered the phone in Michigan, I was kind of stunned. Back in January he said his Michigan show was the second weekend in April. He will be back Tuesday, I mumbled something like " I'll see what I can do about coming back". But I knew I didn't have the time or schedule to wait or come back. After hanging up I thought for awhile and decided I needed to keep moving forward and set out for Flagstaff.
As I flew west of Gallup at 80mph (still disappointed I was not going to Hopi) I decided this was the time for some real rock and roll. At moments like this there is nothing like some hard driving rock to clear the brain of any thoughts and challenge your body to withstand the onslaught. Since Chuck was no longer present to offend, it was time for Godsmack and Metallica, who have two of the best growlers in rock with a little of Beatles and Doors thrown in (thanks Josh and Renee'). Heading down the road the car was shaking but it was not just the music, the wind had really picked up from out of the south. I was seeing semi's start to weave and shudder ahead of me and as I looked forward past the desert prairie of faded yellows and sage greens, I noticed that for about 180 degrees of horizon the sky was turning a brownish red. The closer I got the more of the sky became obscured. The 40 to 50 mph sustained wind was blowing the soil thousands of feet in the air. Soon I saw a sign that said the freeway was closed at Winslow, about 55miles short of Flagstaff. Only in the desert can a major freeway be closed when it is 60 degrees and sunny. I got off at Winslow and found my two choices were a detour of about 110 miles or sit and wait. Patience not being one of my virtues, it was off to the longcut only the bad guys know.
Upon reaching Fagstaff, I immediately hit the streets with my stuff, . . . .no not that kind of stuff. I had a couple of connections from previous forays in Flag. After several polite rejections, the consensus of the shop people I know was that "The Painted Desert" was my best bet. A pleasant but wary manager looked at my stuff, and seemed to be warming to it when she stated that she can't make decisions and the owner is ill. My consensus was that the worm had turned and this was becomming a lost day. I had a connection in Sedona (hi Corinne) so I headed South. My connection was wonderful and interested but guess what? The owner is in Mexico, stressed out that she had to close one of her shops. The economy has definately intervened in my adventure. If there is one thing I have learned in 60 years it is that there are always bumps in the road and the key is not so much that you may feel bad for awhile but how you get up and keep fighting. There is always tomorrow (or maybe next year) and I still have faith. Jon