Devil's Highway

Funny, I felt a little . . . err, off driving down highway 491 toward Shiprock today. Thought maybe it was just the current lack of a warm body over 60 pounds in my bed, but turns out, I was driving The Devil's Highway — Hwy 491, formally known as route 666. Supposedly one of the worst, accident prone highways in the Southwest (though truth be told, that probably has more to do with the fact that the bulk of the highway cuts through several large reservations). New Mexico and Arizona residents and the res hated it, so they pushed to rename it, and rename it they did. But there's still a wasteland of crash memorials and crosses along the roadside, and that's a little creepy. So I don't know — maybe the devil still gets his way.

Also, about Hwy 191 (which intersects 491), well . . . what's with all the dog roadkill? And in odd states of rigor mortis. I passed at least three dogs frozen on their sides in the road, as though still standing in the back of a big 'ole pickup truck waggling their goofy tongues in the breeze. One of them, a big bulldog, had his paws straight out in front of him and his mouth open wide as if he were just running down the road after a rabbit, then froze up on the spot and fell on his side in the roadway. More creepy. Actually, that sort of popped the creepy meter, I'd say.

Next, down 600 hundred very steep feet we climbed to the bottom of Canyon De Chelly. And yes, back up again (like what comes up must go down only backwards). And yes it was hot, near 90 degrees. And yes, at least one of my small children complained allll theee waaayyy (but usually in tandem). It was a stunning site. But I'm pretty sure I'm temporarily insane.

Ode of the day: To Cortez, Colorado. Where for some bizarre reason, I was very pretty. Prettier then in Minnesota, and about as pretty as in LA (except it's in the middle of nowhere, which makes pretty more like a novelty and less passe). Oh and the town's neat too, as long as you don't stay at the Rodeaway.