The ruins want to be with the ruins

Gallup to Flagstaff along Route 66 is breathtaking, if you know the backroads. Dystopian Americana at its finest.

Westen währt am längsten!

That’s right, chilluns. America’s least respected continental time zone is getting another unAikxpected visit. I rocked a 1 a.m.-straight-to-3 p.m. roadie to Gallup, N.M. overnight and now I can’t fall asleep. Half of that commute from Austin was spent in Cedar Park waiting for a light on the free part of 183 to turn green. They’re supposed to have working sensors that time of night, right? Another car pulled up and got similarly pissed so I stormed out of my vehicle and hit the button on the crosswalk, and yes it did take me 10 minutes to think of doing that. I don’t run red lights in Williamson County. You know how those guys are.

I can also see how I failed physical science in college because I thought snow melted when it’s 55 degrees outside. Not the case. Shows I better stick to taking advantage of bottomed-out gas prices and finding unintentionally inappropriate signs to take pictures of. I’m heading to Phoenix tomorrow for Fiesta Bowl festivities, and I promise I’ll have plenty more recounts of my trek through Northern Arizona to hand out like government cheese. I will take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints and kill nothing but a sixer or two of road sodas in the process. Loveyoubye