The day began by inadvertently waking up eight minutes before the alarm sounded at 7:30am (Mountain Standard Time). After a quick splash about in the tub to smooth out the feathers and shake off the bed-head-down, we were out the door at 8:04am for the first wave of looking about.

The first stop was at the Texaco some two miles from the motel. There we acquired 19 gallons of gas (or as clerk Terry called it, "fuel"), for $30.00 even; yup, about 50¢ cheaper per gallon than at home, and purchased the customary carbonated beverage for Tubby (a Dr. Pepper this time, and good grief, it's not diet).

We popped by Flora Vista with some navigational help, only to find there wasn't a whole lot (that I could find) of Flora Vista. But there was the usual Baptist Church, and the church van looked as though it could be subject to injunction from the Milk Board. Not wanting to be an accessory to another civil tort, I jumped back into the car and got out of there as fast as I could. In the escape, though, find out what to do if my donkey is in the pokey.

The next stop was Aztec, complete with a charming sign greeting you to town. The downtown was historic enough (here and here). The mysterious thing was the UFO Symposium that was taking place this weekend. Upon closer inspection, though, it appeared to be something more of a flea market than anything else, but honestly, I didn't venture too much further than the door. I did, though, venture promptly to Highway 550 and wander off.

What this is about, I don't know. But I'm guessing that anyone who goes to church on Sunday is angering god, God, their god, or the God. Alas, if you've any worries, I'd suggest getting in touch with the folks in the know, the folks who paid for the advertisement.

After failing to find anything of Cedar Hill, we stumped into Bloomfield about 9:24am. The town isn't very large, overly fascinating, or much else. But they do have a number of oil refinery types of places, including one for Conoco stations. Figuring there wasn't going to be much to find on the main street (which we found was largely businesses for sale or closed, we wandered into a residential area. The houses we passed were Salmon Park, where we saw a brunette doing jumping jacks, or something like that. I thought she may have been playing with an infant, but after a few moments of her squatting and grabbing handfuls of sand and throwing them, it was clear she was nuts. We did manage to get a picture of her playing on the swings before we headed back to the motel for the balance of the travel party.

I wandered through Farmington while waiting for everyone else to get ready. I did find a rather charming adult diversion shop with a particular emphasis on the Lord our Savior. The Catholic Church sprung for the cash to post this billboard right outside the back of the place. As we pulled in, we passed this sign. And finally, when parking, the Mystery of the Missing Door was solved -- it's behind the white metal fence around the parking lot. Best guess -- you can hide who's shopping, and for how long. Survey results: $25 (or 2 for $48) for movies. Sheesh, I figured, no thank you... I can get 'em at Wal-Mart for $5.88 and up.

We passed through Waterflow, but aside from proving we were there by finding the post office, it was a bust. I suppose we could have ventured off of the little highway gig we were wandering along, but 64 just sounds like such a nice number and all.

So, we plowed ahead to Shiprock. 12,000 people living near, well, a big ol' rock that early settlers thought looked like a ship (surprise) amongst an otherwise flat area. Sure, it sounds dull, and practically speaking, it is. But you can see that darn rock for dang near 25 miles, from the right places along the highways leading to and from Shiprock. After wandering around town for no real purpose at all, beyond snacks at the 7-2-11 (clever name, eh?), we wandered out to Four Corners -- 50% of the focus of the trip.

After setting sail from Shiprock, we berth in Beclabito (now inside the Navajo Nation) and discover, amongst other things, nothing. The historic marker was apparently sold for scrap, which likely provided just enough money to purchase a lovely shrubbery for the yard. Alas, given the degree of landscaping, there were not enough historic signs in town to sell. The town itself was 50 cents short of a dollar.

Teec Nos Pos was the next port of call. The town itself isn't vastly fascinating, but it was the gateway to Four Corners (the only common point where four states meet together). It did have a gas station (and one of the two pumps did work) and a road-side flea market selling blankets and jewelry.

Some six minutes later, we cross into Utah, and hit the Four Corners monument a few minutes later. We began with the unofficial sign announcing the price ($3.00, not $300 as I first thought). After paying $3 for each adult and nothing for fowl, we were allowed to see the official sign. Big freakin' hoo, but we're bona fide now that we're in the Tribal Park.

I began the visit by breaking fry bread with Cassie and Rachel, and with Tubby standing at a distance. (Heaven forbid he try anything new, or for that matter, stand within 50 feet of it.) Which reminds me of how Arlene had to feed 100 hungry Indians with only 50 pieces of fry bread. It was magical, it was. By virtue that I'm not considered livestock, I was permitted into the inner sanctum of the Circle of States, where I had my picture made.

Next stop, Mexican Water. There was really nothing to this town, sans a gas station and a Budweiser can. And I'm keeping any and all references to the town's name and that beer can, to myself.

We popped into Dinnehotso, about a quarter mile off the highway. Sporting a water tower, dirt roads and an antenna, there was not too much else to look at except the buildings that all looked like government buildings, regardless of whether they were school buildings, homes, or government buildings.

Et cetera, et cetera, and we get to Kayenta. Kayenta is a good place for food, fun, friends, and dialysis. Yessir, it has a sizeable dialysis clinic, which I'm sure comes as a complete surprise, is located next to a bar-and-grill. We hit Burger King for lunch, were served by assistant manager Franklin, and I got the chicken stars and lightning bolts (which is a bit like Greek mythology, but in another, more accurate way, it's nothing like Greek mythology). Oh yea, there was also a water tower. Shock.

Because half of the fun of travel is getting there, and half of the fun is being there, and half of the fun is the people, and half of the fun is new places... yeah, I'm not a math major. So look at some scenery of the Monument Valley on this page, just because it's fun.

As we passed out the other side of the Valley, we encountered Mexican Hat, Utah. The town hosts a Swingin' Steaks place, a wide spot in the road, a Texaco station, two motels (one built into the bluff a bit), and... well, lots of ambiance. And of course, there's the question of the source of the name... but I'm guessing someone thought this rock looked like a Mexican hat.

Next stop was Bluff, Utah. In the surrounding bluffs, you could see the natural formation of arches, and apparently, if the formation occurs on both sides, time and weather eventually erode a natural arch that opens through and through. Or something... but it sounded cool. Founded on April 6, 1880 by a group of Mormon (er, LDS) settlers who came out to colonize the San Juan area, the meeting house became a cornerstone of the community as it grew. The only standing remainder of the place was the old Barton place (note the not-historic cross in front), having grown as a family from two children to eight over the years. The cars came much, much later.

We turned right and tried to get out of town, but were impeded by a gaggle of goats and sheep grazing along side, and then crossing, the road. . But that was fun, too. Inching into Montezuma Creek, Utah, we found... nothing. Bad place to be a sheep, lots of expansion opportunities along their main street, and before you could blink a second time, wham, you were out of town.

With that, the trip turned to a motel-bearing and we returned back to the sleepy place, to away the hour of -- you guessed it -- Pizza Hut. Our server, Brandi (spelled without either a heart or a star over the letter "i") was less than stellar, at one point, the only reason we got a soda refill was when Rachel politely asked about it as the malnourished hoards, er, staff, were milling about and talking idly. Accordingly, the tip was less than stellar. We were given "to-go" (take away) cups for our sodas, but found the soda was either really bad, flat, or the cups really were a kill-joy. We dumped the soda and retreated to the motel for the evening.

Go back to Day 1 | Continue on to Day 3