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The diner is built in the ‘50s style but is bigger than any diner I have ever seen. It is more comparable in size to a cafeteria, with a long counter and lots of floor space. The windows face the casino - surely that is intentional - and the walls are festooned with murals of Fifties cars, waitresses on roller skates and diner kitsch of the era. It set the tone appropriately. Service was at the slower pace we had come to expect but the meal was uniquely New Mexican and well worth the wait. I almost asked if they had the off-the-menu chili I had tasted during our years in Roswell (made with leftover prime rib, coffee - ! - and no tomatoes) but I was too full from the generous portions already supplied to even contemplate another bite.


We entered pueblo country; after winding around Lagunita and Acoma pueblos, nestled amid red rock, sage and billboards alternately advertising gambling and Navajo fry bread, the road turned straight west again. We missed opportunities for more two-lane travel in that area, but once again we had to make up time so as to be in California before the womenfolk got to LAX. The sun was lowering in the sky and shadows lengthened when we arrived at the Continental Divide trading post. It was time for coffee and bargain hunting. T-shirts at 2 for $10 were just the thing. For a higher price, shirts could be had that proclaimed “Homeland Security - Fighting Terrorism since 1492” with a picture of some well-armed Indians on horseback. While I didn’t agree with the sentiment I understood what prompted it and still had to chuckle.