As we got farther west the rocks grew taller and at the Arizona line they converged toward both sides of the highway. There is a cove in the rock just at the border where Chief Yellowhorse’s progeny have set up souvenir shops. I understand there is a line painted through the middle of one of them where the store stands astride the Arizona-New Mexico border. Sales tax is not charged differently on one side or the other owing to the fact that the entire premises sit inside Navajo lands and are all taxed on that basis rather than on each state’s prevailing rate.
Then came the Painted Desert (seen, as it was, distantly from I-40) and the Petrified Forest. In some places the stone logs lay on low rises near the roadway - so heavy and so incredibly illegal to haul off. The stores all advertise petrified wood souvenirs, likely imported from other countries or at least other U.S. locales, since collecting wood inside the National Monument is not allowed.
The sun hovered at the horizon and stared mercilessly into our faces for a while as we neared the end of the drive for the day. A long while. The desert air was severe-clear and the scenes rolled by from one rise to the next, but we wished out loud that sunset would yield to twilight. Just after the last sliver of sun slipped away, we pulled into Holbrook looking for the Wigwam Village. I took the first exit (remember our new rule? I ignored it) and wandered on the east side of town, forgetting that Holbrook is built around a backwards L and we were on the wrong leg of it. Back on the interstate, we got to the last Holbrook exit and coming out from under the freeway we finally saw the semicircle of concrete tepees.
The outside of the office was tidy even if a bit careworn. The weather out there has that effect on buildings and people. But the office inside was nothing short of breathtaking. Dark wood paneling and cases full of artifacts made this more of a museum than a motel. The cost of a room would have been reasonable but we needed to get farther west so we opted to press on for Winslow as planned. On the way back to the car we took a stroll around the graveled parking lot and marveled at the derelict classic cars, one parked in front of each wigwam, petted a kitten that was either trying to make new friends - or a home - at the Village, and reluctantly got back on board for the drive to Winslow.
Finding suitable lodging in Winslow was harder than expected. The original plan was to stay at La Posada, but needing to conserve cash for the rest of the trip we opted for a bargain motel. We found that the ones that were lower priced had good reason to charge less, but finally settled on a clean and eminently adequate Super 8.
