Blathr Wayne Lorentz

Every electronic road sign in Nevada: “Keep Vegas open, get your shots now!”

Every electronic road sign in Arizona: “6.8 million doses administered so far. Get yours!”

Every electronic road sign in New Mexico: “Protect your family. Get your free COVID vaccine.”

Every electronic road sign in Texas: “Buckle up for safety!”

Todayʼs coffee is the blandly named “Decaf” from Firecreek Coffee in Flagstaff.

I wonder if the curly flourishes on the label are supposed to be sarcasm quotes, because this “Decaf” hits me like a Reno-bound trucker hits a sleeping burro on U.S. 95. Maybe someoneʼs having a laugh, but this decaf is the sort of coffee that makes you want to take up smoking. Itʼll invite you to the movies, pay for extra butter on the popcorn, walk you home, give you a goodbye smooch at the door, and then never call you again. Iʼve slept better after being mugged. But I guess thatʼs OK because I like my coffee the way I like my women: unbalanced, and hopped up on goofballs.

Todayʼs coffee is Storm Chaser from Firecreek Coffee in Flagstaff.

Firecreek is a small café that was a couple of blocks away from the hotel where we stayed our first time in Flag. Itʼs a place that doesnʼt know what it wants to be. Thereʼs a stage at one end that looks spooky on nights when nobody is playing. All the tables are too far apart, making the place look deserted. The baristas were pretty hostile, because we were outsiders, and when I tried to pay with my phone they looked at me like I was from outer space. The coffee can also be described as hostile.

If a coffee can be passive aggressive, this is it. Originally, I was going to say nothing more than this was a smidge above average. But then I noticed that when I drink this stuff, I get really agitated. I think it must have a lot more caffeine than most other coffees. Many people think that decaffeinated coffee is heresy, but with my activity level, I have to switch to unleaded in the afternoon.

Storm Chaser sticks with you. I even cut back to just one cup of this in the morning, and decaf for the rest of the day, and I could still feel it. Fortunately, I like my coffee the way I like my women: aggressive and unpredictable.

Last weekʼs coffee was from Ralph Lauren. Todayʼs coffee is from Macyʼs. But not the evil Cincinnati mega retailer that ate Foleyʼs red apple for lunch. This one is Macyʼs Coffee in Flagstaff, Arizona. (Simply “Flag” to the locals.)

Macyʼs Coffee is run by a guy named Macy, and the department store chain doesnʼt seem to notice or care. Unlike Microsoft that sued a kid named Mike Rowe who registered the domain name mikerowesoft.com years ago. But thatʼs another rant.

The specific type is “Decafe Sumatra.” Why itʼs “decafe” instead of “decaf,” I donʼt know. I checked, and “decafe” is not Indonesian for decaf, so maybe Mr. Macy is just trying to be extra fancy. But thatʼs OK, because I like my coffee the way I like my women: fancy and Indonesian.

The coffee is good, as decafs go. A little better than average. Slightly smooth, but not noticeably so unless youʼre looking for it. Decafs are getting hard to find these days. A lot of the independent roasters seem to be cutting down on SKUs, so I either have to search harder or get more exercise. I think you know which option Iʼll choose.

Todayʼs coffee is Guatemala. Itʼs another selection from Old Bisbee Roasters. Like the others, itʼs not great. Youʼd think that a company would put its best stuff in the sampler pack. It seems like in this case, itʼs the leftovers.

Todayʼs coffee is Flores. Itʼs from the same sampler pack I got from Old Bisbee Roasters in Arizona. Itʼs less bad than the last one, but still not great.

I consider it average. Or maybe baseline, as in “try not to drink anything worse than this, if you can.” Itʼs like Stuckeyʼs truck stop coffee, but less watered down.

Todayʼs coffee is Brazil from Old Bisbee Roasters in Bisbee, Arizona.

Old Bisbee offers a sampler box for $32, which includes four random coffees. I went with Brazil first because I arranged the bags in alphabetical order.

Itʼs not to my taste. Itʼs kind of like Dunkinʼ trying too hard. Better than Folgerʼs crystals, but definitely below average. Avoid.

One room of a 1,400 room Anasazi complex. Thereʼs another one a mile away thatʼs 1,100 rooms; but archaeologists re-buried that one after studying it to prevent it from being damaged.

Historic graffiti inside the old Navajo County Jail.

Trading posts are still the one of the primary means of commerce and communication on the Navajo Nation. The tribal government operates some of them, but most are owned by white people, like the one Darcie is standing in front of. It's been operating since 1878.

The trading posts still exist because the companies you and I shop with aren't interested in opening stores on the reservations. Indians still actually trade jewelry, rugs, pottery, and other things for food, clothing, and even iPads at the trading posts.

They can also use money, like Darcie did.

A very small Darcie and a very big hole.

Our Navajo guide to the Hopi dinosaur beach. He was so excited to have Ann Jillian visiting his personal dinosaur field, I didnʼt have the heart to tell him that Darcie wasnʼt on Itʼs A Living. Or that Ann Jillian is 70 years old now.

Darcie is standing in front of the Bernie Sanders of geologic formations. Itʼs not The Grand Canyon. Itʼs The Pretty Pretty Pretty Pretty Pretty Good Canyon.

160 million years ago, a dinosaur gave you the finger. Here it is.

You know that adage about “Donʼt use all your film in one place?” Neither does Darcie.

Darcie said left. The map said right. Next thing you know, weʼre on Mars.

The Anasazi had all kinds of minerals from copper to aluminum to uranium out the wazoo, but never learned to make metal tools, or even arrowheads.

Here we see Darcie holding a piece of pottery she found at an abandoned Anasazi city. A few days later we learned that the Navajo believe touching Anasazi pottery shards is super duper bad luck.

There really should be a sign or something.

Almost certainly Darcie at the dinosaur field, and not Ann Jillian.

Strange. They have the same sign at my lawyerʼs office.

The shard of pottery Darcie found was painted sometime between the Battle of Hastings and the Black Death.

That doesnʼt explain why sheʼs holding it like a diseased frog.

Jerome, Arizona calls itself “Americaʼs most vertical city.”

“Americaʼs most parking-challenged city” would be more accurate.

I wasnʼt worried until I read the sign.

You might be in a college town if…

I shall lay my head here tonight. And then, never again.

I really really wanted to rescue Darcie from inside the cigarette vending machine, but I was fresh out of quarters.

The Tiny Church of the Mother Road claims to be the worldʼs smallest church.

I bet the people who take off right after Communion still think nobody notices them leave.

A neon gem down a dark side street. Every 1940ʼs film approves.

Good thing this TV has a remote. Because of you walk too close, the plug falls out of the wall.

This isnʼt the worst hotel TV we came across during this trip, but at least now Darcie appreciates the way that I dress the cables at home.

The real urban outfitters.

Meanwhile, in the lobby of the La Posada Hotel…

I wonder what a “Human” icon would look like, if snakes could make signs.

If the menʼs room has mood lighting, you might be in an Arizona state park. Or a Hungarian disco. One or the other.

For Millennials, itʼs not just a home; itʼs a hate crime.

Iʼm pretty sure thatʼs a no parking zone.

Thatʼs a teepee, not a wigwam. A surprisingly roomy and warm teepee.

Still, you donʼt have to ask me twice! I shall lay my head here tonight. Again.

Getting Darcie to leave the hotel was like trying to pull a six-year-old out of Disneyland.

You know the drill.

Tonight, Darcie and I shall sleep in a concrete teepee. Somehow, the Desert Truckster looks even more out of place than usual.

Today I learned that my Hasselblad has a sunrise mode. Who needs Photoshop?

Mitchell Mesa at sunrise looks like a Apple wallpaper.

Because not every reservation is on the same time, and because Arizona is permanently on standard time, you change time zones five times driving from Holbrook to Monument Valley.

Darcieʼs watch gave up.

Snow on the San Francisco range overnight.

A peaceful creek on the Apache Nation. The Anasazi lived in the caves above the creek until the 1400ʼs, then they disappeared. Nobody knows why for sure. It was turned into an X-Files episode, where the tribe left the Earth with the help of aliens.

This is the view from John Wayne Point. A sign reads

Yes, thereʼs a gift shop. Yes, it has an entire John Wayne section.

If it doesnʼt rain where you live, rain on vacation is entertaining, not annoying. Or at least thatʼs the lie I keep telling myself.

You can sometimes salvage a bad weather photography day by going black-and-white.

Worst. Souvenir. Ever.

Weʼve never been to a reservation with a McDonaldʼs. But the big ones all seem to have Burger Kings.

Hogan sweet hogan.

Selfie. 1930ʼs style.

A tart made from local piñon pine nuts. Very good, but awkward to eat because the great big pine nuts roll off the itty bitty forklet.

Darcie was a little startled when the waiter asked her to pick a knife for her steak.

Perhaps it was because he told her, “Choose your weapon.” I shit you not.

Dinner at a Navajo steakhouse. As you can see around her neck, Darcie decided to bring coal to Newcastle.

Evening approaches on the Navajo reservation.

“I think the store across the street has public toilets,” said the local jokester.

This place has everything! Except bathrooms.

Darcie and I have been assured this hotel is not haunted. Which is a shame, because Minnie Pearlʼs ghost would feel right at home.

Today we travel from Williams to Sonoma. Which means that Darcie has to buy me a gourmet frying pan. Itʼs the law.

Welcome to Santa Claus, Arizona. Amazingly this isnʼt the first abandoned theme park Darcieʼs sniffed out in the desert. But if youʼre interested, the entire town, including the remains of the theme park, is for sale.

America still exists. Itʼs just not evenly distributed.

Thank you. Sorry I knocked over that big brochure stand in the lobby.

Meanwhile in Williams, Arizona…

Every ore has its cart.

I guess the Navajo Nation is going to buy back Arizona one $350 beer at a time.