Old Glory Number 2s
We arrived at Old Glory, a small, dusty windswept town, to be met with this view:
Old Glory in all its Glory
Pretty cool, right? And this gave Sarah an idea. We would send our folks something home. We set up the tripod and camera on timer, unpacked the Walmart printer, and made a little photo... it was fun! It got slightly more complicated when we tried to buy envelopes and post our handiwork. The young girl in the Post Office (old building below, new one not quite so photogenic, on the other side of the road!) didn't know how to sell envelopes, nor send them abroad. She had to phone-a-friend, and then sent us 10 miles down the road to Aspermont, and the main Post Office (staffed by real adults). While I was in there, one of the ladies from the local chamber of commerce explained where the name Old Glory came from. Apparently the town was originally called New Brandenburg when it was settled by ze Germans, who then (smartly) changed the name of their town, at the outbreak of the First World War, to 'Old Glory' so to illustrate their patriotism towards their new home.
The Old Old Glory Post Office
Aspermont was a bigger town (maybe seven people lived there), and we met four of them in a very friendly soda parlour! (The other three in the Post Office). We also asked directions from this guy who was mesmerising; he looked and sounded like Colin Powell or Morgan Freeman, but with bright blue eyes and a big fat cigar. What a voice!
We got back on the road, and headed for the city of Hobbiton, and our emergency full-service stop. We (I say I) tried to take a few short-cuts on the way. On one, as navigator, my driver refused to go any further. I said 'Turn left here!", and then Sarah stopped. Why? Because there was this sign at the entrance to the road:
Poisonous gases to poison their asses
Sarah rebelled completely, and we swapped drivers (I turned around :)...) and we took the longer, but only marginally less poisonous route.
Not much good to say about Hobbs - (no Hobbits, nor wizards), nor the Zia RV Park (the pool was cold and dirty... the site barren and the staff non-existent), and I spent my time filling and swilling the black tank - indeed it was blocked, but my persistence ultimately overcame the resistant sticky ones with a satisfying gurgle and belch, like a satiated cave troll - though plenty to say about the drive the next morning, on our way again to Roswell. What a landscape.