Motels Only Gonzo 1-- Ground Rules

Maps have been made, the destinations, the stops, the days, the loose plan of the motels only road trip.  Ground rules discussed.  No farting near each other, easy frequent stops, side roads, back roads, discussion topics, at least 1000 miles of driving for each of us, tolerance of occasional bouts of silence, music responsibilities, trash food inevitabilities, all chill, and the like.  Canyons, sites, places, spots, with a Vegas twist in the middle.  Motels only, must be in name of the stationary, the match boxes, the neon.  Motels, baby!  That's the way we rolling.  8 days, 2700 miles, 5 places to call home for the night:

1.  Texas Panhandle, check out Caprock and Palo Duro.  Away from Amarillo, away from Lubbock.  Those places have been seen, they are known.  Those places been forgot.  None of that.  One night.

2.  Sweet Santa Fe, in the mountains, the Rockies.  Oldest continuous civic area in America, or so its debated anyway.  Old, cultured, art destination.  Will hobo it through the city, then go see Bohemian Rapsody at the late show theater.  One night.

3.  Grand Canyon, the scar of the west.  Long heard of, long photographed, never seen, never felt, never smelt.  Full day, perhaps bikes, hope to see the sun go down, then come up.  The Canon camera will be focused in, the building of the photographer's never-ending portfolio.  Two nights.

4.  Las Vegas, hit the switch!  Blind our eyes, wake our senses, sleep when we can.  Old strip suggested for motels.  Rat pack smells, when cigarettes were cool.  Bugsy and his mobsters, roll the dice.  Make a cowboy bet.  The Zeke Army is alive.  See the Bellagio Water Show.  See the seedy, then scram.  Walk the Hoover Dam.  Two nights.

5.  Albuquerque, going back east, the long drive, washed out, tired.  Survival and joy.  The city colored in browns, the city of balloons, the city by the mountains, seen in its entirety, all at once.  Museums.  One night.

Then back to the home fires burning, missing our honey's, missing our homies, missing our life.  The desolation drive, the speeding, the speed traps, the smell of western Amarillo.  Much to remember, to now know.  Texas, with open arms, missed, but continuing.  We are 2 of 7.5 billion.  For now.  My youngest daughter and I.  That's the loose plan.