Motels Only Gonzo 4 -- Such Fine Sites To See

Hitchhiking is not dead in the west.  Several hitchers were seen on the wide open highways of New Mexico and Arizona, the familiar thumbs up as they walked along, headed to Califonia we figured.  We sped by all of them, primarily in the left lane of the interstate, where the pedal is put to the metal.  Surprisingly, two thumbs up to the vast majority of truckers out there in America.  The known ethic of letting speeders through the left lane is alive and well among them.  And we were speeders for sure.

Turned up the tunes for the long drive to the Grand Canyon.  Cosmic Chimp, Bob Schneider, Miguel, and Supersuckers, among others.  Some Dude Named Amos' version  of Jive Talkin' was a highlight, the wails at the end shook the car.  New Mexican town after New Mexican town, til Arizona.  Along the way passing exits for The Meteor Crater, The Petrified Forest, and Winslow, Arizona.  Such fine sites to see, but we were headed to Flagstaff, no time for stopping, no time for standing on corners.  The late afternoon sun blazed our eyes as the entire western horizon faded on the left and right.  The Navajo Nation, where gas was $3.29 a gallon.

Rolled into Flagstaff around 5 pm, then headed north to get close to the Grand Canyon for the morning view.  Surprised by the mountain feel of the town, everything just changes quickly.  The late afternoon dusky drive to the Grand Canyon area was 75 miles on a curvy one lane road.  It was truly beautiful, the clear sky fading to night, a crescent moon hovering.  Darkness fell midway and we worried a bit about finding a motel.  We kept on to Tusayan, 7 miles from the Canyon, an unending stream of cars passing us, coming from the Canyon, probably after taking in the sunset view.  Like an evacuation of some sort, the line of headlights went on and on, all going south as we went north.  When we arrived, several motels seemed available and we decided on the 7 Mile Motel, advertised as friendly, clean, and cozy.  And so it was.  The front desk lady was inquisitive and helpful, offering Grand Canyon advice freely and unsolicited.  Room 10 was very clean, and our chills were cured by the coziness.  Outside, the air was 30 degrees and the wind was brisk.  We settled in.

A Pizza Hut Supreme Pan Pizza hit the spot, and we shared a few sips of wine.  Then a few more.  Lil' Wayne was on Saturday Night Live, featuring Halsey on backup vocals.  Kinda spare, honestly.  My daughter agreed.  Our calmness turned to sleep quickly and we dozed off, anticipating the next day's grand appointment.

Motels Only Gonzo 3 -- Memory Metal

My daughter assured me when the gas gauge says zip, we still had 25 miles left in the tank.  I hoped she was right as we drove west to Roswell, NM from the Texas line.  No gas for 90 miles and the range indicator on her Toyota indicated 70 miles left.  We rode in on fumes, gased up, and were about to begin the northern journey to Santa Fe when we saw the International UFO Muesem.  We stopped.  The town has embraced its notoriety, begun when a flying saucer crashed near the place in 1947.  As the story goes, a massive U.S. government cover-up cleaned up the debris field, including massive amounts of a "memory metal".  The mueseum is dedicated to the truth of the incident and does a complete job of making the case.  The alien in the flying saucer, along with all evidence, was taken to Area 51 in Nevada.  All witnesses were silenced, paid-off, or came up missing.  Perhaps, but it could have been a weather balloon.  Either way, stores and restaurants and even office buildings featured the familiar oval, green, big-eyed creature prominately.  Got a few guitar pics for my band, a sticker, and a key chain for my daughter.  Then we headed north, wondering aloud what it meant if it were all true.

The drive north was fast, averaging about 95 MPH, and hitting 110 for stretches.  Santa Fe awaited and we were looking forward to exploring the ancient city we had never visited.  As we got closer, we noticed the houses in the hills.  All over, big, little, nice, dumpy, tan.  Adobe.  Camouflaged.  The town sits on the edge of the Rockies and its twisting, small roads give the whole place an incredible charm.  With plenty of daylight left, we found the old district, parked our car, and went exploring on foot.

True to its reputation, Santa Fe is an artist haven, especially downtown.  Expensive shops, open markets, musicians, incredible beauty, incredible colors.  We walked all around:  Into the Lorrtto Chapel to see the Miraculous Staircase, through the open markets to consider rings and bracelets, and requested a blues tune from a couple of buskers at the 400 year old Santa Fe Plaza.  They were outstanding and I gave them all the cash and change I had on me.  $1.83.  Nearby were two guys set up with a sign, "Pick The Topic, Will Write Poem".  Interesting, never seen that before, but I write my own poetry:

Santa Fe, Santa Fe
Unknown yesterday.
Inspired to create.
Santa Fe, Santa Fe

And the poem, or song, could go on and on along that pattern, telling of the place, the people, the art.  Describing landscapes, explaining histories, acknowledging the native Pueblo, and tracing the Spanish Conquest of 1598.  The Conquistadors.  The Church.  The good, the bad, the ugly.

After a few hours of taking in the crisp air, incredible fall colors, and sharing a small lunch of fried calimari at the San Francisco Street Grill, we got in our car and went looking for a motel.  Earlier, accommodations in the heart of the city were quickly abandoned when we inquired on room rates at a fairly nice place.  The kind with a spa and $15 dollar margaritas.  Mainly, I was curious.  The polite lady at the front desk informed us of "packages that started at $450".  I didn't even let her finish.  After a wild and wandering search at dusk, we found The Cottonwood Motel.  The adobe structure was just what we wanted, two split rooms, authentic Santa Fe construction, old and clean.  This place had seen many days and were ready for more.  Like wine, the older the better in Santa Fe.  We rested, got a bite, then went to the Violet Crown Theater in old town to see Bohemian Rhapsody.

The movie was killer, likely the best movie soundtrack ever.  The actors became the band.  Freddie Mercury and his unique ways.  His destructive ways.  His voice.  The story of Queen.  Because we are the champions, another one bites the dust, and these are the days of our lives.

Motels Only Gonzo 2 -- Crystal Palace

The lobby of the Crystal Palace Motel in Brownfield, Texas was gleaming.  White with antique chandeliers, gold painted accents, and mirrors lining every wall.  The place had the feel of a pop up carnival maze, reflections everywhere, to confuse or mislead.  The $65 dollar a night price tag seemed reasonable, especially considering our mid evening prospects for lodging were dimming, as it will in far far west Texas after the sun sets.  My daughter was game, just the kind of place we had envisioned, off the main road, old and tidy.  The nearby Holiday Inn Express was never even discussed.  That would've amounted to complete failure, especially on our first night.  We were of one mind.

Earlier, as we concieved, we left the great suburbs of Collin County with adventure in our eyes, important destinations to arrive at, and a spirit of wander.  To Las Vegas and back via the Grand Canyon and beyond Hoover Dam.  The sprawl gradually lost its grasp on our minds the further west we drove.  The worries diminished, the daily routines disregarded.  This was familiar country and I showed her familiar places, Dickens Springs, The Green Frog Diner, my 9 month tweener age home in Lubbock.  And roadkill.  Lots of roadkill.

The room was pleasant, had an early 1970s look with a flat screen.  Hot shower, two big beds, at least 5 lamps, a small crystal chandelier over a small table, and it was very quiet.  Off the main road quiet.  Finally, some down time to reflect on the day, what we saw, what we talked about.  The absurdity of modern country music lyrics and topical standards, hard lessons about relationships learned early in life, our relative good fortune, things left done, and things left undone.  Thankfulness.  Already we altered the loose plan, skipped the Texas canyons in favor of the Lubbock Loop and a more southern route to Santa Fe, our next destination.  This will take us through Roswell, NM, near the flying saucer crash of 1947, into the great wide open, rebels without a clue.

The old Indian couple that ran the motel were very accommodating and made a fresh pot of coffee for me in the morning.  Passed on the Captain Crunch.  The couch in the lobby was majestic, comfortable, and seemed completely out of place.  Sat for awhile, letting my daughter slumber back in the room, listening to sounds of morning motel work.  The man was evidently dealing with with some sort of discomfort and made a "hmmpff" noise every 15 seconds as he did paperwork at the front desk.  Perhaps his back was whacked, maybe acid reflux, after 10 minutes it was very annoying.  I finally left that couch, made up two coffees to go, and thanked them for their hospitality.

Outside it was cold.  A beanie morning, oil field workers and other people in trucks took off early.  We took our time, we plotted, we were the aliens.

Leadership Theory And Practice 4

Once we get to actions, motivations, and execution, the egosystem loses to the ecosystem.  There should be a higher purpose to aspire, consisting of objectives understood completely.  Gender is gender, proportion is of secondary concern.  Identify as presented.  Go for behaviors, crave habits, appreciate style, keep the place light hearted, keep the profits rolling, keep the lips smiling.  For years and years.

These statistics are old, they reflect old values, old insights, old ways of thinking and acting.  The transition of generations is a shining light.  Old biases, based on superficial differences, fostered by ignorance.  Defended by the ignorant.  And the stupid.  And business is no place for stupid.  Stupid goes under.

Superstars can shoot to the moon, or opt out, or fail, but maybe not.  Some type of stereo break out, the effort is most important, the product will eventually and inevitably eventualize.  Rethinking, overthinking, underthinking, do it all.  Sideways, xrays, purple haze, for days and days.  Then decide.  The acting is over, the manifestations will come.  Predictably is a shrewd game.  Strategy never ends, keep it on the front of the oven, simmer it always.  Season it reasonably, it will not burn.  We are family.  Disco does have a future.

Mother nature and father time, constant renewal.  Imitation does exist, it is the heroes we immulate.  But originality comes from the originals, the authentic, the true.  They are the nice lights.  They light the way.  Beyond knowing, understand.  Collect the motivations.  Make the bottom line carry the song, harmonize all the voices, mix the levels, break out with some jazz, then bring it back.

It's like a mint around here.  Cool and fresh.  Clean and rich.  Pass the mints around.  A true mintership initiative.

Modern Styles

EmAmDD7x3
CG

Don't owe too many too much.
Tried to give away all my trust.
Probably never make enough.
Got what I need.

Think I need more time to think.
Maybe drive to the canyon's brink.
Seems to me the peace that I seek.
Waiting for me.

CG
DCGx2

No original thoughts, no understanding anymore, this world seems lost, this world is spinning out the door.  Open your minds, create the future wild, make your minds shine, decide the modern styles.

We all got down at the get down.
At the get down we all lost our frowns.
Jump up and down and round and round.
Til we was dizzy.

Lock your eyes with the eyes of their minds.
Try to find what makes em nice and kind.
Realize the things that makes em write.
And makes em crazy.

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.

Veer West

Channeling some literary need.
For understanding and completeness.
So that it is done.
And recorded.
And saved.

An opponent with nothing to lose.
Everything being already lost.
The game is on.
Regardless.
For fun.

Music seems like math initially.
Then the soul gets involved somehow.
And it goes flying.
Like the air.
Unlimited.

Visionaries line up and declare.
Begin with the end in mind always.
Make it a trip to remember.
Veer west.
Go.