 We took our time, and I'm sure
the coilers were a hundred miles ahead. Coming out, we
both looked like Kenny from South Park, bundled up
with hoods tight. But for the first time since bed, we
were happy and warm. Kicked it west down 40 heading
for Gallup. So far we'd been over 1,000 miles from
Memphis without turning. Gotta love I-40. We passed
about 800 casinos. Seems every individual indian has
his or her own casino. Strange. I'm Greek. Think I
could open up my own casino. The Romans oppressed me.
Stole my land, etc. But I digress. At this time, Jason
and I scale the continental divide. On top, we refuel,
and Jason bundles into his sleeping bag. We head for
Gallup. A while later, we arrive in Gallup and make
our last Wally World stop. This time, for camping
supplies. Got a call from the gang already. They were
eating lunch in Cortez, CO. We were just leaving
Gallup. Told them to go on. That by the force, we
would make it.
Later, we purchased a case of oil at
the Pep Boys and we went on our way. Bumba still
running like a champ, though the altitude had begun to
take effect on the available power. I couldn't imagine
I had more than 80 of the 100 or so HPs available. A
blower woulda been nice on this journey! The remainder
of the trip to Cortez was through Indian land, and
Jason and I did our best to upset the natives at every
chance, though not deliberately. We drank a few beers
and played our music loud. At one point, we stopped to
take one of our many pee breaks, when a couple of
drunk indians came up. We got them to take our picture
in front of a really cool rock formation. In return,
we gave them some Dr. Thunder that I had purchased for
the sole purpose of dumping out the fluid and
stringing it behind my lead singer's car after he got
married. Somehow a few had survived. Sounds like a
fair trade as I was out of wampum and Jim Beam at the
time. With a bit of a buzz on, and a couple of cool
shots behind us, Jason and I make way for Cortez.
Finally, we pull up as the twilight is setting in. I
told him we had to go right to Golden Corral, the
giant barfitorium buffet. And it was grand. People
looked at us kinda funny. Two blue suited,
wind-scarred men riding in a vehicle with no doors and
a tire on the hood. But we refueled, drank coffee, and
headed for the homestretch.
Moab was just a couple of
hours away. I guess it was the altitude or the lack of
sun or the wind. But whatever it was, it became
blisteringly cold. We had no more Wally Worlds, and
nothing else to put on. Just us vs. the elements. But
as all good toolmakers do all the way back to
Australopithecus we fashioned a system out of the
defroster tubes. Jason piled into his sleeping bag and
ran a vent into the bag, thus creating the world's
first gasoline-powered sleeping bag. I think we can
sell it on the web site--what do you think Mark? If I
ever face hell, I'm sure it will be a lot like the
trip from Cortez into Moab, albeit in reverse. Cold.
Like sitting in a mixed drink. And the small output
from the shin burner heater just wasn't cutting it.
But we survived, and finally pulled up to the campsite
in Moab where no one was there. A call revealed that
everyone was drinking beer at the Moab brewery. Well
never one to turn down a beer, we meet everyone in the
parking lot. Three cheers! Bumba had made it to Moab!
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Day Three - Albuquerque, NM.