It's a beautiful night on the western edge of Arizona.  We decided to stop short of Las Vegas in Dolan Springs at an exceedingly cute camper called Broken Arrow.  This is one of our stops without wifi and, while I have the opportunity to catch up on these journals, you all won't be able to read them until we're safely in Wawona.  Which you're doing now.  So hello to myself in the future at Wawona -- and hello to you, I suppose from the past.  Writing in-time is pretty awkward, which is why I probably shouldn't acknowledge it.

There's a surprisingly comfortable couch outside and I wanted to write for a bit under a joshua tree, under the stars.  I walked out and settled in while Carrie took a "pre-sleep" nap in the camper.  And then I started reading about scorpions -- did you know that they're avid and capable climbers? -- and now I'm back in the small camper holding on to the fiction that we're quite safe and that the seals around the door are extra sealed.

After two long days and after-dark arrivals, Carrie and I decided to drive more or less straight from Albuquerque to Dolan Springs -- about seven hours.  We start our drives each day with an extremely holy ritual, which reminds me that I should mention:

"500 Miles" by the Proclaimers listen count:  4.

The secret is to listen through to the following track until it just begins the dun dun dun dunna dunna dun dun so as to feel connected continuously through the Proclaimers' earnest warbling as it exists through time, and space, and our flickering souls.  You may have thought that our coming marriage was the common thread that we pull through each of our days' experience, but I must beg to differ.  Carrie is much less enthusiastic about this idea than I am, but I'm slowly warming her up to the call-and-response duh duh luh dah sung throughout.  The secret, if you listen closely near the end, is the elongated beginning duuuuh in the final call.  It's important to get this right.

I know, also, that the song is officially titled "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" in case you were rushing to point that out to me.  I don't -- as a true-to-the-heart fan might say -- care.

Uh, anyway. It was a bright and beautiful morning when we set out from Casa Canoncito in Albuquerque.  Carrie soothed her stomach with oats and the almost-always-effective distraction of birds.

We were about thirty minutes into our journey when Bryan, our incredibly kind Albuquerque host, messaged to let us know that we'd forgotten a titanium spork (this is a real thing that we own) in their sink.  Bryan offered to mail it ahead to us, but we figured the timing wouldn't work too well and donated it to their household instead.  Fortunately there's an REI in Flagstaff and we figured we'd drop by, and so set out on the highway.

"In 1000 feet, merge onto highway 40.  Continue for four hundred sixty miles."  Thanks for the heads-up on what we're doing today, map robot.

Although I don't really want to live in the southwest -- and for more reasons than the threat of glow-under-blacklight (so terrifying!) scorpions -- I love the scenery as we're driving.

Flagstaff was neat; we purchased a new titanium spork for backpack eating, bought a loaf of Dave's Killer Bread for on-the-road sandwiches (review:  good sandwich bread, but killer?  I may be showing my colors as a bread snob when I say "no."), and met a woman that grew up in Downer's Grove.  It may be a small world, but our time in the car is indicating otherwise to Carrie and I.

It was still light out as Carrie and I trundled in to Dolan Springs.  A sign on the side of the road advised to keep on the lookout for "loose cows" in the road.  Shortly after, the Rugged Prius began emitting a familiar scraping noise.  I should mention at this point that between Chicago streets' speed humps and our sometimes inattention while driving quickly over Chicago streets' speed humps, our car's undercarriage was in rough shape.  There's a large plastic shield down there that is currently held on with a collection of zip-ties.

This would mark the second time in our trip that we had to cut off a section of the plastic that had dipped too low.  And so with a collection of loose cows looking onward, I got down in the dust with our small pocket knife and sawed off another bit of the car.

We were grateful to arrive at Broken Arrow with plenty of light left and enjoyed an evening that was several times longer, and many times more relaxing, than the fall-into-bed-fall-out-of-bed-into-the-car nights we'd enjoyed for the past few nights.  The desert is gorgeous, and the stars are gorgeous, and the scorpions are terrifying.  I'm watching you, tiny terrorbugs.