The Blue Ribbon Goes to US 550

Cortez couldn't have imagined he'd be remembered by this little town's name. At the crossroads of Mesa Verde and Four Corners (sort of), and the last stop before climbing seriously into the Rockies. The altitudes are deceiving though. This morning I was seven and eight thousand feet high with no mountain roads. Just New Mexico's high country mostly still occupied by the descendants of the first North Americans.

About 10 miles from New Mexico'a border the Texas landscape gave way to this, and a very subtle climb began.

The best roadway so far this trip is US 550 starting about 10 miles past Albuquerque running northwest until Farmington where conditions deteriorated, but not quite to the abysmal, low maintenance/repair standard I've found elsewhere throughout this trip on our beleaguered National System of Interstate and Defense Highways. It seems dizzyingly daft to cut taxes until we can't fix roadways (and everything else we all need). Champion of our highways, President Dwight Eisenhower, must be spinning in his grave.

Reminds me of the poem, "For want of a nail..."

For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the message was lost.
For want of a message the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

I wonder what dolt told the king to keep cutting taxes until nobody had a two-penny nail left anymore.

My pony Subaru and I keep honing our pot-hole, crumbling-roadway driving skills. Hi-Yo-Subaru! Onward!

It was a single minute's moment when Shiprock came in sight just as a dust devil danced into view...

The vistas in New Mexico are compelling, but Shiprock was special today.

This last from the restaurant window in Cortez.