You Can Hear the Whistle Blow...

The boys got back home in time from their dad's to have a late Easter egg hunt in the yard...

Next Easter, Kingston will be able to toddle around after his own Easter eggs.

Oddly, this was one of the last ones found.

It was tough saying goodbye and driving down I-15 toward Arizona. I miss them.

Had to play some raucous music to bolster my spirits. Funky Town helped some as did James Brown; then, along came Johnny Cash and Folsom Prison Blues. Then, Willie singing Good Morning, America How Are Ya' and Orange Blossom Special, but then came...Pete Seeger's Guantanamera, and before I knew it the shuffle had me into The Kingston Trio's...

Lord, I'm one

Lord, I'm two

Lord, I'm three

Lord, I'm four

Lord, I'm five hundred miles away from home...

I changed plan to avoid the monotonous, boring route via shiny, tinny Las Vegas, and zoomed along US 89 toward Flagstaff with mostly a tailwind along the edge of the Vermillion Cliffs, and the strange rock formations and escarpments emerging from the floor of the high desert.

My pony and I slid into Flagstaff by late afternoon, and for old time's sake I got us a stay at the Motel Du Beau Youth Hostel in downtown Flag just a short walk to dinner.

On Old Route 66 where I've stayed many other times during events in Flag.
And, no, they don't mind if you're an old lady...
...and, they have the best wifi I've found among my motel selections.

My pony Subaru hitched up outside my door.
Private room, private bath.

Only a block from Union Pacific tracks.

A hundred miles, a hundred miles, a hundred miles, a hundred miles, you can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles...