I'm up at 5 am. Morgan woke after nine hours of sleep and wanted to "park cars". My solution is simple -- the light does not exist. It is not available. If we were camping, there would be no lamp. He should not be up yet, and because he does not nap at all anymore, it is essential that he get his 11-12 hours at night. That is what a Quality Inn is for. Sleep for everyone, including teh French Canadian bikers who have been very well-behaved since 9pm.
But Tiia-Triin, ever indulgent, caved in at first. I can see her side, plus am sure the French Canadian bikers would not want to hear a baby crying in the next room. Between our inevitable argument and the sudden blinding light in my face, any chance of sleeping till seven vanished.
In the end, the light got switched off and Morgan was sleeping again by 6 am.
At this point I stole down to the motel lobby and hit the work again. I have a huge translation due for the Social Ministry, "Sex buyers speak -- the hidden side of prostitution". (This makes for interesting misunderstandings when people ask me what I am working on, by the way.)
With four hours of sleep under my own belt, today should be an interesting day on the road. The best strategy to stay awake is not to eat and drink coffee moderately all day long. Probably Tiia-Triin will drive. But the altitude of 6800 ft is somewhat invigorating here.
I would like to stop in Santa Fe today -- city of strange light, a great stop after two and a half hours and then spend the night in Vegas -- the Spanish colonial one in New Mexico of course, seeing as I would not set ifoot in the one in Nevada. I'll see what the guys are up to and how they are feeling.
We pulled out of Phoenix this morning as a cold front blew into the desert. We tried to take I-17 to Sedona and FLagstaff but there was a Saturday morning traffic jam. Seemed the Phoenicians all wanted to see the aspens changing color. So we turned around and left due east by the back door -- Shea Boulevard, which led probably 18 miles past identical looking bungalows and ranches (all of them with "river rock" as ground cover, and the occasional saguaro).
In Scottsdale the homes became swankier and more clustered, until finally the plain ended in the crumbly red rock formations that dot and surround the metro area. We entered the Tonto National Forest, which was still desert contry. As cactuses cannot be destroyed and must be replanted, I can't imagine what they log in the Tonto. We climbed gradually until we reached the Mogollon Rim. The highway scaled the wall and led onto a high piney plateau in another national forest that was actually a forest.
Temperatures will go down to 24 degrees F. tonight in Gallup, New Mexico. Staying at the Quality Inn is a gang of French-speaking bikers -- either Swiss or Canadian. They seem well-heeled but are loud, like people in a ski resort. Hopefully only two more nights in motels for us, and Amarillo will still be warm enough at nght to camp. There's no cash crunch but I would love to stay under the price of airfare and be back to old Virginny soon.