Southwest Meanderings
I’ve been on a road trip through the Southwest. The scenery is awesome—in the old-fashioned sense of the word: Magnificent. Imposing. Daunting, even.
Also daunting—somewhere around the New Mexico/Oklahoma state line was a sign advertising an establishment where you can rent guns. Hmmmm.
Contrasting with the natural beauty of the Southwest is the amount of waste generated by its hotels—especially the big chain hotels. The ones that have signs in the bathrooms saying, “This hotel and its team members are committed to helping protect the environment…” in effort to inspire patrons to reuse towels. But coffee (a morning necessity for me) involves disposable plastic pods of coffee grounds and paper cups wrapped in plastic. Breakfast consumes paper plates, Styrofoam bowls, and disposable plastic flatware. The Almighty Google assures me washing reusable dishes is better for the environment than using all this disposable stuff. So, I find the environmental claims about towels rather disingenuous.
My travel partner and I did stay in one old time Route 66 hotel that seemed less wasteful: The El Rancho, in Gallup, NM. The coffee maker in the room used paper pods—not plastic—and reusable ceramic mugs. And the place was an historic treat. Even if you don’t stay there—tour the lobby. It’s worth the trip!
As of this writing, my pal and I have traveled in six states. Only one of these is considered a swing state—Arizona. And it’s the only one where we found politics palpable.
Upon entering an Arizona supermarket, an elderly gentleman wearing a hat identifying him as a veteran, said to my pal that he hoped she would vote for Trump. When she (politely) said she won’t, he assured her that was okay, implying that the act of voting is the important thing. That’s a refreshing notion.
Upon exiting the grocery store, we found folks wrapped in Trump flags leaving literature on cars in the parking lot. We watched one couple rip up the flyer in obvious disgust.
When heading to dinner in an out-of-the-way hotel in northern Arizona, we chatted with another couple also heading to dinner (to the only restaurant in town). The conversation begins, of course, with “Where are you from?” And when it was revealed that we came from Arkansas, the gentleman mentioned Sarah Huckabee Sanders, a name which apparently causes me to reflexively grimace. The man laughed and said, “I thought you were a couple of libs.”
“Libtard and proud,” I joked. He assured me he hadn’t thought of me like that.
Turns out they were from the Pennsylvania town where Trump was shot during a rally. Conversation moved to bipartisan disenchantment about the shooting. No arguing whatsoever.
The only troubling political interaction was with the proprietor of an upscale women’s clothing boutique in Sedona. She was quite outspoken about her support for the Republican ticket but seemed rather uneducated about her party’s talking points. She’d never heard of Project 2025 and was terrorized by the thought of Democrats forcing her to drive an electric car. (She doesn’t like electric cars because they whine.) Upon learning about my liberal bent, she vehemently suggested I move to Oregon or California. (I told her I’d tried but couldn’t afford it.) And then she blamed me—ahead of time—for the wars that will happen if the Democrats win.
I left the establishment and went for a walk. My friend, more patient than I, stuck around, encouraged the woman to study the particulars of the Republican platform, and even bought some clothes. What a fine citizen she is. We should put her on the road.
Oh, wait! She is on the road.