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Kicks on 66.

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(just outside of Sedona, AZ, Summer 2011)

     Back in the summer of 2011, my mom and I hit the road from Santa Fe to the Grand Canyon, making a few overnight stops along the way. She had been before, but I hardly knew the West as she did. During our trip, we had to take it easy even though the distance wasn’t bad. My mom had been diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis earlier that year, so everything we did on that trip — with the exception of a slight detour — was easygoing and relatively spontaneous (we both didn’t care for the idea of stringent agendas). It was the best road trip I’d ever taken. Everything out there was weird and wonderful, from the vibrant rock formations to the quirky roadside attractions.

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(in Flagstaff, just off Rt. 66, Summer 2011)

     Now I’ve always been drawn to pop culture Americana, so the oddball Route 66 was probably the most memorable part of the trip, even through we only drove a little ways down it in Flagstaff. I told my mom that one day, perhaps for our next trip, we would drive the western 66 route from Albuquerque to Santa Monica.

     That’s what kind of an optimist I was.

     The start of Denial.

     One day, I will make the Route 66 trip, even if I have to drive it myself. Kind of an exciting thought. Although, I would’ve loved to have done that trip with my mom.

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(Grand Canyon, Summer 2011)

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