Ghost Town, USA

I slept at a Conoco near Flagstaff on 89 North last night. Got up early and headed out by 7 am.

Driving on 89 North, I passed ghost town after ghost town. It left an unsettled, eerie feeling. This is Navajo country. It's desert sand for miles as far as you can see; no water, no cattle, no businesses besides an occasional gas station.

On the sides of the road are Navajo arts and crafts for sale, flea market style, but they are closed; it's only 7:20 am. I passed communities of dozens of modular homes, each matching the other, and plenty of run down trailers. A single wide trailer might have ten parked vehicles outside and another ten that are junked nearby. On 160 East, I spied glittering specks in the terra cotta sand. Is it gold? No, it's broken glass and litter everywhere for miles up and down the road. It makes me sad and disappointed, but I'm not sure who or what to direct my disappointment. Poverty permeates this area, and I can only imagine all the vices and evils that accompany poverty are here as well. After watching Wind River a few years ago, a movie based on a true story of missing women in Wyoming tribal lands, my imagination runs wild. I do not stop here. I have no pictures.Læs mere