Most of our driving was on the service roads paralleling Interstate 40. Kyle and I knew where we were landing today—Holbrook, Arizona, home to the Wigwam Motel, one of only 7 Wigwam Villages in the United States. Holbrook’s teepees are known as #6. We made a few turn-offs into Indian souvenir stands, but I was more in a hurry to get to the motel than spend our time on the road, and Kyle just wanted to get the hell off the road.
Once we were settled in, Kyle took off to look at more of Holbrook, and explore the desert, while I took photos and walked the area around the motel. This was the second most remote I had felt (second only to our stop in Sullivan, Missouri). Even the wind wasn’t there to comfort me. I eventually hid in my motel room with the television off and the white noise of the air conditioning trying to help me nap.
It didn’t work.
Instead, I stayed awake writing notes and reading ahead in our road trip books—what more lay on the Mother Road? When Kyle came back to the room it was dinner time, so we walked over to The Butterfield Stage Company Steak House, where we ate in partial silence. That is, until I finally told Kyle what his problem was. And then he told me mine.
We both had deep, quiet sleeps under our wigwam in the chilled air of the Arizona night.