ROAD REPORT
FRI JAN 8, 1999
PAGE, AZ

AMBUSHED BY INDIANS IN NAVAJO COUNTRY!!

It was late in the day, as we continued across our westward trail on the last legs of our crusade. The sun lowered across the desert sky, silhouetting the mesas and stone monoliths of the Monument Valley area. An eerie calm came upon us.

We were now in Indian Territory -- the Navajo Nation.

We'd heard stories of these difficult crossings of course, but having had no trouble with the natives up until now, we must have become complacent. Too complacent.

Heading straight into the huge sun on the western horizon, we were nearly blinded. And then a figure suddenly appeared out of the light, on the path before us, and heading in our direction. It didn't look friendly...

We kept our eyes straight ahead, as we crossed in the late afternoon sun. It was...the Navajo!

After we passed, we looked over our shoulder to see that the figure had turned and was now trailing us.

Without possibility of escape, we determined it was time to pull over, and -- having learned from our forefathers -- attempt to make peace with the man. It was his country after all. A confrontation was at hand.

The young Indian man who greeted us was stern, but friendly, wearing the military uniform of his tribe. We tried to reason with him, but his mission seemed set in stone. Finally, an agreement was struck, and we signed our treaty with him...A $50 speeding ticket for going 72 mph in a 65 mph zone.

A bit harsh, we thought, given the crime. But as it was his nation, and we were but visitors passing through, we accepted this agreement, signed our name to his treaty, set our Cruise Control at 65 even, and made as much haste as we could towards the Page, AZ border under a starry sky as the night turned black as coal. Finally safe back in the United States of America.

Busted...First time in 3000 miles or so...Apparently, even the ROAD REPORT -- your unimpeachable source of news from the road! -- is not above the law.

X X X X X

AMBUSHED BY PAPARAZZI ON THE SLOPES!

Clearly things have changed since ROAD REPORT headed out on the beat in late December! Readership has gone through the roof, and your humble editors have become national symbols! Where can we go to hide?

Not the Navajo Nation! And certainly not the slopes of Purgatory, CO! These photos were snapped by a very tall, very thin, blonde woman with perfectly tanned Malibu skin. She just wouldn't leave us alone.

Desi, on the lift. A good morning

Desi, on the ground. Not as good morning.

Desi & Brad, surviving just fine at the Powderhouse Restaraunt atop the slopes of Purgatory.

For the love of god, can't they just leave us alone?

X X X X X

AMBUSHING THE DAM LOCALS AT THE DAM BAR!

Forget Las Vegas and Hoover Dam! Page, Arizona and the Glen Canyon Dam on Lake Powell is the best dam town in America!

Well, that's the impression we got anyway, after dinner at the Dam Bar & Grille, a dam martini, and all the dam Fish & Chips you could eat!

The Dam Bar & Grille is a huge 80's style theme restaraunt, built like the interior of a dam, but unlike most such places, it served dam fine food and had dam friendly locals patronizing the place.

They had quite a competitive group of local NTN (National Trivia Network) players who used remote keyboards from the bar or their tables to answer questions as they came in on one of the many monitors hanging from the ceiling around the dam place.

We decided to try our own hand to settle the dam score -- the price to play being free after all! And so it was that "RREPRT" was the decisive winner two games in a row, defeating the dam regulars who play hours at a time, months in a row!

With a victory finally won today, we figured we'd mosey on back to our motel to retire and ponder the exceptionally good looking dam people of Page, AZ. A town of only 6000, but we'll be damned if almost all of them weren't dam handsome. Go figure. Go to Page.

X X X X X

SEND A LETTER TO THE EDITORS!
______________________________________
Reports are changed suddenly if truth contradicts us
(c)ROAD REPORT 1999
Not for reproduction without permission of the authors