It was very cold this morning - with icicles. Horribly cold, when it came to packing up the car, with a thin wind blowing sideways. And we were late getting off, and that meant driving for eternity into a low, blinding sun.
We decided that, for once, we'd try staying a bit further along, a bit closer to LA - so we're in the pet friendly La Quinta, in Flagstaff. Let's just say that it would be fine in an emergency, which this isn't. It has the advantage of a fridge, and a microwave (take-out eggplant parmigiana bucatoni, from Fable - very welcome) and the advantages seem to stop there. Gramsci jumped onto my shoulders to get to the top of a closet, and then said it wasn't up to his standards, either.
It's amazing how quickly one can drink a bottle of Albariño, under such circumstances (us, not Moth and Grams).
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