I then drove west on Highway 64, arriving around sundown in Shiprock on the Navajo Nation. I was hungry, but nothing was open because of the holiday. My only choice was a convenience store, so I bought some snacks there and parked in the empty parking lot of a neighboring shopping center to eat. I saw a guy wandering around, but didn't think too much about his presence. After eating, I got out of the car to throw my trash away, still not worrying about the lurking stranger.
As I walked back to the car, I heard footsteps behind me. He didn't say anything until I made it back to the car. I was opening the door when he tried to start a conversation. He was young-looking in the way he dressed, but I remember that his face aged him prematurely.
I don't know how long I humored him with my attention. But it didn't take him long to say, "You're very good looking." Uh-oh. Now I knew what he was after. And he probably looked a little rough around the edges because he had been turning tricks. Hell, I'd look that way too if I was a male prostitute.
The car door was already open, so I sat down to make my getaway. He then made his final pitch, asking, "Do you want to...?" I slammed the door, started the car, drove south down what was then known as Highway 666, and spent the evening in Winslow, Arizona. The following morning I was at the Grand Canyon, a world away from that parking lot encounter.
***
By comparison, Thanksgiving 2008 was tame. I went for a run this morning. I ran close to 10 miles. My runs since leaving Juneau had been a bit sluggish, but I felt great this morning. I would have gone further, but needed to get home and cleaned up. Black Dog did spot me when I made the turn onto Omaha Street. She accompanied me back up to the building.
Sandy had invited me to his mother's house for Thanksgiving dinner. Well, I'd actually call it lunch since we ate at noon. There were about a dozen of his family members there. The food was great and consisted of the typical holiday fare (turkey and ham!).
The only downside of the afternoon was when the little boy began choking. It was pretty scary there for a moment. He was able to cough up whatever had gotten lodged before throwing up a couple times on the kitchen floor, the second time just a few feet away from me. I was worried the sight would make me want to barf too, but his vomit was surprisingly odor-free. One of the other family members was afraid of that as well, so she stepped outside for a bit. Another said, "Something like this happens every Thanksgiving." Let me tell you, nothing says Thanksgiving like the Heimlich Maneuver.
The boy was fine though. In fact, later in the afternoon, he found a piece of rope and wanted me to drag him across the floor like a wayward calf. I guess that's what ranch kids do for fun around these parts. I felt like a cowboy! His aunt later scolded him for playing with the rope in the house. I got off scot-free.
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