We rolled into Tombstone on the 9:30 stage from Rapid City. We could
tell from the looks on their faces that the locals didn't like our
fancy clothes, or our big city ways. Now, we didn't come lookin' fer
trouble, but trouble found us. And trouble, she rides a fast horse...
We planned on doin' our business and high-tailin' it outta town, but the
locals had other ideas. They stood idly by while we took pictures of
their dead at the infamous Boot Hill Graveyard.
They pretended to look
the other way as we strutted down the wooden walkways where Wyatt Earp
once walked. They even kept their cool while Lars made fun 
of one of
their fallen heroes, a local prostitute named Big Nose Kate.
But when
the Severed Head appeared on the hallowed ground of the OK Corral (where
the Earps, Doc Holiday, and the Clantons fought their famous battle for
the soul of Tombstone), they had finally had enough. They began to move
in for the kill. Here you can see six of them coming over to investigate.
And here you can see them dragging the body behind them (having discovered
it moments later.) Within seconds, we found ourselves in the bloodiest
gun battle this town had ever seen! We kept low and ran along the street
under a hail of ferocious gunfire. Hot lead and razor-sharp splinters of
wood filled the air, the screams of the wounded and dying the only thing we
could hear over the ear-shattering ballistic barrage. We returned fire as
best we could, but our Colts, powerful though they are, were no match for
shotguns and Winchester Repeaters.
Out of desperation more than anything else, and wounded in the shoulder, my
thoughts reduced to nothing but the purest survival instincts, I dove
behind a rickety old carriage for cover. But when I turned around to look
for Mike, he was gone. I feared the worst. Suddenly, I spun around and
found myself face-to-face with half a dozen of the toughest hombres I'd
ever run afoul of. Twelve six-shooters came up level with my heart. One
of the banditos, I couldn't tell which, because they had bandanas over their
mouths said, in a gravely voice I'll take with me to my grave, "Son, you just
made the last mistake a yer young life." I closed my eyes and waited for the
final blow. I heard a shot, but felt no searing pain in my chest. When I
heard the second shot, I knew it was coming from behind me and opened my eyes
just in time to see one of the desperados' heads disappear in a spray of pink
mist, and I fervently hoped it was the one who'd spoken to me. 
I turned to
see who it was who had commuted my death sentence. It was Schwartz! And he
had The Law on his side. A split second later, I once again found myself in
the middle of one hellacious nightmare of crossfire. Mike and the Earps
cleaned those fellers out lickety-split, and all six of 'em lay dead on the
ground before the first echoes of gunfire began to fade away. All I could do
was pull myself up off the dusty ground, pick up my spent peacemaker and tip
my hat to my saviors. With a handshake and a "watch yerselves pahdners,"
Earp and his boys were gone, swallowed up by the mists of legend once again.
And Schwartz and I were free to go on our merry way.
After Tombstone, we were back on the road again. We didn't hit the Interstate
until almost 11:30, so we were really feeling like we were running behind
schedule. We left Arizona and moved into New Mexico in the early afternoon
(though we were zoning and missed the sign). Surprisingly little to see in
New Mexico, though we did stop to fill one of your requests (Dave loaned us
a book on roadside kitsch and wanted a picture of something from the book,
with the book in the foreground. 
So Dave…here you go. A picture of THE
THING? Just for you.) After THE THING? We decided we wanted to see Steins
Ghost Town. Of course, Lars was trying to get around a couple of trucks and
missed the exit, so we wound up backtracking a few miles (after stopping so
Lars could take care of some paper work.) Steins grew up around a railroad
granite mine in the late 1800's. But when the railroad was completed, the
mine was no longer needed, and so the settlers headed off to other jobs,
taking most of the wood they used to build their houses with them. Years
later, some transients moved into one of the remaining buildings and
accidentally set it on fire. 
What remained after that, eventually came to
be owned by a crazy hermit who would chase tourists away with a shotgun or
something. But, fortunately, nut-boy finally agreed to sell the place, to
some people who turned out to be much more reasonable, but who, I'm sad to
say, probably got the short end of the deal no matter how little they paid
for it. The nice lady behind the counter even
let Lars staple his business card on the wall. On the way out of "town" we
stopped to pet Bob, their pet burro, who came all the way out of his barn to
hang with us. He was very nice and even agreed to pose for some pictures.
Then it was on to Texas, after about 130 mind- and butt-numbing miles of
New Mexico. At the Texas border crossing, we stopped to stretch our legs
and… 
Mike took over the driving duties. See? One thing you notice pretty
quickly about this country when you drive across it, is that there's a lot
of it, and most of it is pretty dull. You'll start making excuses to take
pictures of anything. 
The Mexican Border for instance, even when it's over
a mile away! At 5:18 pm, we crossed into the Central Time zone and lost
the second of the three hours we will give up along the way, making it 6:18
all of a sudden-like (which was good because, frankly, I was starting to
wonder why the hell it was getting dark so early. And besides, I didn't
think I could wait much longer for dinnertime to arrive.) A few minutes
later, we pulled over in Van Horn, Texas to track down some dinner. Now,
I know I said we were going to start looking for healthier alternatives
for meals, but a quick look at Mike's handy "What kinds of amenities are
available at every single goddamn exit in the U.S. of A." book, showed we
were a good 200 miles from anything that didn't serve even its salads fried.
So we chose Pizza Hut, figuring, ya know…cheese…milk…dairy…that's good for
us right?
Well, Pizza Hut turned out to be a bad idea. We don't know exactly what the
problem was, but of all the things we ordered, the only one that came the way
we ordered it was my cup of coffee. Our waitress brought Mike Iced Tea instead of
Diet Pepsi, brought us the wrong crust style, and got our toppings all screwed up.
But being that we were in a hurry, we ate it anyway, then took the check to the
manager and asked her to take some money off the bill, which she did. We were so
annoyed that we lost our appetite for Dairy Queen and just decided to get back on
the road. 
Unfortunately, due to bad signs, we got trapped on a road that would
only give us access to I-10 West, so we had to drive seven miles to the first exit
we could find, then backtrack. 
The exit was more like a dirt road with two really
small, creepy tunnels leading us under the Interstate and back to the other side.
And that's when the C.H.U.D's came at us.
Having survived a day full of brushes with death, we are happy to be in our 33 dollar
Motel 6 bedroom in Fort Stockton, Texas, on the verge of passing out.
See you to--zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
And now. . . Silliness.
Hey, don't worry; I've got a meniscus to work with!
Here's the INS border crossing we had to go through... in the middle of Arizona!
Lars, if you drive any faster, we're gonna go back in time.
