The Royal Motor Inn

So, yesterday, I did something I've been looking forward to for many weeks now. The Spring 2009 Middle America Roadies launched from San Diego on our journey to the amber waves of grain in the midwest. It was amazing how many tears were shed between people who have only known each other for a month, not wanting to leave each other. We took off by the side of the Deep South team, because we were all going to stay with Gabe's grandparents.

As we were driving through Yuma, Arizona, however, the toad had an idea of its own. The Deep South's van's oil gauge dropped to zero and they were stranded on the side of a desert road. We pulled over behind them to see if we could help. As we began to realize that it was a major problem and that it was nearing midnight and that we had slept about 8 hours in the past two nights, we decided we would have to have the van towed to a motel down the interstate a few exits.

We first went to the Quality Inn for some amount of quality that wouldn't break the bank. They were, however, filled up, so we found the Royal Motor Inn of Yuma, Arizona. I have honestly never experienced anything quite so shady in all of my life. I'm pretty sure Norman Bates himself was running the motel. He wasn't terribly happy to see us for some reason, but apparently every other patron of the Inn was, as they shamelessly stared out their respective windows at the sight of two large black vans reading "Invisible Children" on the sides and back.

We were also curiously surrounded by people just sitting in their turned-off cars. We were also told the next day that this motel is the place in Yuma where lots of shady business occurs, if you understand what I'm saying. As we entered the room, we were greeted by a pile of toenail clippings. They were kindly placed next to a lovely chair, accented by blood stains. We weren't given soap or shampoo either, which is very trivial when compared to the blood and clippings, but it's the principle of the matter.

As my teammates carefully placed their sleeping bags on top of the beds, I took the plunge and dove beneath the blankets. I know, I shouldn't have, but I was seriously exhausted. I also forgot to mention that this motel was connected to the "Burrito King", which hosts over 400 farmers every morning at about 5:00 AM. Directly behind the motel is a trailer park.

We are currently on the road and almost out of Arizona. Even between there and here, we have experienced a few missed exits on the highway, an Italian feast in the van, and a short but sweet reunion with the Mountain West team. We also named our van. His name is Dillenberg Fuentes. The Dillenberg is in honor of Margie, and the Fuentes is in honor or Heather's random request that his last name be Fuentes.

We are about to drive straight through the entire night to try and get to Oklahoma City by morning. We are currently outside of Flagstaff and it is 9:00. Prayers and caffeine are my friend. The gas light also just turned on. Gotta go.

Keep Your Eyes Open,
Brandon