A few Wednesdays ago, heading out of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico with Karen, we drove to Las Cruces to the wonderful Nellie’s Cafe.

One of the rules of the road is to eat breakfast, and there is a happy energy at Nellie’s that translates to the food.

I ordered my pork and eggs with both red and green chile (ask for “Christmas” when asked which chile you prefer), and then we set out for the long, straight road through West Texas to Karen’s uncle’s place in San Antonio.

I have been to Austin many times, but this was my first time in San Antonio, and it was like stepping into a dream—the horse Karen’s aunt had showed that day (this is a friend walking her) had braids and matching socks,

and we went to go see the bull, our shadows tall in the intense heat of the late afternoon.

The animals weren’t overly excited to see us, but I could see why Karen loves visiting her aunt and uncle here.

One of my favorite parts of the house is the shower handle in the guest bathroom. Yes, that’s a pair of pliers (Dave, this deserves to be in your shower handle research collection), and it’s in keeping with the way Karen’s uncle and aunt roll.

Earlier, as we updated them on our driving progress in the afternoon, Karen’s uncle paraphrased a rodeo line and told us to “drive it [the highway] like we stole it.”

It’s my new mantra.

And so, when Karen related my story about learning to gator rope as a teenager, somehow, her uncle loosened up his best rope, gave me a quick refresher course, and trusted me with trying to rope his dummy steer,

helping me turn my wrist,

and finally, I roped that dummy steer, determined to drive it like I stole it from here on out…

Last three images courtesy of the lovely Karen Barbarossa.

“Blue!” Karen would say again and again as we drove through Colorado a couple Tuesdays ago, referring to the wonderful shades and shapes of the clouds of Western Colorado, the wide sky an airy tableaux too large to fit in one frame.

(Note: This is the third of eight posts on this recent road trip. You might start at the first or second post.)

We happened upon Ouray, Colorado (learning the town’s pride in being the “Switzerland of America,”)

and glimpsed the windy roads ahead of us on a spectacular drive that I navigated while Karen’s shutter clicked in documentation (I’ll link to her images later),

until we arrived in the Land of Elk and Honey (and had quite the gift shop experience with a clerk pushing whipped chokeberry honey).

Pulling into Durango after the famous Durango Diner had closed, we took their advice and crossed the tracks to another diner nearby, where Karen proceeded to carboload her veggie burger (roadtrips are all about endurance).

That afternoon we marveled at the red rock formations,

the land being watered (these might be my favorite machines for the garden),

and, in very dramatic fashion, narrowly missed being struck by lightning as the clouds lit up around us.

Dodging further electricity in New Mexico, we entered the Owl Cafe as the sun set, impressed by the wall of badges and the cafe’s alarming embrace of orange cheese product.

Welcoming the warm mineral baths of the Sierra Grande Lodge in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico that night, we rose to see the stone circle,

and cacti in the spare landscape as we took the spa’s vegan scones and headed back on the road…

Karen and I left Salt Lake City two Monday mornings ago, lighting out for the upward route from Utah into Colorado. We knew it was going to be quite a day of driving—heeding the roadtrip code of exploring detours—as I pulled over early in the day for the antlers on a garage, and then noticed the perfect address.

(Note: This is the second post of eight about this road trip. The first one is here. )

Pulling off a few hours later, somewhere in Wyoming, we found the bright lights of Broadway Cafe (maybe it was only the dazzling sun),

and Karen’s pancake quest began.

I opted for chilaquiles, and the kitchen wasn’t shy about the cheese (we were one of two occupied tables in the diner).

After a straight shot all the way across the bottom of Wyoming, we detoured at Laramie, dropping down through Fort Collins on the way to Boulder and seeing my charming friend Andrew Hyde.

Along the way, we decided to stay at a castle in Vail as neither of us had been,

and we drove into Vail that night to find a fairyland of fringed trees and alpine roofs. Pleasantly empty, we imagined how it must feel in the season—heated comforters on the beds, fireplaces dancing in the rooms, cobblestone streets busy with families.

And with the Colorado zig behind us, we woke to sunshine and crisp mountain air, and set out for the zag of Grand Junction and Durango, with all the exciting twisty roads in between, and the electric energy of New Mexico…

Last Sunday I returned to Brooklyn after a few months in Santa Cruz, and I traveled back in my favorite mode: a circuitous roadtrip. (This is the first post of eight, one for each day of the trip.)

Leaving San Jose on August 1st in the quiet of 5 a.m., I took my friend Matt’s advice and stopped at Ikeda’s in Auburn, California a few hours later, looking at the morning sky and leaving the market with granola, homemade fig bars, a bagful of peaches, and a razzleberry cobbler of raspberries and marionberries.

On into Nevada, I passed Reno and went on to Winnemucca, smiling at the retro lettering on the Sundance Casino,

and then the rows of classic cars at their Sunday afternoon town festival (sadly, Chico’s Formal Attire shop behind this car wasn’t open).

I found Nevada full of strangenesses—faded painted letters in Elko advertised “neon,”

while a nearby cleaners I would happily patronize had letters that seemed more likely to light up.

I crossed the border into Utah and a lighter brightness as the roadside began to shimmer at the Bonneville salt flats. One of the most beautiful drives I’ve ever taken, the afternoon light and the whiteness of the salt flats drew me down the highway,

and toward the great Salt Lake as I raced to pick my friend Karen up from the Salt Lake City airport on time—in an amazing gift of time and trust, Karen had only booked her flight two days before as I finalized the first day of the route.

Into hilly Salt Lake City we drove, staying at a historic b&b and sampling mole at the excellent Red Iguana. I sipped Devastator Double Bock Wasatch beer (seemed appropriate) and we caught up, talking about the days ahead,

and driving out early on Monday morning, we passed the Temple spires on our way to Colorado where we would end up staying in a castle…

Last night, I finally journeyed out to Flushing for noteworthy Chinese food with new friends, starting the night with Qingdao at M & T 美而特 Restaurant.

We were fortunate to have Tricia Wang in our party; besides being an incredibly enthusiastic champion of certain dishes, she made sure (in Mandarin) that we ordered the freshest dishes, like the squid below (the point here is texture).

The rest of the table—

next to Tricia, the Mustachioed Man of Mystery Ben, then Kathy, who is a choreographer and professor, her husband Steve, a writer of wit, and Kevin, who coordinated the dinner—was open to every menu suggestion, almost sparring with chopsticks to try all of it as we poured TsingTao beer (it’s the yearly festival of this beer from the same area as the food).

We heard how just yesterday morning, a television crew had filmed the restaurant scrambling eggs with clams (this is a wonderful, simple dish) that will air in early September,

and the dishes kept arriving:

this pork head one became the table’s favorite,

the Ma Po Tofu that Ben ordered went almost as quickly,

I liked the sauce on the braised cabbage,

and Tricia showed us the best way to eat Qingdao pasta with special sauce (“very special,” we were told),

the noodles of shaped jelly stirred into vegetables around the sauce.

Tricia ordered one of her favorites, Chinese chives—which is a crunchy vegetable rather than an herb, (and one I plan to cook with more often, especially for the traditional eggs with Chinese chives.)

And as Ben and Kevin continued to regale us with stories, Steve seconded the idea to continue on, so Tricia led us to Imperial Palace for their sticky rice with crab.

We filmed some of our fun with the Lazy Susan on the table that I’ll link to later when it’s posted.

Extracting meat from the claws, we all agreed this was a Cantonese dish worth traveling to an outer borough for:

We were the last table at Imperial Palace, and before they started turning off the chandeliers, Kathy explained Steve’s shirt—

This is how great Friday nights go, with friends old and new, shared plates, sartorial explanations, and tellings of games, code words, and historical triumphs…