Noqkwivi is tapkiqwnova, a Hopi specialty entrée. White corn hominy and tender lamb stew served with blue corn frybread.
My new acquaintance, Vernon, led me 22 miles from the Navajo reservation onto Hopi lands. I had been “invited” by my other new friend, Andi, a beautiful Navajo woman. I met her at the McDonald’s in Winona that morning – as often happens – in the ladies’ room. She had asked me where I was from, and I told her, “actually my car for now – until I find my place”. She was absolutely beautiful. Tall, thin, and stately, with her hair neatly combed back in a clip, Navajo jewelry, beautiful skin, nice jeans, and a colorful scarf around her neck. She took a pause, and I could tell she was thinking something. Then she wished me safe travels and left the bathroom.
Outside as I was packing up my car for the day’s trip, wondering which route to take and where I’d camp, she approached. “That’s a nice bed you have in your car,” she remarked. She told me she was on “transport”, using her Jeep to take people from the Navajo reservation, where she lives, to their doctor appointments. “It gives me a chance to come to town for a cup of coffee, and meet people. I like people,” she explained. “And you have nice curtains.” She asked where I was headed. I told her I didn’t know.
That was the opening. She insisted I head north on Highway 87 (not 89) and stay at the Navajo reservation, where she lives, or the Hopi reservation. “Navajo are good people. Hopi are good people,” she said. “You can sleep there.” I asked for more detail. “Will I be welcome on the reservations? I sleep in my car. Would I just pull off the road?” “You can wait and follow me,” she offered. “But it will be a while. I have to wait for these people to have their doctor appointments.” We exchanged phone numbers, and she said she would find me – also that T-Mobile was “all over here”, so we would be in touch. I took her photo and promised not to post it online. She said she was shy about cameras.
I decided I probably should head on, since I didn’t like to show up to camp at a late time of the day, which I later thought might have been a missed opportunity. After gassing up and procuring ice for my cooler I swung back to McDonald’s hoping she would still be there. Yes, I would go with her. No silver jeep.
Well, I thought, maybe she will find me later. I took her advice and headed north on 87, using my phone’s mis-navigation, which told me the Hopi reservation was about an hour ahead, and then the Navajo another half hour after that. When I thought I might be in Hopi lands, I saw Vernon on a turnout taking a photo and turned off to ask him, “Excuse me – how will I know that I’ve reached the Hopi reservation?” I asked. He was young, and not tall, so I thought he may be Hopi himself. “No, this is Navajo. You’ve been on Navajo lands since 5 miles out of Winona. You need to go another 22 miles to Second Mesa, and that’s where the Hopi reservation starts.” We chatted a bit. He was ¾ Navajo, and married to an Apache woman. I told him I had dated an Apache but he was kind of crazy. He smiled and said, “She is crazy too. That’s why I’m so crazy about her.”
Then Vernon offered to drive ahead and lead me to the Hopi Cultural Center. Great! (No photos allowed inside, or I would have!)
When we arrived, he flashed his brake lights and I turned in to the parking lot, then he swung back around to chat some more. I told him I wasn’t sure about stopping so soon in the day, and maybe would head up to Moab or over to Canyon de Chelly, which I remembered was on Navajo lands. He assured me that I would be totally welcome to sleep there and not to worry. After going through my map and suggesting various routes to my optional stops, we said goodbye. “Just a minute”, and he reached inside his car to retrieve something. “Since you’re traveling alone and all.” He handed me a sheathed knife. I opened my door and retrieved my survival knife—my one solid weapon, handed it to him. “Can you use this?” He smiled. “It’s a good trade,” I added.
We both smiled and nodded. Then one last suggestion: “Have yourself a nice lunch before you go. The food here is good. Try the hominy with blue fry bread.”
Here I sit, belly full. It was very, very good. Andi got in touch by text. We’ll meet again soon.
I was up at 5am, excited to get out while it was dark to the Tower and catch a few shots of sunrise. I knew this would be last chance before leaving, and didn’t mind freezing in the wind for 45 minutes before sunrise. I got to be the first person there, and the best shots came before the sun actually rose.
On my way back down from the Angel’s landing trail, I intersected a rapt audience sitting on a flat rock overlooking a beautiful Zion vista, listening to Ranger Ray’s presentation on the “most rare bird in the world”: the California Condor. I always love these ranger programs, as they open my eyes to all kinds of information I wouldn’t have thought to seek out otherwise. After RR’s talk, I had a conversation with him that led to my mentioning that I wished I had brought along a copy of Abbey’s Monkey Wrench Gang. “Oh! We sell Abbey’s books here!” was his response. “Just stop in the museum or the Lodge gift shop and you’ll probably find it.”
This was the fourth night I’ve used the WM lot in four months on the road, and I am truly grateful. As a PR professional, I am impressed at this welcoming of travelers in cars and RVs—certainly the best PR campaign since Avis’ “We Try Harder”, New Belgium Brewing’s “Tour de Fat”, and Progressive Insurance’s beloved character-rep, Flo. I have learned to appreciate parking next to or in-between the largest RVs that create a nice shadow from the lights. Take Dutch Star here, for example.