Flagstaff very well may be a decent place. But that part would be way across town from where we were. The only motel that had vacancies (that was affordable) was an averagely unkempt motor lodge that offered a free continental breakfast (bag of bread sitting next to a toaster) and a train that offered the courtesy of blowing it’s horn every 15 minutes, right across the street. (Yeah, I know it was different trains, but law of averages, that many trains come by in the middle of the night, some of them had to be the same ones)
The parking lot was not designed to turn around a moving van towing a car. Fortunately, no one parked in the spaces next to us, so we had very little trouble getting out of the parking lot.
Driving from Flagstaff to Phoenix was another matter altogether. Luckily (though not for Michael) Michael drove that leg of the trip. My leg was none-too-pleasant with all the twists and turns and hills and inclines, but somehow Michael has gotten the short straw on two of his three legs of the trip so far. Don’t get me wrong, I still complain about the crappy parts I have to drive, but his have been much worse than mine.
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