Ferreting Out the Plague
AS I SWERVE OFF the exit toward the Grand Canyon corridor on AZ-64, I talk with my wife, who has called me from home, on the hands-free. We debate which would be worse: missing the birth of our firstborn or contracting the plague.
“Both could happen,” she says through Braxton-Hicks contractions.
The call drops. I pass Grand Canyon Junction, Joe’s Route 66 Hot Dogs, and the gates to Big “D” Ranch. Just before Red Lake Valley is Espee Road. The range is dew-dropped, tangy with manure. I cross a cattle guard at 27.8 miles. Before opening the gate, I stuff my pants into my socks. Like the long-sleeve shirt
