I had an easy day, after the exertions of the day before. It really is cold here when the sun isn’t on your back, but Flagstaff is a great little city. I got out for a run then wandered through the centre, amazed that there really aren’t any chains here, all pushed out onto the ring road (historic Route 66), leaving new age and oddball shops to populate the centre. There’s a small mall, with a chocolatiers and strange paraphernalia shop, the latter selling genuinely funny signs and magnets along with art I’d be happy to have on my wall, costumes and all sorts of ephemera.
If it weren’t for the cold, I might be moving here tomorrow, though I’m not sure my body is good at adjusting to altitude. That said, the US expertise at making craft beers pervades the town centre, so I’m sure the pubs and bars are cosy on a cold evening. The German, Johan, to whom I chatted all evening was similarly keen on the place. He is finishing an MBA in Texas while also working as assistant track coach. He’s just a 2:31 marathon runner, so only went to watch the NCAA athletic championships rather than compete. He was headed for the canyon, I for the bus the next day, so we said goodnight with a ‘maybe see you here next year’.
Reading: Bart Yasso, My Life on the Run.