Mesa Verde was worth the ten bucks - take it from a guy who knows the value of a tenner. Take it from a guy who likes to make rice. Mesa Verde? Don't think twice.
I won't go into a history lesson, but I got a good one - take it from a guy who is well versed in shrugging.
After leaving the park, we headed south along smaller roads. All of the roads here are relatively small. Take it from the guy who dealt us legal pot in Durango. His statistic was that Durango has one of the biggest populations of anywhere so distant from any interstate. I don't have hard numbers, but the area is tucked away. This is clear on any map.
We continued south into Arizona. We entered Navajo territory, where the landscape becomes wide in all directions, and cows and horses go wherever they want. Cattle guards span every side road, and the mini marts do not have beer. Dust blows. Trailers and cobbled structures dot the desert; placed as though at random - intriguing but uninviting. The gas station featured a pump with no credit card slot. I do not know why every roof is covered in tires.
The land was vast, and I tired of driving. I slogged the end of our wine, as Kristin took a pull at the wheel. So much space, and we ended up sleeping in a dirt lot adjacent to a Burger King. Local dogs roamed leashless, with no owners in sight. The same was true at the last Burger King, an hour up the road. We were not traveling in circles, but it was late, and it was time to sleep.