In winter, 1990, I bought a 1957 El Camino in Greeley, Colorado. A semester’s sabbatical allowed me to drive it through western states and photograph. Desert spaces in winter, empty of travelers, were like visual wind. I saw Navajo roadside stands, magnets for summer tourists, as stark outposts, contemporary ruins. When civilization (us) tours the home of the savage (them), facts are gaffed from their element and processed according to our needs. Some become pictures and some are preserved in frames for our admiration. All, though, are supportive of marvelous tales, told till true.