You could spend years traveling through the Navajo canyons. The only way to successfully navigate them was with a guide, and no white man had ever been escorted into the labyrinth except strung lifeless across the back of a horse. I’d wandered in as most outsiders do: unaware of what I was doing until I was already lost.
They talked mostly of fishing, but Tony told how used rubbers sometimes floated by with the rest of the river trash. Rubbers showed up mostly on Saturday and Sunday mornings, according to Tony. There were lover’s lanes all along the banks of the Delaware. “From here to New York,” said Tony with authority. “Guys screw chicks and throw the rubbers in the water.”