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The VW minibus barreled along the highway north of Flagstaff, Arizona, just east of the Grand Canyon. They had been on the road for about 4 hours and the hungry, thirsty passengers were starting to squabble. Charlie, the driver, shouted out when he caught sight of a sign for a pit stop near the Hopi Indian reservation along route 160. The weary passengers eagerly agreed to the stop. “Let’s be quick though, guys,” said Charlie. “We need to hit the road again as soon as possible.” He pulled into the parking lot of the small truck stop with a squeal of brakes. The three passengers got out into the scorching July sun and hurried toward the entrance of the small café. “What the hell’s a Navajo taco?” giggled Janie. “I don’t know and I don’t care,” replied Charlie. “I’m fucking starving!”