Our first stop on the Seoul Food Tour was a drag race in little rusty, dusty Murphy, AZ.

Actually, there are two Murphys. The the original one was thrown together by all these crazy ass people who came pouring in to tear up the beautiful hills and mountains nearby looking for gold in the 1800s.

That Murphy is now just a ghost town you drive through to get to the new one. It looks like an abandoned western movie set. Old clap board buildings all broke down, splintery and faded.

I was moved by all the old signs on those buildings, though. Most just said, "SALOON" or "MERCANTILE." Basic. Like the needs of the miners who came in for a hot minute to stock up before running back to those hills and mountains again.

And yet those signs made me feel the presence of all those long-gone people. Each one was like a page in a story. Like the one saloon that had added "Indians Welcome" under its name in wonky block letters.

"Get a shot of that," Ronnie said, stopping the truck to give Yoli a chance to memorialize that moment.

He was our expert driver having gone through some sort of long-haul trucking course right out of high school hoping to get away from the rez. And as Yoli took that requested picture, he just sort of sat there behind the wheel looking mad/sad.

Said, "Probably the only place they were welcome."

And then he did the Native "lip purse" thing toward a building next to that saloon and said, "Pawn shop. So they could stumble over and pawn their silver jewelry to buy more liquor. That kind the Navajo elders used to wear that nobody knows how to make anymore."

"Those Native jewelry stores still buy up all the stuff they pawn in those shops," I told him. "My aunts drove all the way down to Winslow when the Fred Harvey stores at the train depot advertised they were going out of business. They got all this silver and turquoise jewelry they'd always wanted but couldn't afford."

"Couple of my elderly aunts and uncles were hired to sit out at that station so people could take pictures," Yoli said. "People would ask them to do a rain dance for them. Called the women squaws, which is pretty much like calling somebody the 'c' word."

Ronnie woke from the faraway look in his eyes to get moving again. And to tell us, "I bought a purple heart medal set into this real nice beaded choker from a pawn shop a few years back. Tore my heart to pieces knowing somebody gave that up for a coupla shots."

"Used to be a bar in a box car, right on the border between Navajo and Winslow," Yoli said. "Probably had a safe fulla jewelry, those guys."

"A boxcar?" AJ said. His brow all frowned up. "The railroad let them have that?"

"I don't know how they got it, but boy they made a lot of money off misery, those people. It was always open and the shots were real cheap. So the hard-core drinkers would hitch rides down from the rez and stumble out onto the highway or the tracks at night and get run over."

It got so quiet behind that last bit that Ronnie went, "Lookit that Ferris wheel," like he was desperately trying to change the subject.

And we all squinted into the sun as the old main street ended and the wider and more recent paved road out to the fairgrounds opened up.

That shut us up, too. In a different way.

Stole my breath, the view of the "new" Murphy from that little two lane. It was just a cluster of more modern buildings and houses nestled against massive vermillion red mesas. With the cloudless, endless, impossibly aquamarine sky above, it was the picture postcard/Arizona Highways Magazine version of the southwest tourists pull over to take shots of.

And once a year they held this huge Frontier Days Gem Show with a massive swap meet, a pretty impressive carnival and a surprisingly famous drag race at night.

The gem show was a huge draw because you could find really rare stuff there ahead of the internationally-known one in Tucson. And the race was kind of like the big motorcycle gathering in Sturgis that has turned into a sort of Burning Man for bikers.

So an eeny little town of about a thousand people almost quadrupled in size for a week. There were even TV crews from the sports stations interviewing drivers proudly standing next to their best cars. A few of them trained cameras on our truck, too, as we roared in.

AJ put on his shades and a red bandana right quick when we saw what a stir the semi was causing. But even with his face all covered up, he got ogled up and down by all the women when he got out of the truck at the merchant check-in tent.

Yoli shook her head and said, "He's got that thang, you know? AJ."

I pulled my shades down my nose and gave her a glare. "Which thang you talkin' about exactly?"

And when she mimicked the shade thing and said, "Both," I couldn't help but laugh. But I was glad we'd decided to book a cabin outside of town and not camp out with the crowd.

Ronnie and Yoli had brought a tent and some insanely expensive sleeping bags wanting to camp out like they'd done on fishing trips back when they were courting. And we'd found some cool little inflatable mattresses they could sleep on in the trailer, too.

But Wally had recommended a place called The Pines up in the hills where it was cooler. Sweet little place hidden back behind huge, ancient looking trees and a creek with actual water flowing in it. Arizona's full of dry washes and streams and things, so running water is a prime selling point.

Yoli hopped out of the truck and ran right for the little creek in front of our cabin squealing, "Blueberries!" Like a happy little kid.

Brought us two hands full to sample and popped the leftover berries into her mouth.

"I could do some hand pies with these," I decided. "There's bushes for miles out there!"

"We'd best get to cookin', too," Yoli said. "So we can rest a little before the race."

AJ came to one-arm hug me. "I'd kinda like to check out the swap and the fairgrounds, though. I bet they're selling stuff you'll never see anywhere else."

"Lotta cameras, man," Ronnie reminded him. "And there's always a buncha Comic Con kids scowling around while their parents walk the stalls. Kind that like anime and K-pop."

I gave AJ a belly button poke. "So batter up, babe!"

And he winced and said, "She's got Dad jokes!"

But we did have prepping to do. From batters for the corn dogs and chicken to Yoli's big fat Hopi style tamales and frybread "popovers" full of red or green chili stew.

I was also going to test a spicy Korean chicken sandwich hoping it would bring 'em running in like those Popeyes ones that went all viral awhile back. And a "Korean chicken and waffles" number, too. Spicy nuggets we'd roll up in a cone made from a real waffle—AJ's idea.

We'd all come up with a little list of ways to meld AJ's flavors with old family faves. And we'd researched what could be prepared and/or frozen ahead of time. Asked Bam and Junior for tricks to get things from stove to counter quicker. They'd learned all kinds of shortcuts working in the diner.

I think having to learn all that so fast stopped me from freaking out about the future as much as I might have after I quit. I didn't have time to think. There was always something new we had to do—licensing, inspections, legal stuff on top of everything else.

You needed to know what all the states and even the counties required. Wally knew some shady dudes willing to skip a step or two—we let him work those deals.

I loved living out of that truck, though. Except for having to worry about walking to the "facilities" in the middle of the night. And having to hold it 'til we found facilities when we were on the road.

AJ said even if we'd had a bathroom, it wouldn't have been wise to use it. Bands don't even use the ones on their buses to avoid the smell.

Made sense to me. Cause if you've ever been on a train or a Greyhound type bus you know how bad that can get. Jennie's church group took one over to Laughlin every year and about midway through the whole bus smelled like an outhouse.

So, I was the designated "facilities finder." Checked my cell every morning to divvy up our road time between rest stops. And Yoli and I learned to drive in big box store parking lots and off road at night.

AJ had learned to drive those band buses so he got licensed easily. I loved how serene he looked behind the wheel. It was as if all the angst he'd come home with was totally gone.

His voice even sounded different. Softer. Warmer. Made me tingle sometimes...

But anyway, after I'd made all the stuff I could make ahead of time, I went out to pick some of those blueberries to do a little test batch of hand pies.

Cause when I'd asked for permission, the owners just shrugged and said, "Those bushes were there before we even built this place—help yourself!" So I grabbed a couple of plastic grocery bags and headed on out.

Felt good to be on my feet after hours sitting in the truck. The weather was mild too, so I didn't get all sweaty and stinky out there bending and stretching.

And I'd just stopped to sample a few berries from a bag when I saw something that almost made me drop all those blueberries.