These are images of a myth.
Thanks to books, movies and telefilm, those of my generation have grown fascinated by the American way of life myth.
And when we finally went to the United States for the first time we had that feeling of someone who is just coming home and seeing old friends and familiar places.
The motels are part of this myth.
I had always imagined them as a good market refuge where you could spend the night during a romantic and adventurous coast-to-coast.
But when, from Boston to San Francisco, passing through Kayenta, you've seen a few hundred of them, romanticism leaves room for the usual, the déjà vu, in some cases, the squalid.
Wherever you find the same decor, the same Bible in the bed drawer, the same soap vials in the bathroom, the same sugar soda dispenser outside the room.
And you understand that it's better to stay just one night and then move on, back on the road again.