Oh no, our bonding trip has done what it was supposed to. Here, on the last day of our road trip through a small corner of the Southwest, I’m really enjoying my time with Jessica. We are on our way down this road to make a proper visit to Monument Valley.

Into the park we go on a perfectly beautiful day.

Our visit is brief as we are traveling a little more than 300 miles back to Phoenix this morning.

Jessica jumps for joy, believing she survived the trip.

Those sheep are carrying away the remains of my kid. I suppose the joke would have been funnier had they been goats.

Like all trips from the Wise family, it ain’t done until we get home.

The Hubbell Trading Post National Historic Site felt like a good place for just one more thing.

Oh, but wait, if we turn west instead of continuing south, we can visit the Hopi Reservation. By the way, if you look at a map, you’ll already know I’m zigzagging, as the trading post shouldn’t have been on our route home.

I figured that if Jessica was enjoying herself in the discovery of these remote locations, I should take advantage of our time out here and share as much as possible.

One last photo near where our trip really got underway near the Petrified Forest was taken in the Painted Desert while still on the Navajo Reservation.

The day after the end of this wonderful trip and trying to capture every minute we could before her departure for naval basic training in Chicago, we headed over to a local art theater in Scottsdale for an opening day screening of Fahrenheit 911 by Michael Moore. Little did I know that Jessica had arranged for her father to break his neck to exact revenge for pushing her over the cliffside. As we walked down the left aisle, an old man was bent over on the floor. I never figured that out, so it must have been a setup. Stumbling over Grandpa, probably with her hoping I’d break my neck crashing into the seats, I ended up kicking the guy, relatively hard actually, which had him uttering a gravelly-voiced bark of “Son of a BITCH!”

Jessica and I laughed so hard I was sure we’d be asked to leave the theater. For hours afterward, we were both practicing our best imitation of the old guy cursing “Son of a BITCH!” and laughing as hard as when it happened there in the dark theater.