Following the break of day, a walk around the block, breakfast at home, and finally a coffee on our way to the freeway, we leave under glorious skies for an overnight trip to Flagstaff, Arizona. We measured taking the western scenic route and the eastern scenic route and finally opted to take the middle way, which is Highway 17, a.k.a. the Black Canyon Freeway. The desert out of Phoenix was lush, which is testimony to the active monsoon season we’ve been having, but as is the story with freeways, pulling over for photos can be difficult. Passing through Camp Verde and crossing a muddy river, I jumped off the next exit to double back for a closer view of the Verde River. What this photo does not convey is the noisy chorus of grasshoppers and cicadas and the lively ballet of dragonflies and bumblebees entertaining us for a few minutes.
Unable to stick to the plan of going directly to our destination, we felt Highway 179 beckoning us to drive through Sedona before picking up Oak Creek Canyon en route to Flagstaff, so why not?
That’s Bell Rock, and if you look closely, maybe you can see the vortex streaming out of the center of the rock; well, that is if you can see it through my aura that’s spilling into the photo.
Great job, John; make fun of the kooks of Sedona and their $45 aura photographs, crystals, vortex skinny dipping, and yoga in a Pink Jeep while off-road, and it’ll rain so hard on you that you have to pull over. This may not look like a torrential downpour, but I assure you that while driving, we couldn’t see our phones anymore as we had to seriously concentrate on the wet road.
Fortunately, Caroline brought a crystal with her, so we lit some patchouli incense, put on our sandals, and smoked a joint before saying a prayer to Lord Ganesh. Before we knew it, the rains stopped, and we were able to get stuck for nearly 30 minutes waiting for backed-up traffic to pass through a one-lane restriction on the road ahead. Maybe we should have made obeisance to Jesus?
We finally arrived in Flagstaff starving as it took us over four hours to get here instead of the two hours as Google thought. I don’t know how this was Caroline’s fault, but that doesn’t begin to matter as our secret to this happy marriage is that everything is her fault, so we’ll just go with that. No matter by now either, as not only have we arrived in this mountain town, we are at Proper Meat and Provisions for lunch. Another patty melt, pastrami and green chili sandwich, along with chicharrones and we squeezed in between all the young people traveling with old people. The couple at our shared table asked if we, too, were dropping off a young college student. Nope, but this explains the high price for hotels this weekend and all the traffic on the way up.
Stuffed and I really mean stuffed, we needed to walk off some of the gluttony, but four raindrops persuaded us to dip for shelter in order to avoid melting.
Where else but a coffee shop should we hide from the tempest raging outside? Should you think I’m talking of those four raindrops, I mean the torrents of students introducing other students to the downtown area of Flagstaff, the parents, and siblings of the older brother/sister/pronoun of choice who is not even trying not to look disaffected and bored with the chaperones and all these dogs everywhere. Dogs, are they readying themselves for university, too?
No, the dogs are part of a Barks and Brews event described as a “Doggie Pub Crawl.” From a Flagstaff website:
Limited Early Bird Tickets are available for $50! Regular tickets and day-of tickets will be $60. Tickets include a souvenir tasting glass, doggie water bowl & bandanna, lanyard, and tasting pass good for two beer tastings from several local breweries, including Beaver Street, Dark Sky, Grand Canyon, Historic, Lumberyard, Mother Road, Wanderlust, and Sweetwater Brewing!
Proceeds go to charity.
That’s it; we are bailing out on the idea of spending the night. Our idea of grabbing a crap motel on the edge of town has been dashed as those places knowing a good thing when they sense it, have all raised their prices from the $55 we budgeted (yep, that’s how cheap we can be) to the sky-high price of almost $100.
But now we know that Oak Creek Canyon is not an option to go home, and the 17 South is under construction and limited to one lane, so we’ll be trying the Lake Mary Road, wondering what shenanigans the gods of karmic charm have in store for us.
There we were, packing up to make our way to the car, when some god or other smote us for talking of their potential wrath and opened the sky with a downpour. Not four little drops this time, we’re talking soaked before we ever get a dozen feet away from the front door of Late for the Train Coffee Shop, that’s the place name of where we’ve been sitting, sipping, sewing, and writing.
Under a light drizzle, thunder and lightning, and even a faint rainbow, we got to our car and bailed out of Flagstaff, leaving the dark clouds behind us.
But this being a John and Caroline adventure, we had to stop and smell the sunflowers. Caroline even grabbed a handful to bring home with us, and while this is jumping ahead, they didn’t look good by the time we got there, but by morning, they’d sprung back to life and brought smiles to our faces, so that was wonderful.
That’s Flagstaff out in the center of this photo, and while I might be sharing too many photos that are slightly different with the sunlit grasses, bits of blue sky, and heavy dark clouds pouring out rain, we were so enchanted by the contrasts that I couldn’t help but take a few.
Speaking of smiling faces.
Squint, and you might see the sliver of Mormon Lake that appears to be quickly disappearing.
While hints of monsoon were always nearby, we made it to Payson, where we stopped for dinner as we knew we’d not be back in Phoenix before 8:00, and being the old people we are now, eating that late doesn’t much work very well for us. Strange thing, this aging process, and while we’re not even 60 yet, we’ve heard plenty from the 70- and 80-year-olds how we’re still young, but to our 20- to 40-year-old selves, we grow ever more familiar with the changes that come with adding on the days, months, and years that move us closer to old. I’d bet a dollar when we are sitting here lamenting the changes of having reached 75 that some nearby 90-year-old will tell us just how young we still are, which means I think we should just keep looking to the clouds and smiling.
