A Big Loop

On Friday, I grab my few packed bags--some clothes, the computer, seltzer waters---and throw them into the van. All the car camping gear had been piled in the back since Missouri. All I need is...my pillow! I run back into the house and get it.

I would have liked to leave earlier than 10:30, but I had to do car stuff. Last week, the mechanic at the oil change pointed out the uneven wear in my tires. "It could be that you're running truck tires on a minivan. The truck tires need more weight." Did the guy NOT see all the rocks in my van? When I took it to the tire shop, the tire guys told me I needed two new tires and a wheel alignment. The tires had worn oddly with huge chunks taken out of them. Last year when I bought these new tires, I refused to get the extended warranty because... well... I never have problems with tires. Until now.

So here we are. New tires and a wheel alignment. The new tires run much smoother, quieter. They're good for the minivan--road tires.

Either way, I'm on the road now...escaping the heat.

I have some vague notion about heading north, but all the way up 95 I debate on whether to go east or west. A trip west and north would put me in southern Utah...maybe Duck Creek?...for the weekend, but that would be a long drive. Besides, I'll be up in Utah soon enough to pick up the RV from my parking space at Will's.

This trip has been designated as a one-tank trip. How far could I get on half a tank of gas? (I'll use the other half tank to return.) Flagstaff is only around 200 miles, an easy 4-hour drive. If I head east, I could visit with Ruby and Albert who'd just moved there from Colorado. Ruby had sold her house in Buena Vista and determined to retire in Arizona. In the moment, Flagstaff seems like the best option. In addition, I know of some camping spaces around Flagstaff and Williams.

Instead of staying on the interstate, I get off at Kingman and take Route 66 up through Peach Springs and Seligman. Somewhere along the way, I text Ruby to let her know I'd be in Flagstaff in about two hours, which works out because she and Albert have a doctore appointment and need to do a little shopping. They said they could meet for dinner while they're out.

Low clouds hang over Flagstaff, giving everything a dark, grey cast that reminds me of storms back in the Midwest. Except here, the mountains glow green as the forested waits in expectation of rain.

We meet at Texas Roadhouse and discuss our big changes: their move and my new teaching job.

After dinner, they show me their assisted living facility, and...yowza!...it's very nice. A large complex, lodged in the ponderosa pines, the place exudes a rustic charm, but inside everything is clean, new, modern. A faint smell of chlorine from the swimming pool pervades the entry way without dominating the air. Instead, the spacious place radiates warmth with books and indigenous art lining the walls. The furniture is posh, and the caretakers at the desk watch Ruby as she shows me around. They both exude radiance. When we ask about a visitor pass, they smile and say it's not necessary. As we pass the dining rooms, I notice a reservable private dining area. Ruby tells me that sometimes they have meetings in there before pointing out where she and their friends eat their meals. "It's like a clique. They have cliques here," she says. The smell of homemade food pervades the hallway as we pass the second open door to the dining hall. Ruby's place is a ground floor unit, and she shows me the birdhouse in her back yard, her rock garden, and the ponderosa pines growing close to her patio. The inside space is small, and I notice there is no oven. "I miss baking," Ruby says. She pauses then adds, "But it's nice having someone make me whatever I want!"

When I leave, I head south to go where I've never been.

With the rain past, the setting sun casts a soft yellow over Oak Creek Canyon as I descend from the north toward the base of the canyon, which appears on my map to be Sedona. When I reach Sedona, it's already dark, but I can make out the shape of sandstone formations. The town itself is lit with Friday night nightlife, which is mostly tourists looking at each other as they move about from restaurants to shops to taverns to ice cream parlors. Sedona-at-night reminds me of a nighttime Breckenridge or Aspen: walking-friendly tourist towns with interesting and overpriced shops.

Heading west toward Prescott, only a ribbon of daylight hangs above the edge of the earth, so I look for a secure parking space for my stealthy car camping in my mom-van.

The next morning, I drive through a couple of cute small towns on the way over the mountain, but nothing prepares me for Jerome, the old mining town built on the side of the mountain. My fingers grip the wheel as I navigate the narrow town street, which is really the switchback trail up the side of the mountain. While trying to not fall off the mountain, my eyes wander toward all the brightly colored shops. None seem open, but it's seven on a Saturday morning, and I don't feel like sticking around for shopping. I've got a dirt trail to find.

Or...I'm hoping to find a dirt trail. Buena and I need to get out of the vehicle and into the cool mountain air. It's not long before a forest road to the right calls my name, and soon Buena and I are walking through the forest, listening to the stillness and occasional bird call. The morning sun rises between the big pines, which cast long shadows across the dirt road. The light falling between them catches on the dew diamonds clinging to the scrubby grasses. Buena chews on a few of these like a cow, making grubby smacking noises as she eats.

Back in the car, this drive through new-to-me territory feels good. While I'm driving, I'm not working. I'm in my zen-zone with new impressions of the world and open to new ways to connect with my life-goals and jobs.

In a few months, I'll have this teaching-middle-school thing mastered ...or semi-mastered. It's definitely going to take some time to figure out how much homework is too much, who needs to sit up front, who needs to sit next to a buddy, and how to integrate literature, spelling, grammar, writing, creative writing, and reading circles into 60-75 minutes. My stomach has been in knots all week, and I only hope I didn't bite off more than I can chew.

Soon, I'm coming down off the mountain and into the Prescott Valley. The place is nice. It kind of reminds me of parts of Colorado with the agriculture and hills. The town of Prescott has a big street fair happening, and for a moment I think about getting out and walking around, but...why? I'll just see stuff I want to buy but am too broke to afford right now. As it is, this little road trip is my splurge on myself with my last paycheck, so....yeah.

Instead, I stop at a Starbucks and get a dragon-fruit refresher. If I get x-amount of these in a certain period of time, I'll be awarded with bonus points on the Starbucks app. Free points equal free food and drinks. It's a vicious cycle, but I keep playing.

Soon, we're back on the road, and I see a place called "Wizard Rock" on the maps app. After reading the Google reviews on it, I see that it is a one-ton rock on the side of the road. It disappeared and reappeared in 2019. (You can read more about the rock here and here.)

Wizard Rock

There's actually a few places I'd like to hike in this area once the weather turns a little cooler and the rattlesnakes go away. I'll have to do a repeat of this road trip and look at things a little closer next time.

Coming down off the mountain into Congress, I'm taken with the bright red, ripe fruit of a prickly pear cactus on the side of the highway. Soon, I spy another one, and another one, and another one as I descend the winding road into Congress. Once I'm on the flat ground and can park safely, I go into the hot sun with a plastic bag, hope, and plans to pick a few of the prickly pear fruits. Their taste is much like that of a kiwi, and it will be a pleasant treat over the coming week. (Read more about prickly pear fruit here and here.)

The fruits are already so ripe that many of them have fallen off the super large cactus plants. I really wish I'd taken a picture of these plants because they're scattered all over, each one standing about 4' or 6' tall and about 5' or 8' wide. These are some healthy specimens.

I can smell the fruits as I approach the first cactus. Many of the overripe fruits have already fallen to the ground. I'm careful not to touch the pricklies as I reach to pick one. With how ripe it is, it comes off easily, and I drop it into the bag. The next fruit requires a gentle tug to remove it from the cactus. The tug shakes a section of cactus, and a few overripe fruits fall to the ground.

Back inside the minivan, I congratulate myself on successful cactus picking. Not one prickle. But, as the Good Word says: "Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall" (Proverbs 16:18, KJV). Just as I am in the process of awarding myself the Cactus-Fruit Picker of the Year trophy, the bag gets hung up on the seatbelt, propelling two little cactus fruits onto my shirt before tumbling to my lap.

I can feel the cactus stings in my chest immediately as I'm sweating, so the pores are open wide. Moving slowly and carefully, I lift the fallen cactus fruit from my lap but manage to prick my hands with the tiny needles. Meanwhile, my chest screams in pain as I put the fruits back in the bag, sealing it firmly and placing it on the floor of the van.

With the needles in my hands and fingers, I can't grip the tiny thin needles in my chest, but the ones that have fallen onto my black shirt are clearly visible, so I work at brushing those off. This, of course, results in more needles for my hands and fingers.

"I can't do this!"

Near to tears, my mind races. I think about the Dollar General I'd passed about a mile back. I think about tape. Or...better...a lint roller. Maybe the sticky part will pull out the needles.

Gripping the steering wheel with the parts of my hands that do not have needles in them, I make my way back a mile. Then, I become that person in the Dollar General. Using the product before I buy it, I stand in the laundry section, using the lint roller on my hands. A worker comes over, and I explain my situation, concluding, "This small one is only a dollar. I have more than that in my purse. I will pay for it, but I can't reach inside my purse because of the needles in my hands."

The woman sympathizes with me, saying, "No problem! Let me know if you need anything else!" Then she tells me about how all the fallen cactus fruit draws the javelinas to the area as they forage the fallen fruit. She tells me they are a nuisance...and dangerous.

With the needles mostly out of my hands, I go up to the front to pay. The guy working the front doesn't care about my story with the cactus and why the lint roller has been opened and used. He just instructs me on the cost and takes my money.

Back at the car, I get into my personal care suitcase and dig out the tweezers. Sitting in the parking lot with the air conditioning running full blast, I work for another fifteen minutes at pulling the rest of the needles from my body.

Back on the road, I savor the last part of my trip, knowing that I'll be in Parker and into familiar territory all too soon. This last part of the journey features the big suguaro cacti on the desert.

In the end, the road trip cost me about a tank and a third to do the big loop!