Frost & Slickrock

Wilson's Arch

On Saturday morning, and with Larry close in tow behind the RV, we head south through Moab.

Now THIS is the time to see Moab, I surmise. It's the first time in a long time that the streets haven't been crowded with tourists and traffic. Of course, it is only 20-something degrees outside, but Moab really is a lovely town. There's quite a bit to see and do in the area.

But not today. We're on a mission to get as close to Havasu as possible.

However, a little south of Moab, I check the highway ahead of me and behind. With no traffic, I suddenly swerve over to a parking area on the east side of the highway.

When I get out of the RV and approach the minivan, Larry asks, "What are we stopping for?"

Pointing to the arch, I say, "We're going to climb it."

"Don't we have to make it to Havasu?"

"Yes, but when is the next time you'll be able to climb up to an arch?"

He sighs and unbuckles his seatbelt.

Sometimes, you've just got to stop the vehicle and climb some rocks.

Buena is happy to be out of the RV and leaps up the slick rock.

It's not too difficult, but the climbing the slickrock is a little more challenging because in some places it's hard to get a grip as the fine-grained sand works against any gription gained. In other places, the frost makes the climb slippery.

Eventually, we make it to the top and greet the sun through the open window in the rock.

"Drivin' Car!"

In 1998, Aunt Dorothy won a red sports car...a child-sized sports car. She had the prize sent to my daughter for her second Christmas. On Christmas morning, the red sports car was the first thing Victoria saw. She climbed into it and didn't want to move. Over and over, she repeated "Drivin' car! Drivin' car!" as she pretended to drive. I think she unwrapped all her Christmas presents from the seat of that car.

With Christmas approaching, the hum of the engine as the wheels hitting the pavement cause me to recall that moment as I repeat to Buena: Drivin' car! Drivin' car!

Buena looks at me, then stares back out at the road. Soon, she curls up beside me and puts her head in my lap.

Other than that quick stop at the arch, we pass through Monticello, Blanding, Bluff, Monument Valley, and Kayenta without much ado about anything.

In Tuba City, we filled the gas tanks.

Two Lucky Pennies? Not for Me!

The previous evening, I found a lucky penny on the lot at the hotel.

Now, at Tuba City, I find two pennies on the ground and stop to scoop them up.

"What are you doing?" Larry calls as he approaches the RV.

"I just found two lucky pennies!" I announce.

"I'm running inside. Do you need anything."

"Nope," I say and move to the other side of the RV to clean the windows while the tank fills with gas.

I finish washing the windows, and a man approaches me. He's an older Navajo.

"Do you have any dimes or...pennies?" he asks.

I reach into my jeans pocket. "Sure, here ya go!" I give him the two pennies. What else was there to do? Easy come, easy go.

With the gas cap securely on the tank, I strive to remember the number of gallons from the pump. I record these numbers in a record to see what kind of gas mileage I'm getting. As I'm standing beside the RV, writing in the book, Buena begins barking aggressively from the living room.

I turn around to see what's happening on the lot.

A middle-aged Navajo man with a German shepherd walks toward me. "You got a dog?" he asks, now fifteen feet away. "This here is Ganja. She's really nice. Is your dog nice? You can pet my dog if you want."

"Hey, hey!" I say, putting the pen inside the book to mark my spot. "Don't get too close! My dog's aggressive. She'll attack your dog."

"Oh, I'm sure she's fine..."

"No! Seriously!" I say, listening to Buena's growling bark. "Step back! I don't want your dog getting hurt. She'll attack."

The man backs away.

When Larry comes out, we leave Tuba City and head south for Flagstaff and--hopefully--Kingman before calling it a day.