Redrock Country, the Grand Canyon, and Santa Fe

Leaving Tuscson and battling traffic around Phoenix, we come at last to the Redrock County surrounding Sedona. Tucked in between red mesas and spires and deep canyons, Sedona is nothing short of spectacular, despite its tourist shops on the main drag and the fact that there is construction all up and down the street. At Lew and Patty's suggestion, we head slightly beyond to a small hotel on Oak Creek, in the canyon. We cross a suspension bridge to get there, and among the trees, there is artwork and terraced walks down to a small sandy beach.

Dinner that night is at the Cowboy Club. Sitting outside, we order wine and before our meals can come, the drilling on the street resumes, although it is 8:30 at night. The hostess jumps over the wrought iron fence in her long, flowing black skirt, and almost immediately, the drilling and dust stop.

The next day, walking Ethan in Sedona while Jim reads the paper at an outdoor coffee shop, I meet a couple from Naperville. They once went on a roadtrip that was intended for two months with a pop-up tent and four dogs. They stayed four. They came home, bought an RV, planned to stay gone for a year and stayed gone for four. Now they run a farmers market and resort in Sedona. In my current wanderlust state, I didn't need to hear that.

Sedona is the "Woo Woo Capitol" of Arizona, and by that I mean there are more Shamans, Meditation Centers, Cleansing Spa's and fortune tellers than you can shake a stick at. If you like self-realizing recreationally, and many of my friends do, this is the place for you. It's also a shopping mecca, and I'm glad Ethan is with me so that my access to stores is limited. It's also a place of stunning scenery and would be a great place to hike, so I forgive it its chi-chi-ness and its' woo-woo-ness, and if I ever seek the Godhead, whoever she is, I just might start looking here.

Sedona was packed with tour buses by the time we left, and we headed to the Grand Canyon, where the views are undeniably beautiful, particularly along the SOuth Rim, which was slightly less traveled. First we stop at the Visitor Center, where Ethan inexplicably jumps up on a large outside table display of the Canyon's geography. I guess he wanted to hike. As we leave to drive the South Rim, a tour bus of Japanese that has just disembarked flows toward us. They are many, and in strict formation, and absolutely silent. Their counterpoint is the chubby American woman standing on Canyon View overlook screaming shrilly into her cell phone, " Mom! Mom! Can you hear me? I'm at the Grand Canyon and it's AWESOME!!!" I resist pushing her over the edge.

The South Rim leads us to Cameron and the Cameron Trading Post. In the distance we can see the Painted Desert, and all along the highway are signs that claim, "Nice Indians. Good Rugs. Authentic Navajo Jewelry. Stop here. Small sheds line each scenic overview. The Navaho reservation encompasses 25,000 miles in three states, and it's dotted with small trading posts and gift shops.

The Cameron Trading Post, on the other hand, is huge. It's mobbed with the same Japanese tourists, or a group just like them, who shop silently, cameras around their necks. About the size of an old-fashioned Penney's from my childhood, it's loaded with everything from high-end lawn ornaments to home made fudge. Run by the Navajo nation, it appears to be very profitable, but it occurs to me that what the Navajos got was 25,000 square miles of beautiful scenery, but
little else.

The Trading Post has a motel but it doesn't take dogs. We drive back to Flagstaff, where some Harley riders are also staying, for 40 E-W which intersects Flagstaff runs along the old Route 66. Fast-foodMexican and a cold Dos Equis, in a restaurant to which we walk from the hotel, tastes pretty good: we're fried from the hours in the car, and Ethan is more than happy to stretch out on "his" bed in the hotel. He's become quite entitled and will probably want to know which bedroom is his when he gets home.

Folks ask us if we're road-weary, if we miss home, is we're sick of being in the car. The answer today is, no. We agree that this has just whet our appetite for travel. I think of the couple who went for four years and never went home, and I wonder.... we have driven 6000 miles thus far. The Subaru has been a champ. I highly recommend Foresters for trips like this. The four wheel drive hugs the road, the turbo gets us around lollygaggers, and for the record I haven't seen any bad drivers in Subarus.

The next day we head to Albuquerque, a long, dreary ride with lots of truck traffic, and then decide to go north to Santa Fe. I remember Santa Fe from 15 years ago, when I attended a conference there. It seemed small and quaint and chi-chi then. Now it seems congested and confusing, but we find a hotel at a good price and find the Georgia O'Keefe Museum. It has always been my heart's desire to visit the O'Keefe Museum, and we have driven four hours out of our way to do so. You can imagine my disappointment when I learn they are closed to change the galleries around. The long drive, and the disappointment, drive me to tears, the first of the trip, but Ethan cheers me up by frolicking cheerfully in a small, irrigated patch of grass, rolling joyfully in the grass and sniffing everywhere. He does not quite get desert terrain, and we've had to find greenery if he is to do is business. This morning in Flagstaff, squatting on the lawn of the Flagstaff Housing Authority building, he catches his reflection in the glass doors and goes nuts. How dare another poodle do their business in his presence!!!!

Jim has purchased a modest bottle of Champagne at Whole Foods and poured me a glass to appease me for the closed museum, so I am out to enjoy the Santa Fe sunset, which promises to be beautiful.