Our “Grand” Adventure
Ready to fly to Arizona!
It didn’t start out that grand. Just getting there was fraught with flight delays, interminable lines and flying Southwest Airlines, which, frankly, is its own special brand of hell. By the time we disembarked in Phoenix at 10 pm Sunday night, I was valiantly trying not to be irritable in front of Melina. But renting a car, guys. I just turned 50 a couple of weeks ago and drive a 12yo car; the new-fangled cars in the lot were way out of my league.
The first car we tried was something called a Neo which was electric and a non-starter, literally because we couldn’t figure out how to get it out of park after we finally got it started. Not even Melina, technologically-savvy teen that she is, could sort it out. On to a basic-looking Ford, which had no bells and whistles whatsoever. Rolled up to the checkout booth.
“No can do,” Stan the rental guy told us. “This car is on hold.”
So we drove angrily back to the queue of cars, and I picked what I should have picked out the first time: a trusty silver Honda. Felt like Old Home Week sliding into the cockpit.
But we were on our way!
There was an encounter with a javelina at our hotel the first night in Scottsdale, but even after the adrenaline rush that caused, we fell into bed and slept hard.
Our fist day in Arizona dawned beautifully, and we spent a good five minutes with our noses pressed against the hotel window marveling at the saguaros before we jumped in our trusty Honda and sped up the highway to visit a former colleague and current friend of mine, Teresa, who has a ranch north of town and three horses. We spent an hour watching Melina ride around the paddock and learn to do a spin move on Teresa’s rodeo horse Jagger. It was awesome seeing Teresa again and meeting her husband and sister and just hanging out with the mountains in the distance.
That evening, Melina and I went on a sunset Jeep ride in the desert. Our guide, Dylan, a former Marine fresh from a tour in the Middle East, drove that Jeep in the dry washes and gulches like it was a bucking bronco, and we just held on for our lives through the miles of saguaro, octatillo, prickly pear cactus and mesquite. Finally we got out to a plateau overlooking Scottsdale right about sunset, where we dismounted our ride and saw an amazing sunset.
Early the next morning, we were sore and banged up from our wild ride, but we headed north to Sedona and Flagstaff. Almost there, we decided on a whim to take a left turn and head into the hills to visit Jerome, a mining ghost town with a thriving tourist trade of shops — one was a glassblowing studio with an old geezer named Tracy Weisel. We watched him make a wine glass, and of course, I bought one. I figured I should after his hospitality.
Back in the car, we drove north to Sedona, which was packed with tourists. Melina and I argued about whether or not we should stop there. I wanted to see Cathedral Rock, and she wanted to get out of the car and shop, so we decided to do both. Cathedral Rock never happened: we got up there, and the parking was closed. So I dejectedly drove back down the mountanin and found a parking spot at a little outdoor mall area where we got ice cream and Melina bought a post card. But I got a few pictures of the rocks surrounding the town before we loaded up and headed to Flagstaff, where we spent the night.
On to the Grand Canyon the next morning in a blizzard as we creeped out of town at a sedate 35 mph. The objective was to get to the Canyon by the park opening to see if we could get ahead of the crowds. I was concerned it would be packed and no place to park to view the scenic vistas, but shockingly, the crowds were non-existent. We spent the next three hours clamboring around the rim. Melina was in awe. She would just stand there, looking out over the canyon, silent.
“Is it as good as you’d hoped?” I asked her at one point.
“Better,” she said, smiling broadly. “Better than I’d ever dreamed.”
But we had miles to go before we slept, so onward! to Page, Arizona, waaaay up there in the north, where we veered left and stopped at Horseshoe Bend. It was about a half-mile trek to the cliff overlooking the river, where we perched on the rock overlook and had a picnic of salami and pepperjack cheese on ciabatta. It was a nice break after being in the car all afternoon. athough the views from the windows during the drive up had been amazing.
The next morning, we set out east of Page for Antelope Canyon, where we got in another Jeep ride through sandy canyon washes until we saw a slot in this huge wall. Our guide, Connie, a Navajo, told us amazing stories about the history of the canyon and, well, I can only let the pictures do the talking. As much as I love the Grand Canyon, I’d seen it before. Antelope Canyon was something new that my mind had not even conceived could be so beautiful. Truly God’s work of art.
Then it was Phoenix by sundown, as we headed south and wound up our amazing trip. Whereas it had been in the 30’s and snowing in northern Arizona, in Phoenix it was a balmy 75 degrees, so when we got to our hotel, we donned our swimsuits and hit the hot tub.
Up at 2 am for another stint in travel hell. The car rental return went a lot smoother than the pick-up, and soon we were back on the plane skying back home.
It was a stupendous vacation. We had such a good time! Melina has been calling her French friends all afternoon since we got back, excitedly telling them all about the trip. I’m just smiling inside, so glad and thankful I was able to give her this gift. Only two more months of her stay, and while I’m sure we will make more memories to come, this one was One for the Ages.
