Sedona daytrip

Today I journeyed to Sedona. The weather being perfect, the truck being friendly, and the radio station playing good songs, I considered making the 100 more mile trek to the Grand Canyon, since I want to see it so badly. Of course, the truck had none of this. The thing needs a name, cause it definitely has a personality. I get maybe a mile past the Sedona exit, and all of a sudden it downshifts and slows down to about 40 miles an hour. So I pump the gas, which sometimes works, and the vehicle bucked a little, and then I smelled burning rubber. Shit. I got to the shoulder, which fortunately is a heck of a lot wider on 17 than it is on 89A, and puttered there around 35mph, which is all it would go before revving and growling and pissing at me. So I stopped for a moment and let it breathe. Figuring anger wasn’t the best route, I patted it nicely and started it back up again. Gently accelerating, I worked it up to 50—the speed limit was 75, the truck’s given max speed 85—and got to the next exit. Having gotten its way, the truck proceeded to take me very nicely into Sedona.
I guess I can’t fault the truck too much, because Sedona was one of the prettiest places I’ve ever seen. Dust by the side of the road turns red, and then all of a sudden the tan, green-scrub covered trees show red streaks, and then the trees get sparser, and all of a sudden red rock formations start popping up into the blue sky everywhere. It was amazing. So beautiful, I didn’t even mind that the map didn’t mark the difference between 89S and 89N, so I headed for about 10 miles in the “wrong” direction, thus traversing more of the forested area and seeing gorgeous red rolling mountains spread out from the rather gently (compared to last week) winding road.
But finally I got on path, and drove some down Dry Creek Rd, which takes you back into the barer mountains, where trail heads dot the sides of the road (unmarked, slyly enough) and mountains stand there to be climbed. Perusing the newspaper listing climbs, I found one that was not only recommended, a good distance, and the “strenuous” level, but also on a road I recognized from being on. Bear Mountain. I don’t know how, but somehow I pulled right into the correct trailhead. Score for navigation skills…luck…whatever…
Bear Mountain was a sort of rectangular-looking tower of rock, rising like a rhombus out of a hilly incline. The trails aren’t blazed, you just go where the apparently obvious trail leads. Of course, obvious is relative, given that the mountain is rocky, so it’s not like you’re winding through trees and when the undergrowth gets thicker, you know you may be heading off in the wrong direction. Instead, you avoid the prickly pear and the yucca plants, and hope you’re following the correct bare path of rock. My only major sidetrack was up a wash, where I went straight instead of turning right. After doing some all-four-appendages climbing, ducking under a giant cactus, and turning to find myself clutching a sloping side of the mountain that, while not exactly a prepicice over drop off or anything, looked like it would hurt to slide down, I deduced that I was not on the correct part of the trail. Since “strenuous” hadn’t actually been modified to also mean “dangerous,” I decided there was probably another way to the summit. I crabwalked back down the wash, got back onto the path, and proceeded to the summit, where buzzards cawed and circled, riding the updrafts over the mountains and the valley.
To the right were more tall rock formations, rising past a rock ledge that jutted out like a cliff around some lower winding mountains. To the left were other rock formations, before the whole canyon opened up and it was green valley floor—green being the hardy cactuses, small shrubs, and wiry grass that grew. The floor was traversed by red cracks where the dry earth had opened up, like a giant piece of clay fired too long in the kiln, glazed first with crackly green porcelain color. The sky couldn’t have been more blue. Too bad I’m not a painter, I just wanted to draw and paint as I sat up there and watched the few white clouds move behind the rock towers, darkening the rocks over which they passed from red to maroon and gray.
Then it was time for the descent, less exciting than the climb, but with even more beautiful views. Of course my camera died about ¾ of the way up, but it was enough to just watch the sights change with the descent. An easy, pretty drive home, and then a yummy Arby’s dinner to finish off the day (couldn’t resist their curly fries) and then to find that crazy Chris, co manager of the dog side of things here, was fired and so I should be on the watch for an angry rampage, although that was unlikely and people would be there to prevent it just in case.

Best day off yet