Three Days in the Forest - part 1

Yes, out of the forsaken dirt and into some greenery! I did not want to return. I liked staying in Heaven. Although I'm sure I have no business being there... only if it's like being a pewmember in Mrs Moon's Church of Batshit Crazy.

The story begins with J putting on the masks for the boys, who like to road trip with their gates down so they can get lots of air, while they nod their heads and flap their lips at passers by. They are quite the stooges!

Cat, too, anxiously wondered aloud where we were going, and was wandering about the truck. She has been quite the traveler, tho reluctantly so, but the more comfortable her surroundings the less she complains - and so we arrange her bed, litter box, food, and water to be available at all times.

And so two hours later, we arrived at the horse motel in Flagstaff, to drop the boys off at the babysitter's in order to have full peace of mind that they, too, would be enjoying a temperate holiday, in good care, without the worry of stepping thru fences, or overturning water, or an unscheduled interlude with Gracie the Mojave Green Rattlesnake.

We then headed south on 89A to our campsite on the outskirts of Sedona. It just so happened that J had camped there before and gotten along swimmingly with the camp hostess, who remembered him immediately when we drove up, tho alas, it's tiny number of sites were all taken. It was the July 4 weekend, after all - but the hostess has a way of doing favors for her favorite campers. And so we awaited a phone call, hoping for good news for the next night. In the meantime, we went further into Sedona and booked a motel room, deposited Cat and belongings inside, and went for our first hike to the aptly named Coffeepot Rock.

The weather said 40% chance of T-storms, but the beautiful cumulus just stayed puffy and white, looking gorgeous and offering some shade in the two hours we journeyed around in Red Rock Country. The elevation is already near 6000 feet (dropping over a thousand from being in Flagstaff) but we nearly made that up again, climbing up to and around the ridge. Here is J, and our old Army buddy of the same name, J 2. Yes, the rock and dirt really IS that red.















Here is one of the awesome structures of the ridges up there, a weather-beaten-carved formation.




I then looked across from us, and saw the puffy cumulus had taken on some heaviness. There was lightning, close, and booming thunder - we all knew the dangers of getting caught in desert flash floods, so we high-tailed it down the side of the ridge and out to the road, just in time to feel the first of the drops. The big, plump, wetter-than-possible drops of warm summer rain.


The walk back on the road took over half an hour, and the red water hurried down the side of the road, as if it were the blood of the earth. We were more than drenched by the time we reached the truck. But then we decided to drive back up the hill and see the effects of our downpour. Rivulets, and outright waterfalls, off the mesas and ridges, like you see here:











We drove back, amazed, refreshed, and giddy from the altitude. Wet like rats, we hit the shower back at the motel, renewed and baptized in the running red life of the Holy Mother.