The Great Arizona Disaster, Part 2
October 21st, 2007
Please refer to Part 1 for additional exposition.
On Saturday morning I awoke to find myself in a strange cabin next to a seriously dead dog (in powder form).
“Not again,” I thought. Not again.
Tom was already stirring about the cabin, so I joined him. We steeled our respective resolves, secured the cabin, and then set out for the next stage of our journey: Sedona.
Sedona is a strange and magical land filled with amazing vistas and weird people. One of the most scenic places I have ever seen, Sedona has some of the finest rocks, stones, buttes, and hills in the world. There in its outstretched arms made of bright red rock, I saw the world’s only turquoise McDonald’s arches. The turquoise arches stood as a grand artistic statement, expertly toying with expectations and foolish presuppositions. Even the familiar was alien here. I must confess I felt somewhat afraid, but too excited to turn back.
Apparently there are a number of vortices in Sedona: strange truck stops along the spiritual highway where you can buy the new age idiot equivalent of ephedra, beef jerky, and t-shirts depicting stoic eagles posing in front of American flags. Thankfully these evil harmonic convergences left us alone to conduct our mundane business in peace. We did pass the setting of a psychic convention, though, and that was something special. I never saw it coming, unlike most of its attendees.
After eating some Mexican food, we ventured up a hill to some recreational area. We wandered around a bit, inspected some rocks and cacti, took many pictures and panoramas, strangled a hitchhiker with motel bed sheets, and then moved on.
Venturing past Sedona, we stopped near a bridge and made the short hike down to Oak Creek. I observed a lizard with a bifurcated tail near the Cicada-loud waters of Oak Creek. Easily the highlight of my life. Tom fidgeted around trying to take some long exposures of the creek’s turbulent waters, but failed miserably like he does in most of his endeavors, especially blogging.
On the way north we stopped at Slide Rock State Park because Tom, ever foolhardy, wanted to check it out. We stayed briefly to see if two youngsters would jump off a tall rock into the creek, not-so-secretly hoping to witness the birth of a permanent spinal cord injury. Alas, it was not to be. We returned to his car and continued on our journey into the Arizona highlands, which I incorrectly assumed would be full of bogs and nomadic pony herders.
Our next stop was Meteor Crater, a large hole in the ground formed by the murderous whims of outer space many years ago. While an impressive reminder that outer space is large and in charge, it did not seem so magical or grand as previous attractions. The Grand Canyon, for example, was a much more impressive hole in the ground. Meteor Crater was no more than a modest crater. And it was very windy. And the projector that played the educational Meteor Crater movie was three feet out of alignment with the screen. I don’t know how other crater museums conduct business, but I imagine they are far more professional.
If they wanted to make the Meteor Crater experience something special, they should put some smoke machines down in the bottom, and maybe get some green lights down there. Oh, and add some high-pitched squeals blasting out of hidden speakers. It looked entirely too sterile, and lacked the menace that most modern crater impacts present.
At the very least I have a coupon for a free cookie at Subway, though it is limited to “meteor crater locations only.” I suspect that, before my death, there may well be many more meteor crater locations. Also, cookies will increase in price, giving the card more value in the future.
After the crater, we went on a strange and inexplicable journey to eat at Sizzler, for reasons I can no longer remember or comprehend. When Sizzler proved nearly impossible to find, we attempted to eat at Outback. When Outback’s wait proved too long, we again looked for Sizzler. When we failed to find Sizzler, we ate at Village Inn. Then, on the way out of Village Inn, we drove past Sizzler. By then we had forgotten why we even wanted to eat at Sizzler anyway.
Hours later and we were back at the cabin, which was warm and comforting like a good dog prior to dying and being put inside a furnace and converted to ash by hellish fires. We drank beer, though I regretted my beer purchasing decisions immensely, and as such did not get as hella crunk as was envisioned.
I challenged Tom to a game of Trivial Pursuit, which dragged on for a couple hours due to our inability to answer sports questions. He was victorious in the end, having finally conquered his ignorance of sports. More than that, though, it was a victory for the sciences. We answered dozens and dozens of basic science questions correctly, which was amazing since we are both idiots.
In the morning we cleaned up our mess. Wobegone’s ashes were put back in the box, the lobsters removed from the hot tub, the raccoons set free, the fires put out, the vomit steamed out of the carpets, the laundry laundered, and all evidence that we were there erased. Hopefully, anyway.
We drove south on the Beeline, so named because of the vast many men who made the voyage down that trail during the Great Phoenix Honey Rush. Though the fabled Golden Hive was never found, many men still struck it rich with some of the lesser hives. We stopped in Payson and ate at the Beeline Café. You could almost smell the honey in the air and imagine a simpler time when men busied themselves like bees following actual bees in order to triangulate the location of nearby hives.
After Payson, Tom gave me a tour of Fountain Hills, which contains one of the world’s largest fountains, located in the center of a lake of “reclaimed waste water.” Looking at the color and consistency of the water, I would say that it was hastily reclaimed. We waited around about half an hour for the fountain to go off, then ran like hell when it started showering us with raw sewage.
When we got back to Phoenix, Tom insisted we climb the north face of Tempe Butte, known locally as “A” Mountain even though it is hardly a mountain and more like a small anthill. The journey was perilous and taxing, as it was very hot out and there wasn’t much of a trail and it involved climbing up a steep slope made of loose rocks. Apparently it is also full of bee nests, but we didn’t notice the dire admonitions until after the fact.
Once “A”Mountain was successfully conquered and the day nearing its end, we met up with Lucy, who had returned from Las Vegas. With her expert guidance, we made our way to a restaurant in a mall where I ate a potato the size of a St. Bernard’s heart. Lucy brought exciting gifts from that great cradle of the arts that is Las Vegas. I was graciously given a Romulan Ale bottle opener that, through sheer luck, opens non-Rumulan beverages as well.
The day was not without tragedy. The mighty Air Hog, which once soared so high above the earth like our friendship, was now incapable of meaningful flight. Apparently one of her engines suffered a mechanical failure, causing the old gal to fly spiral patterns toward the ground. The symbolism was not lost on us. Our friendship was flying spiral patterns into the ground because one of us wasn’t trying as hard. As a gentlemen I will refrain from naming names or pointing fingers.
Monday morning arrived and brought with it a mixture of sadness and relief. I went with Tom to IHOP, where we had our last meal together before geography would tear us apart forever. Shortly thereafter, he took me to Sky Harbor where I waited until a kindly plane flew me home. On my flight, I had the pleasure of watching the cinematic masterpiece NEXT. If you haven’t seen the movie, basically the last half of it is a dream. I also apologize for spoiling it.
Thus ends my adventure in Arizona.
Statistical Breakdown:
Cowboys/Lizards Spotted: 2
Bee Related Geography Noticed: 2 (Beeline Highway, Bumble Bee, AZ)
Miles Traveled: 875
Total Overall Score: 293
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