On days when we’re primarily traveling between two cities and campgrounds, I generally assume there will be little to write about and Debbie will be taking only a few pictures during the drive. Yet, time and again, I am proven wrong on both accounts. Not only does the enroute landscape inevitably prove interesting but Debbie always is alert enough to see and capture many of both the natural and man-made elements along the way.
Despite an overcast morning, we did glimpse the sun lighting up one of the sandstone bluffs overlooking Lake Powell in our rear view mirror.
As US-89 18 miles south of Page had been washed out by a recent storm, we were required to take a long detour back over AZ-98 to US-160. The first part of this drive, like many others started out with a pretty barren landscape.
What was unusual for this part of the country, however, were
Puddles from an overnight rainstorm
Again, traveling through parts of the Navajo Reservation, we were disappointed, but not surprised to see many colorful homes,
rundown homesteads,
buildings,
abandoned mobile homes and RVs
and two isolated and impressive sandstone monoliths.
We passed several people walking seemingly in the middle of nowhere
bikers (who seem to be everywhere we travel)
and even a quartet of discarded Port-A-Potties high atop a hill well back from the roadway.
Along US-160, we were suddenly passed by a green semi cab hauling a flatbed with some unknown cargo under a black tarp. As he went roaring by us (although we were doing the speed limit at the time), the driver blasted his horn. We were at a loss.
About twenty minutes to a half hour later, we passed this same rig and as we came abreast of the vehicle, the driver stepped out from in front of his cab and raised a one-finer salute to us. As curious as we were, stopping never entered our minds. Later, having turned south on US-89 north of Flagstaff, we were again passed by this same trucker who once again sat on his horn as he flew by. Fortunately, that was the last we saw of him, although we still have no idea why he seemed to have singled us out.
Meantime, what would a day be without Debbie finding another of this country’s decaying homes.
Nearing Flagstaff several changes. First, the weather went from overcast to downright rainy.
The vegetation went from arid to grassy to sparsely forested.
Finally, we found first the roadsides and further on the fields and back yards of homes engulfed in a sea of yellow flowers, likely blooming in the wake of recent showers.
Despite the rain and overcast skies, driving through Oak Creek and in to Sedona was as breathtaking as we recalled from our last visit some thirty years ago.
