Something about getting there being half the fun...?

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It wouldn't be right to begin my second entry at Sedona, because that would eliminate some serious, serious shenanigans... I feel compelled to share, but be warned: details might prove incriminating/are definitely humiliating, AND if you read further it is with the implicit understanding that you ARE NOT ALLOWED TO GIVE ME SHIT. Okay? Okay.

After filling my tank--or so I thought--before leaving Joshua Tree Wednesday AM, I notice, on the 80-mph approach to exactly nowhere, gas light is on, tank EMPTY. Remind Jesus I've been good, make it to where Middle-O-NW highway meets Main-ish highway that would take me into Blythe, close to Phoenix (can't recall what number - likely 666). Two gas stations; neither looks to have been open since man first walked on the moon. A diner, however, is. I enter, ask where I can find gas. Everyone looks up. "Can you make it 90 miles?" the lady at the counter asks, giving someone a warmer. "NO!" I say. Unfazed, she puts coffee pot down. "Can you make it 20?" I tell her I don't want to try, been riding on fumes approximately forever. "How much money do you have?" she asks, looking friendlier. I don't give her a number. She explains she "has a guy" who will bring gas, will cost me $40 on top of cost. I ask how long, she says five minutes. I say fine--thought it a bargain as would have traded a kidney. So, (nice nice) Dorian shows up with huge can of gas. We talk. He says he will only charge me $10 a gallon. We determine I'll need 3 to be safe, based on car's mileage, distance to Blythe, embark upon very lengthy and involved process of measuring gas, gallon by gallon, funneling it from one receptacle to another. Dorian is from Mongolia, wants Desert Junction to become next Silicon Valley--weather isn't as bad as in Mongolia. I ask if this type gas snafu happens often; he says many times a day. Tells me I am a nice person, gives me extra gas. Suggests I invest in five-gallon gas can for remainder of my travels. Not a bad idea. Upon reflection, am certain the entire town is in cahoots on gas scam. Hour or so later, I get a speeding ticket.

It's a gas, gas, gas!

Yay, me. Driving! Totally my thing!

Moving on. My route took me straight East from Blythe almost to Phoenix where I cut north to go around it and continue eastish. This stretch is painful, not just because of epic roadwarrior morning. As I near Phoenix, I am struck (sorry) by how unattractive the scenery is. Cutting north, though, it gets interesting. I climb and climb, and it's like flipping through a topography almanac: bleak desert, mountain-looking desert, climb, climb, peak, monstrous meadowish mesa. And then. Then! At some point, near Sedona, I'm looking down on enormous rock walls, mostly bright red, one narrow canyon road cuts through, town is at approx 5000 feet. Spend ages looking for the Garlands Oak Creek Lodge, convinced I've missed it. Haven't.

And actually, since getting there is half the fun, and because I'm totally exhausted after logging somehwere in the vicinity of 700 miles today (don't let the numbers scare you -- it was completely amazing, and I have the pics to prove it. Um. Can you get a ticket for photographing while driving?), AND because my time with the Garlands was too fantastic to taint with the You-Were-Right-All-Along-Shannon's-Driving-Sucks stories, I am going to leave Sedona for next. And those pics will prove how amazing that was.

Drive safely. A car is not a toy.