I spent the night in the Grand Canyon on July 4th. I'll post about that later, along with spending time on the Hopi, Navajo, and Acoma Pueblo Indian Reservations.
After my celebration of July 4th in the Grand Canyon, I started heading for old Route 66 to continue my journey west. I had wanted to drop down to Sedona after the Grand Canyon. It was even closer now. Why not, I thought.
So I made a U-turn pointing ARGO south to Sedona. Very glad I did as I turned on to a beautiful two-laner with tall pine trees rising up on both sides of me. Closer to Sedona the red rocks emerged into view.
The road unwound in front of me with more and more breathtaking scenery. Around each S-curve on the narrow mountain road were vistas of orange and red rock arrays rising from the earth. Bright and proud. Seemly illuminated from behind. Sandstone and limestone formations of story-book shapes and proportions. Mythical and mystical. Signs I was entering a special place.
I looked around the town for a little bit, but time was rolling by. Thought I had better pin down a place for ARGO and me for the night. That is hard to come by in Sedona. Even hotels are scarce for last-minute travelers. They’re mostly small inns accommodating New Agers.
The possibility for RV types is even rarer. But luck is always with me. At least, it has been so far.
A few spots on the map of the Coconino National Forest surrounding Sedona looked promising. About 15 minutes outside town were sites labeled "primitive" or "dispersed." A primitive campground has no fancy bathrooms or paved roads or water, and dispersed camping is the old-fashioned kind. You find a spot and set up camp.
That sounded like me. I took a chance and found a level spot to stay where a campfire had been before. Desert grass surrounded the open area around the site with rising hills on all sides. Cedar trees climbing the hill sides.
A vivid orange and multi-hued yellow and blue sunset was taking shape in the west.
It was very quiet. No one was around. No one. I stood outside ARGO. I listened. Envisioned banjo players from the movie Deliverance. Thought I could hear them beyond the hillsides.
I thought of leaving. If I stayed I would be all alone. No cell service. No one nearby to call for help. Would I be sleeping with one eye open all night?
But my adventurer side kicked in. Silence. How often do I get to experience the sounds of silence? The silence of the desert … of nature. The real world.
I stood watching the clouds above. Slowly the tranquility of the place entered me, calmed me. I absorbed the sunset.
The desert heat was less intense. I always have trouble believing how the desert cools down at night. It can drop thirty degrees from the high of the day.
The daylight slipped behind the hills. “Night cometh,” I whispered. Words some writer once penned.
The dry desert air cooled. I lay down and drifted away into the safety of my dreams. Interrupted of course a few times by the silence.
I awoke the next morning to the sound of a vehicle's tire crunching the rocky road next to my campsite. Surely not.
Popping up in bed I looked around. The sun was just rising. Enough light to see. Yes. Something was out there. Not far away, either. There behind the bushes to the northwest. A tattered fading blue pickup truck had creeped down the road past the campsite. That sound must be what woke me up. Dang. My heart raced a bit.
I searched for my binoculars. Found them in the front passenger seat of ARGO. The front windows were covered with the night shades so I went back to the rear to peer through the open window.
The truck was gone.
My heart raced a little more. My mind turned the possibilities. The crazy attacks you read about usually occur in the early morning hours. Not the dead of night.
I couldn’t see anyone outside, but I wasn’t sure. I grabbed my night stick “defender,” opened ARGO’s sliding door and walked outside to look around. Ready to defend or drive away quickly.
From over head an enormously loud roaring burst of sound: Ba- rahrrrrrrrrrrmmmm came from the sky. What the …?
Again a burst of ba-rahrrrrrrrr …. ba-rahrrrrrrr. I cocked my head upward. A balloon. A giant multi-colored hot air balloon was overhead.
The fire from its burner was blasting away. Ba-rahrrrrrrr …. ba-rahrrrrrrr.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw something race between an opening in the brush. I turned my head and focused to see what it was. I got a better look this time. A lizard chasing its breakfast.
Then from the direction of the old blue truck came another loud, but different sounding high pitched noise ripping past me. Bazzzzz-unnnn …. bazzzz-unnnnnn.
It was a scale model airplane ripping through the sky. Next to the old truck was a man holding a controller. He was putting his bright blue and yellow model airplane through some rolls and loops.
Spontaneous laughing came from my belly. I couldn’t contain it. People were playing with their model airplanes. Flying in their balloons through the sky. I was waking up in the middle of nowhere forest and I wasn’t alone. The silence of the night was broken. No one had killed me during the night. All was good.
I laughed more as I made coffee, sipped on it and through my binoculars watched the people in the balloon’s basket wave at me. I waved hardily back. It was the beginning of a new day. A loud one. A new and glorious day.
Hot air balloons over ARGO & me. - JohnButlersBuzz.com
More balloons drifting over ARGO & me early in the morning. JohnButlersBuzz.com