The Incident of the Fry Bread and Other Road Adventures

Forrest and his girlfriend Constance arrived around a week ago to accompany me home. Just getting them to Tucson was challenging enough for a few reasons, but they made it, with very little time to spare before we had to start the long journey home. They got to see the casita, but just barely.  

Since we had only 6 days to drive 1500 miles, there wasn't much time for sightseeing, but Forrest wanted to stop in Prescott and pay homage to his twin brother, who'd spent his last days there 10 years ago. We  hiked up Thumb Butte in Prescott and visited the hotel where Miles passed away.  Though I'd done this a couple of years ago, Forrest hadn't and it provided him with some much needed closure.

  The following day we stopped in Sedona, with its luminous landscapes, crowds of wealthy tourists, crystal shops and vortexes. Forrest, who has always had a thing for rocks and gemstones, kept weighing down the van with rocks.  

 The driving was long after those two days, with the 3 of us crammed into the Nomad Moon like sardines.  The nights were frigid, and as Constance was unable to climb the ladder to the top section of the van (due to disability), I had to sleep up there and slide myself in like a pizza.  Quite the adventure, especially for those middle of the night forays to the outhouse. 

Driving through the Navajo reservation, we passed Native American jewelry stands.  Forrest was still hoping to find one last Navajo taco and some more rocks, so we pulled over at a Trading Post just across the Utah border.  The 2 of them went on ahead of me while I poked around in the van.  As I headed across the parking lot, I saw Constance and Forrest standing in front of a truck eating fry bread.  I commented to them about it, and they said it was good, and that they'd gotten it inside the Trading Post.  I said, "OK, I guess I'll see you later, I'm going inside to do some shopping."  I later met them in the Trading Post buying jewelry and trinkets, and on the way out, I asked Constance where they had gotten the fry bread.  She looked confused and denied having had any fry bread.  Then Forrest walked up and when I asked him the same thing, he said he didn't know what I was talking about.  Neither of them had apparently eaten any fry bread.  I'm left to believe that either I'd been under the influence of one of those vortexes, or a Navajo skinwalker, or I'd had some kind of neurological event. Very eerie.... 

We spent the night at a motel near Bryce Canyon National Park, as I was too cold to sleep in the top of the van in subfreezing temperature. The next morning the skies were gray, the wind was whipping the van around and soon precipitation fell in the form of sleet and snow as we headed through the mountains of Interstate 15. Trucks and other vehicles were passing us at 75 MPH. Having never driven the van in a snowstorm, I white-knuckled it and prayed we'd survive the journey.  Just then, a pickup truck spun out in front of us at a 90 degree angle, went across a ditch and through a fence into some trees.  I slowly pulled over, called 911, grabbed my first aid kit and made my way back to the smashed vehicle.  By an incredible stroke of luck, the driver emerged from the truck unscathed.  He denied having hit his head and did not appear to be bleeding or confused.  In fact, he was apparently in better shape mentally than I'd been the day before! So after witnessing this little Easter miracle, my attempt to be a Good Samaritan notwithstanding, we got back on the highway. 

A couple more Utah and Idaho campgrounds, better weather and many more miles later, we made it to Portland on April Fools Day, but without anymore mishaps.  Another voyage comes to a satisfying end.  It's good to be home again.