Everybody knows what goes up must come down. Space stations shrivel up, die and fall sulkily back to Earth. The Dow Jones Index zips up to 29,000+, comes to a screeching halt and goes into free fall. Lysergic Acid Diethylamide fiends dance happily through the cosmos learning universal secrets, plop back down to campus and fail their finals. It’s common knowledge.
Now a reasonable man might conclude that the reverse should also be true—what goes down must come up. But this is a man who was doodling in Gravity class, a fellow who thinks Sir Isaac Newton was a knight of the Round Table, a dunderhead who has too much confidence in lithium. Sometimes, what goes down stays down.
The morning after our descent into the belly of the overheated Grand Canyon, Siobhan moseyed up to Alicia the Cowgirl and asked what would happen if Bill was too compromised to make the trip back. “We could get him a job in the kitchen,” she replied, helpfully.
However, though for hikers the return to the rim is a long and sweltering slog, for mule riders it takes pretty much the same effort as the trip down….with one notable exception. The descent encounters gradually increasing temperatures, from 64 to 104 in our case, while the return begins and ends in the happy 70s. We started back on a misty, hazy morning, ascended in brief, light showers along the colorful South Kaibab Trail, arriving none the worse for wear at the lip of the South Rim in early afternoon. The cloudy-day temperature was a sparkling 64. The riders were buoyed by their adventure, the mules smiled, anticipating lunch. The trail guides got their tips and were off to look at the new Ferraris. Siobhan shook the trail dust off her pants and readied for what was next. And best of all by far, Bill was saved from the gloomy future of an Arizona scullery maid.
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| Thr Amara Resort & Spa, Sedona |
The Winds Of Change
But so much for the Bataan Death March. Since a honeymoon is supposed to be an experience more pleasant than a long walk on hot coals, we were now headed for lovely Sedona, the true land of enchantment, where the rocks are red, skies are blue and frisky vortexes gallop through the canyons.
Our first stop was the venerable Amara Spa, the fanciest oasis in the desert, where even the massages have exotic names. You could get the Rain Dance, wherein oils of lavender, rosemary and sage are luxuriously dropped down your spine. Or perhaps the Winds of Change, where sage, crystals and specially crafted oils reconnect your being to your spirit nature. You might get a High Desert Body Scrub, a spiritual Detox Wrap, a Warm Oil Scalp Massage, treatment with Sacred Stones or a spritz of Guided Meditation “where the sounds and vibrations of heart chakra tuning forks are combined with sun-charged rose quartz crystals to facilitate a concentrated state of relaxation.” It’s almost too much to contemplate. The mind boggles.
We got 2 large Rain Dances (no fries, thanks) in celebration of our moist trip back from the Canyon floor. They were as fun-filled as advertised. Afterwards, the girls presented us with glorious white robes and marched us out to a private eden with lounge chairs, where they toasted our recent nuptials with aerated grape juice, alcohol being verboten in such pristine surroundings. It was apt payback for the steaming canyon descent, the rock-hard saddles, the bruised butts, the spartan cabins. And we had only scratched the sunny surface of spa services. “You wouldn’t be hiring any new help, would you?” I asked Raven Cloudwalker hopefully. “So sorry, no,” she replied sorrowfully. “The Shower Maidens have no openings, the Spirit Guides are waiting in line and the crystals are self-polishing.”
Ain’t that always the way?
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| Namaste, y'all. |
Into The Vortex!
Now, as spectacular as Sedona is, there is but one aspect that makes it truly unique, a diamond in the rockpile. You can find your red rock canyons in Colorado Springs and outside Las Vegas, Nevada. You can scare up a busful of fortune tellers, crystal wranglers, aura analyzers and seance-holders in Cassadega, Florida. You can drive past the fancy-schmancy manses of jet setters in Jackson Hole, Wyoming and Whitefish, Montana. But nowhere….I said nowhere….does anyone have an act that can hold a candle to The Vortexes Of Sedona. Let’s get them up on stage right now….here they come whirling down the aisle….let’s hear it, ladies and gentlemen….a big round of applause for the Vortexes!
And please, all you rigid grammarians in the audience, pipe down. Sure, we know that old Noah Webster made the plural “vortices” in his dictionary but the people of Sedona are adamant: in Yavapai and Coconino counties, perhaps all Arizona, “vortexes” wins the day. But what are these exciting dervishes, where do we find one? More important, will they cure yaws, Aarskog Syndrome or the heartbreak of psoriasis? Maybe. Bill and Siobhan met a guy and his wife near the airport vortex who claimed he had emphysema, COPD, bronchitis and a raft of affiliated breathing diseases. “My lungs hung out at the interstate highway ramp carrying a sign which read ‘Will Work For Air,” he said. “At home, I can’t walk across the street. But in Sedona I can do anything I want, like hiking out here today. It’s the vortexes. They create miracles.”
The locals swear by the critters. Many of them have moved to Sedona because of the balmy embrace of the vortexes. You can’t see them. You can’t hear them. You can’t feel them. But they’re there. A typical conversation:
Local guy to Tourist: “Have you visited the vortexes yet?”
Tourist Nonbeliever: “No sir, I haven’t. I don’t believe in them. I don’t believe in anything I can’t see.”
Local guy: “Well, do you believe in God?”
Tourist: “Why, sure I do!”
Local guy: “Well, you’re a hypocrite then, arentcha?”
There are far more believers than non. People travel from everywhere to investigate the mysterious cosmic forces that emanate from Sedona’s red rocks. The vortexes are thought to be swirling centers of energy which are conducive to healing, meditation, self-exploration, places where the earth seems especially alive with energy. Visitors talk of feeling inspired, recharged and uplifted after visiting a vortex.
Though all of Sedona is considered to be vortex-like, there are specific sites where the energy sizzles and snorts. There are four elite, major-league vortexes---at Airport Mesa, Cathedral Rock, Bell Rock and Boynton Canyon---each supposedly radiating its own particular energy. In some cases, the energy flows upwards, in others it spirals downward into the earth. Aficionados are littered throughout the vortex sites like ants on an Oreo. Devotees of yoga and meditation are ubiquitous, practitioners of various healing methods ply their trades, individuals in colorful garb perform rituals. All the sites are easily accessible and there are a variety of tours which will carry you to the four above and several others. We know you’re a sophisticated no-nonsense traveler who raises an eyebrow at silly talk of the paranormal, wouldn’t think of visiting Roswell, has no use for Nessie or the Abominable Snowmen. We just have one small request. Travel to Sedona with an open mind and see what happens. If it doesn’t work for you, maybe Tinkerbell was right.
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| Jimmy of the Navajos with Billy of the Killeens |
Monument Valley
We can’t stay in Sedona forever, even though that’s not a bad idea. North we go, then east to Flagstaff and beyond, passing through the exciting villages of Cameron, Tuba City and Tonalea. Several miles out from Monument Valley, large rock formations begin to appear, mostly on the right side of the two-lane road. This place is different somehow. Sedona is often called a spiritual place and people flock there to enjoy its largesse, but Sedona did not resonate with me the way this Navajo land did. We all respond to different stimuli and I was taken with this place, its serene calling and vast beauty. Many sites are alleged to be “spiritual,” you can drop the quote marks with Monument Valley. Something was going on here, something unnameable, mysterious, long-lived. I was drawn in by its magnetism. There was more here than met the eyes, at least the first two. Best to be quiet and listen, watch. Take your time, said the calming voices, do not hurry.
If you go to Monument Valley, it would be pure folly to stay anywhere other than the Navajo-owned View hotel, where all the rooms open up to a panorama so incredible it has drawn scores of Hollywood directors to film there. If you’re old enough to have seen a plethora of antique westerns when you were a kid, you’ve been to Monument Valley. The best part of these ancient John Wayne/John Ford, etc., movies was the terrain, the exceptional rock formations, images you found nowhere else. I clearly remember watching these films as a boy, rapt and wondering where the hell is this place?
There is no alcohol sold here, so bring your own if you have a mind, but you’ll need no mood enhancers. Siobhan and I went out on our balcony to watch a sudden thunderstorm dash in to cover the sun. Lightning flashed everywhere, thunder roared, rain pelted down. Then, in a flash, it was gone and a large rainbow arced across the sky behind the monuments. It was almost as if it was all planned, a spectacular live show on the ultimate stage. That night, we watched The Searchers (corny as Christmas in Kansas, but what the hell, Natalie Wood was in it) under the stars, the screen for which was one of the hotel walls. Less than two dozen other cinephiles sat on scattered benches tossing down popcorn and looking at the endless sea of stars. A sense of calm enveloped the area and the spirits were busy putting a nice bow on a stellar day. Just before the film ended, a light rain began to fall, the elders advising us our day was ended. Walking off, I tipped my cap to the heavens and said “Thanks.” We slept long and well in the embrace of the land.
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| The famed Hoodoos of Bryce Canyon |
Antelope Canyon
The next morning, we explored the back country of Monument Valley where only a dozen or so Navajo families are permitted to live. Our truck driver/guide was Jimmy, a member of one of these families who proudly stick to the ways of their elders. “We are trying to keep the old Navajo way of life alive,” Jimmy told us. And it’s no picnic. Water has to be hauled in weekly and the children shipped off to faraway schools. And it’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than to farm these arid lands. We asked Jimmy if he would like to visit the outside world some day. “I would like to see the ocean,” he said, smiling. “Sometimes, when I dream, I look upon it.”
Our Road Trip has so far traveled east from Las Vegas, then south to Sedona and northwest to Monument Valley. It’s time to head back west to close the circle. Our final stop is the well-reported Antelope Canyon near Page, Arizona. Whether you know it or not, you have likely seen this one-of-a-kind place. It’s photographs circle the globe, drawing oohs and ahhs for its slippery-smooth canyon walls lit from above by sunlight filtering through cracks in the earth. There are actually two sections favored by visitors, but one of them offers more opportunities for photographic delights.
There is sort of an enrollment booth by the highway for the short trip to Upper Antelope Canyon, the section most of you will want to visit. You will sit there for awhile waiting for your truck to depart, perhaps entertained by a Navajo dancer in full regalia. Then, about a dozen people will climb into the back of a jaunty all-terrain vehicle like so many soldiers riding off to battle. Your friendly Navajo guide will tell you it’s not necessary to click your seatbelts, which is true if you don’t mind bouncing to the moon like a monkey on a pogo stick. If I was a suspicious man, I might suspect there were a few amicable wagers taking place between trucks as to who got to the canyon first. If so, I think there should be be some sort of penalties doled out for customers ejected from the trucks en route. Or at least a retriever-vehicle tugging along behind to pick up the pieces, sorta like the guy with the shovel who follows the elephants in the big parade.
The canyon, itself, gets a five-star rating for beauty, ease of transit, helpful guides and photo ops, some of which are spectacular. The guides will stop at a particularly enchanting spot, direct their clients around to better allow good shots and eagerly agree to take pictures of all comers. A bat in a blindfold could take award-winning pictures at this place, it’s accommodating on all sides.
Antelope Canyon is a slot canyon with tall, winding sandstone walls, famous for its wave-like structure and the light from above which creates a supernatural appearance the likes of which you haven’t seen since you closed your catechism at the end of first grade. The canyon is the product of millions of years of water erosion. In fact, the Navajo name for Upper Antelope canyon is Tse’ bighanili, which means “the place where water runs through rocks.” It was once the home of gigantic herds of pronghorn antelope and now lies within the LeChee chapter of the Navajo Nation. The walls climb to 120 feet above a stream bed. The famous beams lighting up the canyon occur most often during the summer and visits for purposes of photography are more productive between late March and early October. The town of Page nearby provides all the amenities necessary for a happy visit, including Big John’s Texas BBQ, a frisky eatery with live country music in the smoky parking lot. It’s not the Grand Ol’ Opry, but it’s homey and the ribs are mighty tasty. Hey, it’s Page, Arizona, what do you want?
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| Bill and Siobhan being amazed. |
Closing The Circle
Next week, we conclude our Road Trip with visits to Bryce Canyon and Zion national parks. We’ve spent one night in Vegas, two at the Grand Canyon, two more in Sedona, one in Monument Valley and one near Antelope Canyon for a brisk seven-day foray into the wild west. The limited traveler with only a week to spare can scurry back home, worldlier and wiser. Those with a couple more days can continue on to nearby Bryce, land of the hoodoos, and finally to Zion for a look at the fabled Zion Narrows. Ready to go a little further? We’re game if you are.
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| The Narrows awaits |
That’s all, folks….
bill.killeen094@gmail.com
