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Every year, The Flying Pie presents a three-or-more-parts review of our summer travels out west and every year some grouch writes in to tell us they have constructed their lives in such a way that they don’t need a vacation from them. So let’s use the word “trips” instead. Travels. Excursions. Magic Carpet rides that put us in new places, expose us to other ways of looking at life, enhance bonding with a partner. Sure, you don’t like the scatterbrained bustle of airports, the cowherders at Security, the tight quarters, the inevitable squawling tyke in the seat right behind you, but all of that is just a tradeoff for the glories of the journey.
Travel broadens the mind. It puts a spark in your step, a smile on your face, a new recipe in your pocket and, if you’re Bill Killeen, a lot of Siobhan Ellison’s new rocks in your backpack. You meet exceptional people, hike to singular wonders, replace the routine with the unknown. It is not an escape from an unsatisfactory life, it is a healthy addition to it. There might be No Place Like Home but some of us are California Dreamers eager to be On The Road Again spending April in Paris or even Margaritaville. One’s destination is never just a place but a new way of seeing things. Henry Miller said that.
Big Rock Candy Mountain
“I’m headed for a land that’s far away beside the crystal fountains….”---Harry McClintock
The first partner on our dance card was lovely Sedona, a mystic village of red rocks, crystal peddlers, seers and yoga tribes. It is also the vortex capital of the world with seven of them firmly established and more on the way. We stayed at the Sky Ranch situated high in the clouds just west of town near the airport. Tourists and townies alike gather a few feet down the road each night to celebrate the sunset just like they do in Key West and Wailuku and Moab and Spencer, Iowa. It is a gleeful collection of optimists and bucket checkers and young lovers and edgy musicians playing unrecognizable instruments they made in the dark in someone’s garage, and there’s no place you’d rather be.
Our last visit to Sedona was eight years ago and it’s growing like kudzu on steroids, not necessarily a good thing. How many Tarot readers, after all, does a town need? How many metaphysical guides, UFOlogists, rock shops, clairvoyants, vortex tours? The number of shops in Uptown has easily doubled in eight years and shows no sign of slowing down. Some cranky locals who previously smiled at vortex pilgrims on their properties have now taken to erecting persona non grata signs and posting free-ranging pit bulls.
On our second day in Sedona, we hopped out of bed to climb to the top of the Airport Mesa Vortex so Siobhan could bless the little tribe of stone animals she had purchased for her cohorts back home. The path to the top was an imposing sight but we zipped up there like Tarzan and Jane with our spiffy new walking sticks. Siobhan talked to the vortex gods for a while, trading stories about goats, then we went back down for our breakfasts and a sterling tour of Sedona. On reflection, that tour looks more like silver plate.
Meet Mr. Twizzle
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in Sedona, familiarize yourself with the vortexes (not vortices). A Sedona vortex is a unique geological and supposedly spiritual phenomenon which thrives in and around the city, a swirling center of energy which can produce a range of physical, emotional and spiritual effects. There are seven of them spread around the landscape, the four most prominent being at Cathedral Rock, Airport Mesa, Boynton Canyon and Bell Rock. Some describe the energy of the vortexes as a subtle electromagnetic force, others call it a more metaphysical or spiritual form of energy. True believers sometimes feel a slight tingling on exposed skin or a vibration emanating from the ground. Others feel a palpable sensation across the nape of the neck and shoulder blades. Most people feel nothing and take it on faith, like religion.
Siobhan and I had investigated a couple of vortexes on past visits but never signed up for one of the many vortex tours offered by yoga masters, chakra readers, indigenous peoples and mere profiteers. Unable to choose after reading a hundred conflicting reviews, we decided on a scenic tour of the Sedona area which included the four major vortexes. This turned out to be a big mistake. We turned up for the five and one-half hour excursion early in the morning at tour headquarters, a small retail shop called the Dragon’s Den, a haven of crystals, unique apparel and magic beans. That’s where we met the cruisemaster, Mr. Twizzle, a mid-thirties gentleman with a curated mustache, a feeble smile, the gift of gab and imagined charm.
“You can call me Mr. T,” he told our mostly elderly group of twelve. “I will show you my Sedona, a village of surprise and delight,” he promised, “and you will leave here engaged, enlightened and with much less money in your pockets.” He was right about that last part.
The first stop was a worthwhile visit to the Chapel of the Holy Cross, built to a pinnacled spur about 250 feet high and jutting out from a 1000-foot wall. A stunning edifice, the Chapel is visited by several million pilgrims and a sordid assortment of sinners each year. Mr. Twizzle left us at the bottom of a long staircase for about 45 minutes while he went off to nap. We ascended the steep ramp to the top, found a welcome pew and renewed acquaintances with the Cosmic Arranger. Siobhan lit a candle and asked for guidance finding spectacular rocks. Then our tour guide dutifully arrived to pick us up as promised and motivated over to the less than world-class Sedona Museum, where he left us to ruminate over the remnants of earlier days for about an hour while he joined his morning card game. After a subsequent brief scurry through the Tlaquepaque shopping area, he thought it was time for 90 minutes of lunch, so Mr. T. dropped us off suspiciously near a raunchy taco truck and gave us 10% discount cards while he rushed off for midday schnapps. We politely declined and made our way into town. The taco truck rested at the top of a fairly steep hill which required a tiring post-lunch climb from our groaning grannies. At this time we had spent approximately 30 minutes in the tour vehicle and 195 minutes out of it. When we asked about the promised four vortexes, Mr. Twizzle made excuses for abandoning two of them and promised to get us to the other two. We finally drove in the general vicinity of one and stopped at another which was not on the official vortex list. The passengers became very grumpy, especially when the tour ended 60 minutes early. Nobody actually spit at Mr. Twizzle when we got off the bus but it was close.
You know those little internet questionnaires they send you the minute you depart any airplane, hotel or tourist attraction asking how much you enjoyed your experience? Yeah, those things which you generally answer with extreme brevity or wad tightly and heave. We couldn’t wait to get ours from the wonderful Sedona tourmeisters. We eagerly (and a bit meanly) sent in chapter and verse about our troubled travels. We were uncharacteristically thorough. Maybe you’ll read it on Tripadvisor some day. Four thousand outraged adjectives later, Mr. Twizzle isn’t smiling. “More schnapps, Lester, I’m feeling pekid.”
The Very Deep And Impactful Meteor Crater. It’s A Doozy!
Situated precisely in the middle of nowhere about 37 miles east of Flagstaff and 18 miles west of Winslow in the Northern Arizona desert is the largest meteor crater in the United States. Some people call it the Barringer Crater but the gift shop t-shirts stick with METEOR CRATER, which is good enough for us. The MC plunged into the Earth roughly 50,000 years ago, give or take a century, to a depth of 560 feet, careful not to displace any unwary citizens, trailer parks or swap meets. It was a big hit with Siobhan, who is a rabid fan of things falling out of the sky and leaving giant holes in the ground. The Meteor Crater Visitor Center is a large, impressive building with an 80-seat widescreen theater, an indoor crater viewing area, Crater Trail access, Interactive Discovery Center, artifacts and exhibits, 4D Experience Room and the Blasted Bistro, where you can get a bite to eat if you’re not awfully hungry. I asked for a Craterburger with extra alluvium but was sad to learn one hadn’t been invented yet. I settled for a Chobani yogurt.
The movie showing on an endless loop will tell you this is the world’s best-preserved meteorite site on the planet. Very few remaining craters are visible on Earth, having been erased by erosive geological processes or neighborhood hoodlums. The relatively young age of Meteor Crater, paired with the dry Arizona climate, has allowed this crater to remain comparatively unchanged since its formation. The lack of erosion that preserved the crater’s shape greatly accelerated its groundbreaking recognition as an impact crater from a natural celestial body.
MC came to the attention of scientists after American settlers almost fell into it in the 19th century. It was given several names before Daniel M. Barringer came along to suggest the crater was produced by a large iron meteorite impact. Barringer’s company, Standard Iron, staked a claim to the land and received a land patent signed by Theodore Roosevelt for 640 acres around the crater in 1903. During the 1960s and 70s, NASA astronauts trained in the crater to prepare for Apollo missions to the Moon, and ongoing field training for astronauts continues there to this day. Despite its remote location, Meteor Crater is visited by 270,000 people a year, many of them delighted children. On August 8, 1964, it was also visited by two commercial pilots in search of an airport. After crossing the rim while flying low in their Cessna 150, the airmen could not maintain level flight and the plane crashed and caught fire. Severely injured, both survived and a small portion of the wreckage from the crash still remains visible at the bottom of the crater. And no, you cannot go down to the bottom to look at it, even for a big tip.
That’s all, folks….
Next week; our heroes are off to the Big Ditch and then to Kanab and the Vermillion Hills. Turn on, tune in and drop out.
