Tuesday, September 25, 2001

touchdown // Although I left Atlanta 56 hours ago and this is the third motel room in those hours, it's the first time I really feel like I've arrived somewhere. My last two stops were way stations on my passage from Atlanta to Flagstaff, AZ -- my first destination. I've been so looking forward to a couple days in Arizona that I haven't really felt like I'm on my way to nine weeks of torture -- that's what Bikram promises to those entering his yoga training program. Instead, I'm on a mini-vacation. That must be why I was so disappointed when I walked into this motel room. It's not much different than the last two but, as I say, those were way stations and this was supposed to be an arrival. It smells bad, has no bathtub, no remote control, a mushy bed, it's a loooooong walk to downtown where I hoped to spend some time, there's no reading lamp near the bed, the only electrical outlet is on the opposite wall from the phone jack making it difficult to get online without draining my laptop battery, the passing trains sound reeeeeeeally close, the shower head came from the joke shop (it only does scalding or frigid), there's a roach scoping out the food I put on the dresser (there's no fridge) and there's such a flimsy curtain on the window that everyone in the parking lot can look in and watch me scratching my ass.

So, I'm typing on the floor in the middle of the room so I don't kill my battery, I've put the mattress down here so it's got something solid underneath it and I've got something to sit on while I type, I've got towels hanging over the window, I've squashed the roach, I don't really mind cold showers, I've made ear-plugs out of toilet paper, I don't really want to watch TV and after 1,800 miles, driving to dinner won't kill me.

Still, it smells bad.

Tomorrow, I'll seek better accommodations. I'm going to try to attend a Bikram class in Sedona tomorrow and Wednesday afternoons so I've considered staying down there but the travel book doesn't have any inexpensive hotel/motel listings for Sedona. In fact, the moderate listings are four times what I paid for this skeezy dump. I think I'll consider going to what would have been my first choice if I wasn't trying to save a few bucks -- the Hotel Monte Vista. It's a little more than twice the cost of this place but it's funky hip, has bathtubs and is in the heart of downtown Flagstaff. The concierge was tattooed and pierced -- what was I thinking?

I stopped off at the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest on my way in this afternoon. The Painted Desert is a dangerous place for a city boy dressed in black denim and sandles. I wasn't planning on hiking any of the trails but standing at the top looking down it was just too inviting. I proceeded downward telling myself that I was just going to go as far as the first switchback. Turning the corner, though, and after each subsequent turn before reaching the bottom, the view just become more and more enticing, drawing me further into the heat and dust. I took a few pictures but stopped when I realized that the majesty didn't completely fit into the viewfinder. Before I knew it, I was out of sight of the trail that I had followed and standing at the edge of a vast scarlet badlands. None of the signs along the rim-top trail warned me of the siren-like call I was hearing. Just one more turn, one more vista, I kept telling myself, until I realized how easy it would be to enter and never return. City boy. At least I had a straw hat.

Driving the loop south and back across the interstate I had come from and towards the Petrified Forest, the badlands changed color from red to a bluish grey. The change was abrupt, coming into view as soon I crossed the highway -- it was like one minute I was on Mars and the next, the moon. The petrified trees were confusing to look at -- my mind had difficulty with the simultaneousness of the red rock and bark covered log appearance. Up close, some of them were amazingly marbled with rainbows, green and purple prominent among the hues. My favorites, though, were the ones that required close examination to notice that the red and black bark was no longer bark but stone. Understandably, the park rangers have a vehicle inspection station on the way out -- the temptation to collect a few for choice placement by our back yard fish pond was great.

Today was the first day that I didn't see jets in the sky....

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