I was finally in National Park Country - the land of hikers, climbers, campers and general outdoor adventurers. I was up high too, Prescott is over 5,000 ft., so the heat vanished with my hardships. John had rescued me and delivered me to freedom. I was among my people.
I could literally feel the shift in momentum. And sure enough, fifteen minutes after John dropped me off another Toyota pickup pulled over. The roof rack was strapped with long, canvas wrapped poles. This turned out to be a hang glider, and its pilot, Kris, bounced out of the cab, smiled and patted me on the back. He told me they’d passed me and then decided to turn around and come back - a surprisingly common hitchhiking occurrence. People size you up as they drive by, think about you for a while, maybe feel a little guilty and then decide to turn around and come back to get you.
But judging by Kris’ personality there was no thought or guilt involved. He and his beautiful German wife Nicole were probably in the middle of a conversation and when there was a lull said something like, hey did you see that guy back there, what did his sign say? Let’s go back and get him! They had that spontaneous, carefree spirit.
Kris helped me load my pack into the back and I climbed up into the cab with them. Nicole scooted over and sat in the middle. They immediately made me feel like their new best friend. They were headed up to a hang glider launch site on the top of Mingus Mountain, where they were planning to camp for the night with friends and fly in the morning. They invited me to camp with them and of course I accepted, but I was starting to wonder if I’d ever make it to Sedona.
It was only thirty miles to Mingus Mountain and we gained another 2000 feet, snaking up the switchbacks to the 7,200 ft. summit. We parked at the campground on top and walked out to a rocky point overlooking the valley. This was the launch site - all you had to do was rig your glider and walk off the edge and you were flying. John pointed to the famous red rocks of Sedona glowing in miniature thirty miles further east and behind them, the massive green bank of the San Francisco peaks, the largest mountains in Arizona.
Kris and Nicole met in this exact spot two years earlier. It was breathtaking and romantic - not hard to imagine falling in love here. I asked Nicole if it was love at first sight.
Before she could answer Kris interrupted, “Oh no. I had to work hard. My glider was broken and I knew I couldn’t fly so I helped my other buddies launch and the last guy launched and she was standing right there with two friends. She had this aura around her. I’d never seen that before. I thought, That’s interesting… a person with an aura. I never saw that in my whole life! I need to go talk to this person.”
“What about his aura?” I asked. “Did you see his aura?”
“No. I noticed his hat.”
“See! I didn’t have an aura, I had a hat! A stupid, giant hat!”
There were tents and truck campers and air stream trailers spread out around a big grassy field a couple of hundred yards from the launch site - almost all of them belonged to hang gliders who’d gathered for a social evening under the stars before the next morning’s flight.
I went back to Kris and Nicole’s truck to get my tent and find my phone to see if I had cell service because in all the excitement I’d forgotten to call my mom and I’d promised to call every day. As much as she was used to me doing unorthodox, adventurous things and supported this trip, she was still a mother. If it had been later in the trip it might not have been that big a deal, but it was only day four and she was still getting used to the whole hitchhiking thing… probably praying every night that I wasn’t going to get kidnapped.
I dug around in my pack - checked the top compartments and side zippers. I checked my computer and camera bags… nothing. I started pulling out all of my clothes and sundries. Before long, it looked like a yard sale on the ground next to the truck. Kris and Nicole came over and asked if everything was alright. When I told them I was missing my phone, they searched everywhere in the truck - in the glove box, under the seats… After about a half hour it was obvious that it was gone.
I was terribly disappointed. I had no choice but to head down off the mountain and at least try to find a pay phone. One of Kris’ friends was driving back towards Prescott and offered to take me down to rte 89A at the bottom of the access road where I could catch a ride east towards Sedona.
We said our farewells. It was hard getting used to the whole “hello, goodbye” thing, especially with people as genuine and kind as John and Kris and Nicole… It was like life in miniature: making friends in one place and then moving on to another place and starting all over… only it happened several times a day. It was only four O’clock, I wondered who else I was going to meet? It didn’t take long to find out.
Kathleen, the town librarian of Jerome (fifteen miles down the hill) and her son Klayton, an oceanic scientist, pulled over in yet another pick up truck (clearly the vehicle of choice in Arizona.) There was no room up front so I hopped into the open bed in the back next to my pack and off we went.
Up to that point, all of my rides had been inside cars. I couldn’t have picked a better spot to get my first outdoor ride. The road down the east side of Mingus Mountain drops two thousand feet through alpine meadows, pine forests and chimneys of red rock. The late afternoon sun shot through the trees and rocks in broken rays and as the road curled down off the mountain, vistas opened up here and there of the sunlit valley below and Sedona in the distance. It was a warm afternoon and the trees smelled as sweet as sugar.
Eventually we dropped into historic Jerome, a famous old copper mining town - its buildings stacked in terraces on the side of the mountain like one of those old Italian towns on the Mediterranean. The road zig-zagged down through the old banks, bars and brothels - now shops, galleries and restaurants. There were still tons of bars and being a biker town they were filled with tattooed men the size of trees, slamming beers, playing pool and dancing to rock music. They spilled out into the streets and thundered up and down the hill on their gleaming Harleys.
Kathleen stopped in front of the town park. She and Klayton invited me to join them for an evening picnic with friends. I told them I would, but first I wanted to find a phone and a hotel room for the night. I called my mom, but I couldn’t find a room. It was Saturday and the town was absolutely booked. I had no choice but to keep heading down into the valley.
I shouldered my pack and walked the narrow streets between the little bohemian houses strung along the lip of the valley and the old brick buildings on the hillside with signs in the windows: Psychic Reader, Ice Cream, Budweiser.
I walked for nearly a mile with my huge pack, but I hardly noticed. Finally, the road turned away from the mountain and followed a ridge that extends straight out like an arm to where the high school is located across from a big scenic turnout where you can look back up at the town and the old, defunct copper mine. I sat down on the sidewalk in the waning light and raised my sign.
Now I was on a roll. I was picked up by Rich Kegley, the drummer from one of the bands that had been playing up on Main Street. When I told him I was planning to play the Sedona Golf Resort the next morning, he said, “I live right next to the Golf Resort. My girlfriend’s out of town for the weekend. You’re welcome to stay at my place.”
It was only twenty miles to Sedona. I was ecstatic that I was finally going to make it. I laughed at myself for thinking it would only take a day to get there from Palm Springs. It felt more like a week.
Rich’s house sits on a quiet street in Oak Creek right below Bell Rock - one of the most famous and identifiable rock features in Sedona. It is hard to describe the beauty of Sedona, but it is no wonder that UFOlogists and yogis and New Ageists believe this place is a vortex or spiritual gateway. It just emanates otherworldliness, especially at dusk and dawn when the rocks turn such vivid tones of orange and red they look like giant chunks of amber and garnet radiating light from within.
Rich had a big, lovable, slobbering brown lab named Otis who came barreling out to greet us. We both followed Rich around as he loaded his drum set into the back of the car. He showed me to the guest room, said, Mi casa es su casa, and took off to play his second gig. Otis and I stood in the driveway and looked at each other. He didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the presence of a stranger. When I patted him on the back, he wagged his tail like we were old friends.
When I began the trip, I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going to sleep every night. I figured it would be a combination of motels and campgrounds… maybe a few roadside meadows and woods. Based on my prior experiences I knew people would be generous, I suspected they might even invite me into their homes. But to have it actually happen on the fourth day, to be trusted and cared for on such short notice was amazing. I explained all this to Otis as we sat on the couch watching TV. He thought I was silly. Of course Rich would let you stay here. Look at my belly, I haven’t missed a meal in years!
If nothing else happened that day, I would’ve considered myself blessed, but the Universe wasn’t finished with me yet. When I checked my email before bed, I found this message in my inbox:
This is to backup you checking your phone messages without your phone. WE have it and are holding it ransom for nothing! Just call and give us a hint where to reunite you and your blackbuddy. I will try to fly to Sedona in my hang glider tomorrow and land on the correct golf course on precisely the hole you are playing. The universe will conspire to make this happen.
- Kris and Nicole
After I’d hitchhiked down off of the mountain, Kris and Nicole had driven back to the spot where they’d picked me up and in the glow of their headlights found my BlackBerry lying in the dirt. Kris was now planning to fly it to the Sedona Golf Resort the next day in his hang glider. I emailed back to tell him he couldn’t miss it… it was the huge green thing just south of Bell Rock.
I arrived at the golf course around ten am. I played nine holes and then settled in at the bar to watch the final round of the US Open. Just when the leaders were starting the back nine, I heard a familiar voice behind me. I turned to see Kris striding across the room his face beaming, his arm held proudly aloft, my BlackBerry in his hand.
“I almost made it! I landed a mile from here… Nicole picked me up in the chase car!”
Nicole was right behind him, smiling just as brightly. I ordered a pitcher of beer and we sat there together on Father’s Day and watched the epic duel between Rocco Mediate and Tiger Woods - the one where Tiger made a thirty foot putt on 18 to tie Rocco and force a Monday playoff.
When Kris and Nicole left I headed back out onto the course at dusk and played the back nine way up on top of the hill under the red rock mesas. They were radiating their inner glow and my ball hung in the air against them like a falling star. As I played down eighteen, a full moon rose behind the clubhouse and a coyote trotted nonchalantly across the fairway.
I’d hoped the golfing part of the trip would be a grounding influence - a time out of the car to soak in some of the essence of the landscapes I was traveling through and, cumulatively, give me a real sense of the physical breadth of the continent in all its diversity.
As I walked off the course and up the hill towards Bell Rock under the full moon, I felt like the first piece of the puzzle had been put into place and the shape and color of it hinted at the beauty and good fortune of the pieces to come.
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