A Rocky Trip down Memory Lane

August 15th, 2009 - Diamond Creek Road, Yavapai Reservation, Arizona

One day, in Arizona, a type-A city girl careened down a dusty canyon in an F-150 to the Colorado River – to the base of the Grand Canyon. A young man sat at her side in white-knuckle anticipation. They were in love. She only broke the truck a little.

He fixed it without hesitation, somewhere outside of Peach Springs, Arizona.

They were in love.

Fifteen years later, a 40-something man drove sensibly down a dusty canyon in an F-150 to the Colorado River – to the base of the Grand Canyon. A young-at-heart woman sat at his side. The three children enjoyed the off-road adventure from the back of the white truck with mild anticipation.

“So, this was the road we were on fifteen years ago?”

“Oh, yes, this is the only road and I remember the turn off at Peach Springs vividly,” my husband replied. “This is the only road down here. I’m not surprised it is still unpaved. My first time down here was with you that night.”

I laughed to myself. I remember him being my ‘tour guide,’ an expert in the local area.

“Really? I thought you were just showing me places you had been before. I just remember you being quite nervous when I drove.”

“I let you drive?”

My laughter was no longer just to myself.

We drove down the canyon taking in the scenery. We stopped to show the kids different desert plants. We tried to remember what it had looked like, but it had been dark and dusty and I don’t remember noticing the desert plants fifteen years ago. The engineers were too busy noticing each other.

Our kids seem to notice everything. They see the different plants. They notice the change in rock color. Andrew hears the change in rpm when we ascend a hill. Gladys reminds her dad to put the truck in low gear to ease it down the other side. In a few short months George changed from simply clapping his hands and gleefully singing ‘Off-road Daddy!’ to pointing out specific birds.

We drove to the edge of the Colorado River and looked up the steep canyon walls. Although small compared to the grandeur further upstream, our children had not yet seen the canyon from the rim. My children reacted in their typical fashion.

Andrew stomped into the river with his boots on. After all, a cub scout wears full shoes to protect his feet.

Our attempts to ‘baptize’ George in the river will ill-received, although I did get his feet wet a little.

Gladys went swimming in her panties.

After we had all enjoyed the Colorado River in our own way, we headed back towards Peach Springs.

And, once again, a 40-something man drove sensibly down a dusty canyon in an F-150. A young-at-heart woman sat at his side. The three children enjoyed the off-road adventure from the back of the white truck with mild anticipation.

Until, of course, that sensible 40-something man got stuck behind a very slow moving F-750 loaded down with kayaks coming from the Colorado River. At that time, he decided to very sensibly (anyone would have done the same actually) pass them at the widest part of the dusty, rocky road. Before that young-at-heart woman could even think about white knuckles, they were beyond the kayak-bearing trucks and once again driving sensibly down a dusty canyon.

Until, of course, the very useful light on the dashboard went on - the very useful light that tells you about low tire pressure. As soon as the truck stopped, the very loud hissing sound coming from the back tire dispelled any notion of just a little ‘low pressure.’

Nope. That tire is busted.

And, once again, that man was fixing an F-150 on the dusty road outside of Peach Springs, Arizona. He only broke the truck a little.

And, anyway, they were still in love.

It might say 'flats fixed' but ours was not to be salvaged. We left it in the pile there behind Gladys.

Take only pictures. Leave only tires.