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.

Engineering Love

We went accessory shopping yesterday. I needed something to go with that white skirt from last year. Now I need cowboy boots.

Henry is our new F-150, FX4, off-road, extended bed, 4-door crew cab, plaything with a huge engine and whole lot of haul. The wheel well is higher than my waist. Don’t be fooled by that pretty white exterior. He isn’t sporting fancy, girlie, high-polish wood-grain inside that cab.

Oh, no, not any fancy wood-grain for Henry. This truck has high durability fabrics and a plethora of deeply grooved rubber.

Henry seeks adventure.

Once he knows me better, he’ll ask to be called Hank. I can tell these things.

I remember the first time I drove a truck. I was out in the Arizona desert with these guys. I had flown in from Japan to learn the hot weather test process. We were there for work, but it was after work, and a few of the engineers had decided to take some trucks off-road.

The lead engineer on the trip took me in his Ford truck, still equipped with all the monitoring devices. The only lights beyond the truck headlights were the desert stars. The various gauges taped on the dashboard told us more than the view through our windshield, often obscured by the Arizona dust.

After driving for quite some time down a rough, dirt road, he asked me if I wanted a turn.

Me? A turn? I didn’t hesitate. My heart raced. I slid the seat forward as far as it could go, and still pulled on the wheel to bring my feet closer to the pedals. The sweat poured down my back. We had had perfect test weather that day – nearly 120 degrees. Heat radiated off the dirt.

“Put your tire on the rocks,” he called out.

We went. I went fast. I drove country roads in high school in a Pontiac. I drove too fast then, and wasn’t much older. The girl desk jockey from the Japan office wouldn’t be outdone.

“Don’t miss! Tires on the rocks!” I heard him again.

“Okay, okay, okay.”

I hit the rocks. I hit them one by one, I was on a roll. Until all of the sudden, the truck cut out.

“Sh&t.”

A mild panic enveloped me. Driving back roads was not frowned upon. Breaking trucks wasn’t cool.

I knew the lead engineer well enough to know he had rebuilt a Bronco for fun. He had a patent. He could fix the truck. He could even fix a truck in the dark, dusty, Arizona desert.

He looked around. He checked quite a few things. He probably wanted to yell at me, but he didn’t. Finally, he fixed the truck.

We let out a deep breath, and drove back to the hotel.

Fifteen years later, we bought Henry.

And, here is a picture of our junior engineer meeting Henry for the first time. He's in love too.