Three Jews and a Mexican: Day 13

Today we learned that “It’s a dry heat” is Arizona’s state motto. Or, at least, it seems to be. While it has not been recognized as the official motto by the powers that be, that phrase is repeated incessantly by the locals with the kind of brainwashed cheer common to cult members and the religious right.

Arizona is hot. Constantly hot, mind-numbingly hot, so much so that the awnings that ring the sidewalks emit a constant spray of water, effortlessly confusing pedestrians as to whether those stains on their shirt are sweat or tap water.

Sedona is a very interesting town. Beautiful, certainly, ringed by awesome stone formations of various shapes and sizes, creating a haven for those who like to climb large rocks. The air is blue and still, and the almost complete and utter lack of humidity gives the atmosphere a clean, crisp quality. Basically, it’s like an alien planet for those of us visiting from the Northeast.

And, just like any alien planet, it has its local lifeforms. These are mostly found in the form of hippies in their New Age-y incarnation. There seemed to be a psychic on every corner, and countless storefronts advertised healing balms for your aura, massages for your chakras, and loosening of your wallets. Hippies wandered the streets in a somnolent daze, attributed in part to the heat and in part to their communion with nature.

Most of these hippies were middle-aged or older. We imagine that they were hippies in olden times (when hippies used to mean something, man!) who later became yuppies or a close approximation thereof, making money and earning a decent living, until they had accrued enough wealth to stop working for the man and reunite with their inner spirit. They happily reunited in Sedona, purchasing countless beads to prove their fealty to the tribe, which, in their eyes, was only temporarily separated, but never dissolved.

Consequently, everything in Sedona was expensive as hell. I’m not sure they had their own version of Disney Dollars, like Ithaca does, but Sedona really seems to be Disneyland for your crazy hippy aunt.

After we had our fill of Sedona and ate breakfast at a restaurant that seemed to be staffed by the entirety of a WNBA team – the waitresses were without exception six and a half feet tall – we met up with Maddie, an incredibly nice native who had gone to Cornell and was ready to show us the behind-the-scenes of the Arizona rocklands.

The day was spent amidst nature. Maddie led, and we tried to avoid rattlesnakes. She took us to the red rocks and past canyon walls. Why, she even took us the The Canyon, a place that the locals keep secrets and is thus unfrequented by tourists. This is pretty much what it sounds like: a vast canyon with a river running through it, perfect for wading and accidentally falling in the water. We all wiped out on the wet rocks, except for Dustin, and sprawled into the water. Somehow, I managed to save the camera from an watery end, by contorting and holding it aloft like a digital Olympic Torch, sacrificing body so its flame would not be extinguished.


We visited some wineries, which were mediocre. It has to be near impossible to grow adequate grapes in temperatures more suited to Mercury than to viticulture. The fact that they even exist deserves kudos – or a WTF are you thinking award. We visited a militia town, where we temporarily became Two (lapsed) Jews and an Ohioan. As Maddie explained, this was a town that was revived because of mining and prostitution. My two favorite things.

We said farewell to Maddie and her mother, great people who generously fitted us with supplies for the rest of the trip and thus have our undying gratitude, with an eye towards making it to the Grand Canyon before sunset. We had heard this was the best time of day to see it, and were determined to get there in time.

So we booked it across Arizona and its 108 degree heat and somehow managed to make it to the Grand Canyon’s edge with, literally, about three minutes to spare. The Grand Canyon is, to understate it, spectacular, and the sunset was amazing.

Dustin, upon reaching the room, promptly passed out from heat exhaustion. Moldman and I shrugged, turned him on his side, and went to the lodge to find food. After a rather terrible dinner, we retired early to our “cabin.” The next day, we were supposed to get up at 5 in the morning to go hiking – both a first and last occurrence in my lifetime.