We left Sedona after a tremendous SW breakfast of huevos rancheros (eggs, beans, salsa and more over a tortilla) and huevos con churizo (eggs with sausage) and a stop in a local park for a stroll. The park featured a playground, tennis courts, and two baseball diamonds . . . all nestled up against the awe-inspiring buttes (learned the name . . . no mere " outcroppings" here!) I spoke of earlier. I can't imagine how many Little League game outcomes have turned as some poor kid who, mesmerized by the surroundings, loses track of the game as a groundball rifles by him for the game-winning hit!
Instead of the main highway north to Flagstaff and Cameron, we decide to take one of the secondary roads . . . and what a superb decision that turns out to be. The scenery is magnificent and the travel is eased by view after amazing view. Sedona's at about 2000 feet above sea level and Flagstaff is at about 5000, so the trip is uphill all the way but, mostly, gently uphill. In Flagstaff we are briiefly on Route 66, allowing us to check off a pop song cliche ("Flagstaff, Arizona, don't forget Winona, Kingman, Bostock, San Bernadino . . . ") from our life-list. Flagstaff also turns out to be the last civilized place in Arizona before the Grand Canyon National Park. Not that we knew that . . . we passed on stopping in one of the many supermarkets to pick up vittles thinking we'd be able to do so at Cameron, the last village one enters before the park.
As we approached Cameron, we noticed a dramatic change in the land. From about 5 miles away, one can see all signs of vegetation disappear. The desert. Flat, dry, and windy. Tumbleweeds roll across the highway in small numbers at first, then in a flurry later. A haze sets over the land, born not of mist or fog or smoke but of dust particles. The wind howls and swirls and buffets cars left and right. Giant roadsigns proclaim the wonders of the Cameron Trading Post and, why not? It's the only commerce in an otherwise poverty-stricken region where trailers and pick-ups rest side-by-side in the desert just off the road. The Painted Desert is just a few miles east and the Grand Canyon a few west but here in Cameron, there's little to amuse or distract other than the Trading Post.
(courtesy of fabgrandma.com)
We stop and push through the wind to enter the Trading Post. It's enormous and offers everything from Native American crafts to Prickly Pear Licorice to T-shirts to groceries.
There's also a fine restaurant and, after some discussion, we settle in for an unexpected meal. Again, I go southwestern and order the house specialty: an open-faced bean, cheese, and salsa combo on a delicious "fry bread" which turns out to be a shell with a puff pastry-like doughiness. And it's huge. I ate till past full and still left about half on my plate.
(courtesy tripadvisor.com . . . and truly amazing that my order is available for review on the internet!)
As a side note, the two southwestern meals had an impact on my system. I'll spare the details but I did set a new personal record for "pit stops." Not quite Montezuma's Revenge . . . more like Montezuma's Prank.
Anyway, on to the park some 20 miles to the west . . .
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