January 12, 2006 - Sojourn into the Past - The Return Day 2

January 12, 2006 - Sojourn into the Past - The Return Day 2

It's Wednesday December 28th and we sleep in until about 8:30, tired out by the long drive to Sedona from El Paso on Tuesday. Close to 9:00 I don my running suit-a gift from Rohde & Schwarz, the Munich Germany test and measurement company (a rival to Agilent, the Hewlett-Packard T&M spinout) given to me when I attended my first ever Electronica the first week in November 1990. Electronica was once one of the largest trade fairs in the world, now downsized thanks to the declining fortunes of the electronics industry. The royal blue running suit consists of elastic waistband pants with an 8-in. zipper at the cinched bottom of each outside pant leg and a zippered jacket with zippered pockets. It's great running gear in cold weather and the Sedona morning was crisp and chilly. I call the front desk of the Hilton Sedona Resort where we're staying and asked for a good jogging path. They have none to recommend so I decide to strike off and see what I can find on my own.

The Hilton sits atop a 20-or-so-foot rise at 90 Ridge Trail Drive; a left turn off Arizona Highway 179. I jog out of the parking lot and down the grade to the stop light at 179. Traffic is fairly light and I cross the highway when the light changes to green for Ridge Trail Drive traffic. On the other side of the highway is a new-built housing development that begins just across a creek that runs along side the highway. Could this be the Oak Creek that this suburb of Sedona is named after? Jogging down the slight decline from the highway, I cross the bridge over the creek and see that the street I'm on is not Ridge Trail but Avenida de Piedras, which begins to gradually rise as I run. On either side of the road are new homes constructed within the last year or two at the most. Some are vacant; some with homeowners just moved in. One fellow on the right side is out puttering in his front lawn, an older man, probably retired and paid cash for his place and now collecting his retirement. I suspect many of the houses in the tract are owned by retirees drawn by the red-rock, high-desert scenery of Sedona. Ever so often along Avenida de Piedras, there is an open lot with a “sold” sign posted. After the equivalent of four or five blocks, the road makes a wide U turn and I look up to see the familiar red rock mountains in the distance. I realize that nearly every home in the development can look out their window and see these magnificent landmarks in the distance.

At the crest of the slight rise I've been jogging up for the past few minutes Avenida de Piedras completes its sweeping U turn and circles back on itself five or six block down the hill. As I begin descending the rise, I notice that the street is now named Piedras del Norte. I'm looking for distance so rather than follow the street until it returns to the entrance of the development-the street forms an oval that looks like a watermelon from above-I turn right onto a street called Sin Salida, which carries me straight for a three or four blocks before making a gradual right angle turn which ends a few blocks later in a cul de sac. I turn and resume my run back to Piedras del Norte and down the rise until I return to the start of Avenida de Piedras. I repeat the same circuit three times and at the end of the last cycle, I head back to the Hilton-a forty-five minute run that in combination with the scenery and the unspoiled air makes me feel exhilarated. By the time I make it back to the hotel, IM is booting up a Mac laptop to check her e-mail and I begin my morning toilet.

I'm a creature of habit and running is the first of the waking rituals I perform to start my day. It's followed by a morning shave, shower, and teeth cleaning. Into a fresh pair of jeans and sport shirt, loafers afoot and we're ready for breakfast at the Hilton restaurant-“The Grille.” Restaurant breakfasts used to be the highlight of a trip when I was younger-eggs, breakfast potatoes, and bacon or sausage was prepared from scratch. Today, with so many restaurants relying on serve-yourself buffets, even meals ordered off the menu, the bacon, sausage, and potatoes are cooked in advance, kept warm and served to you with eggs cooked to order-most not done as requested. I'm not being critical of the Hilton's restaurant but rather making a statement about breakfast restaurants in general. Gone are the days of the skilled short-order cook, except in small towns like Los Banos, California. There last year by happenstance I stopped at a café off Highway 152 downtown and found a genuine short order cook that talked with the patrons at the counter and the waitresses as they dropped off and picked up orders. He was a creature out of my past, who made a decent breakfast.

But, we're not in Los Banos, but rather Sedona and the menu has French toast stuffed with cream cheese-my choice, and a short stack of pancakes, IM's choice, which we order. I have to describe cream cheese filled French toast. For me the standard for this dish is il Fornaio Restaurant in Northern California-San Francisco, near the Embarcadero, Palo Alto off University Avenue, and San Jose in the Sainte Clare Hotel across San Carlos Street from Plaza de Cesar Chavez Park. The il Fornaio dish uses thick pieces of French bread to make the toast and at one time the slices were split and stuffed with sweetened mascarpone cheese. More recently the cheese is served on the side and I always asked for extra helpings. The dish comes with a delicate maple syrup and I typically have a side of Applewood smoked bacon-breakfast doesn't get much better than this. Another variation, which I've only had twice-the second time because I forgot that I didn't like it the first time-was at Mimi's Restaurant. It's a chain in California featuring a French country motif that serves a dish called the Pain Perdu Breakfast-French toast made from sliced white loaf bread with cream cheese sandwiched between. The third variation is the one I just ordered at The Grille. This dish comes with a side of sausage, which helped make up for the Pain Perdu-like dish I was served. I don't recommend either of the alternatives.

We finish breakfast a half-hour before noon and leave the hotel to wander about Sedona. Our first stop is the Oak Creek Factory Outlets, where I go about replenishing my depleted wardrobe of jeans and t-shirts. I also score a new pair of ASICs running shoes-my preferred choice in athletic foot ware because of the cushioning in the heel and they are about the only brand that fits my feet without causing blisters. Once we've satisfied our need to shop-IM found one item, a knit top (who's the chick among us?)-we gas up at the Giant station a couple blocks north on 179 from the outlets, where I'm once again made aware that I'm not in California-the pump's credit card reader is not working. Once fueled, we proceed north on 179 for nearly ten miles into the center of Sedona. Along the heavily traveled two-lane highway are turnouts at vista points that are filled with park cars; each disgorging camera carrying passengers each eager to capture the distinctive shape of Bell Rock, Cathedral Rock, Chimney Rock, Coffeepot Rock, Courthouse Butte and Snoopy Rock in digital film.

We're being swept along by the continuous stream of cars moving toward the center of Sedona, which was named after the wife of T. Carl Schnebly in 1902 when he filed with the U.S. government for a post office in the region to serve early settlers-is it any wonder the area has a distinct feminine feel? As we near the center of the town, just past Highland Drive on our right, Highway 179 makes a 90-degree left turn over a creek (possibly Oak Creek again) and heads for its rendezvous with Si Birch Highway or Highway 89A. On our left as we complete the left turn, is the shopping center called Tlaquepaque, modeled after a small Mexican village. With unique architectural features that are a draw unto themselves, the centers contains all the yuppie conveniences you've come to expect, a collection of galleries and restaurants as well as a chapel and musicians often performing in the courtyards. Trying to get into and out of the village is a feat since the traffic in both directions is unrelenting. Any thoughts we had of indulging our upscale appetite was thwarted by the traffic nightmare that confronted us. We push on to the traffic light at 89A, where 179 ends and 89A carries on north to Flagstaff and west to Red Rock State Park, our destination.

The road leading up to Highway 89A is mostly old Sedona, architecture suggesting the 1940s and 1950s, when John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart were making “Angel and the Badman” and “Firecreek” with the Sedona landscape as their larger than life backdrop. West on 89A, which widens into multilane boulevard both directions, is new Sedona: strip mall that would not be out of place along Interstate 17 or 10 on the outskirts of Flagstaff or Phoenix. And there are the familiar chains-Wells Fargo Bank, MacDonald's, Starbucks… We push on until we leave the modern-development-cluttered hilly terrain of Sedona sprawl and enter the open desert again-rolling hills of red rock colonized by desert scrub that manages to thrive on only 17 inches of rainfall annually. From the 89A-179 intersection we drive just over eight miles turning left off 89A at Lower Red Rock Loop Road after going a little over five miles. About three miles later we turn right into Red Rock State Park, elevation 3900 feet. The park came about because TWA president, Jack Frye and his wife Helen, the former Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt Jr. (nee Helen Varner)-she divorced to marry Frye-decided to build their getaway place in Sedona.

The two purchased between 700 and 800 acres, just a third of which is today Red Rock State Park, in the early 1940s shortly after they were married. It took nearly a decade before they built a home on the property living in properties on the land-the Ambrosio Armijo Homestead, which they sold, and Willow House, which is still part of the park today. The house they decided to build, which they called House of Apache Fires, sits high on a knoll overlooking the valley. It's the one of the first features that catches your eye as you enter the park because the structure contrasts with the surrounding natural beauty. This land has been inhabited for as long as there have been humans in North America. Oak Creek snakes through the park from the north meandering in a U from the north at Lower Red Rock Loop Road south past the visitor center to just in front of House of Apache Fires-at the bottom of the U-and then turning north again. IM and I park and walk the Bunkhouse Trail and cross Oak Creek over the Kingfisher Bridge, then turn left on Kisva Trail and pass beneath the now derelict House of Apache Fires. We follow Kisva Trail sheltered by Utah junipers that reach as much as 60 feet tall, fed by the water from nearby Oak Creek. Off the trail and away from the creek, trees and desert flora able to tolerate the sparse rainfall stake their claim: mesquite, cat claw, agave, scrub oaks, manzanita, barberry, prickly pear, yucca, and Mormon tea. Short to the ground, with sparse foliage to minimize moisture loss, deep rooted to tap whatever wetness the sun-baked earth hordes. I admire these living creatures for their tenacity and their ability to deal with the harshest conditions nature can dish out.

IM is blissfully at peace walking the length of Kisva trail from Kingfisher Bridge to Blackhawk Crossing another bridge over Oak Creek. The path has taken us back to the visitor center parking lot-the creek on our right, cliff walls of red rock hammered by wind and natural erosion on our left blocking out the sun. We spend an hour or more communing with nature as we amble along the trail, the fine red sand giving way under our shoes, the occasional bird call and the continuous prattle of the slow moving stream the music serenading our saunter.

Our hike ended back at the parking lot of the visitors' center, which had filled to capacity since we had arrived. We notice cars, trucks, and minivans with plates from all the western states-California the most represented. Refreshed we leave the park and return to Lower Red Rock Loop Road and turn right and as soon as we get on the black top, the macadam ends and we're traveling a dirt road wide enough to accommodate two lanes of traffic. Along the road we pass a number of houses some new built, others standing for many decades. They have good reason to be on this lightly traveled road. They have a commanding view of all Sedona's rock formations. I find a spot on the side of the road to pull off and IM and I get out to gawk at the 180 degree we have of these magnificent natural structures. We have the view atop a promontory looking out over a valley to the Red Rock natural monuments in the distance. I tried to capture the vista in my own digital camera to no avail. The lens forces the perspective into a confined field of view and can never capture the incredible depth, height, and breath of the scene we were beholding.

We leave our perch and head back to the hustle and bustle of everyday life in Sedona just as another car pulls in. As we drive on the dirt road turns back into black top and we find ourselves once again surrounded the cacophony of modern times. Back to the hotel to rest before dinner and enjoy having nothing to do but contemplate our return to California the next day.