10ish hours . . . 

. . . is the time ostensibly consumed in driving from Prescott, Arizona, to Glenwood Springs, Colorado.  That span of time may refer to the majority of folks who typically travel at ten to fifteen miles per hour over the the posted speed limit, thus the drive may consume more time than that with the señor behind the wheel.

At any rate, we opted to take a day to get there, understanding, of course, the necessity of returning, the reason being commitments at each end of our six-day getaway. 

Whatever possessed us to choose that particular destination at that particular time, you may or may not inquire.  The short answer is to see an old friend.  The long answer is that I have searched and searched and searched and inquired endlessly in my fairly adept sleuthy way to locate Diane Smith (would that her name had been McGillicuddy) for a number of years, and at long last, I found her, made contact, and at this stage of life, one ought not defer to a later date.

As readers of this blog are surely aware, our preferred travel mode consists of shorter stints, primarily on lesser known byways, peppered liberally with stops along the way to explore some perceived place of interest, snap a photo, or just because.

This time, though, we’re on a mission, and I mean to get ‘er done.  After one brief phone conversation with Diane, the journey was set in motion.

Traversing the wonderful piney and high plains landscapes of northern Arizona, and the fantasmagorical slick rock convolutions of Utah as they stream past our fast (but not as fast as everyone else on the road) passing windows.

I waged the quest to find Diane (and Irv, who has since passed, unfortunately) primarily on Facebook, employing my not-inconsequential detective/research skills based on where they resided previously, others who might know someone who might know someone who might know someone else who might know how to reach them.  I conceded defeat any number of times, but as any good genealogist knows, there might be yet another way to skin a cat.

Our families became close when Irv & Diane worked for Chris’ Elderhostel at Yavapai College.  We and others of the staff spent many a fine time rough camping, fishing & swimming in Roosevelt Lake, the Verde River & Alamo Lake, among many other adventures.

So, on the road . . .

. . . it was just a matter of time until the forward motion of our vehicle succumbed to the sights that needed seeing along the way.  Actually, I'm surprised we didn't weaken earlier by stopping at places like Wilson's Arch, which is only a very short walk from the road.

First stop was to photograph this exceedingly impressive rock squatted out there on the flat as if it doesn't know that others of its ilk have long ago weathered into sand.

On previous journeys, we have driven Utah State Highway 128 southward.  It’s about as scenic a byway as you can find; I have many photos to back up that statement, but on this particular drive, we are seeing it from the down side up, and finding it to be spectacular still as it follows the Colorado River’s cut through millennia of bedrock . . . and an already long drive gained in length and in memories.

Another stop required a walk to photograph sunlight shining through a window rock high up on the cliff.  I just happened to glimpse it as we drove by.

One lonely raft was making its very leisurely way, helped along on the current with a pair of large oars.

Finally out of the confines of the steep-walled serpentine canyon, the sights continued just as spectacular.

Without the slightest doubt, that particular stretch of Utah pavement could produce hundreds of fabulous photos.  We, however, had a destination to reach - our lodging in Parachute - our ten-hour drive expanded to twelve, and that only with great restraint on our parts.