Day 2

Three summers ago, G3 and I were in the car with Mom and Dad out on Long Island. G3 asked Dad, “Would you go to Little Rock in July?”

Dad answered, “Arkansas in the summer. It’s so hot. don’t think so.”

G3’s forehead wrinkled, “But Grandpa, that’s where the World Championship is for Taekwondo. If I qualify would you come see me.”

Dad smiled at in in the rear view mirror, “If you qualify, of course, I will go.”

The World Championship has since moved. It is now in Phoenix—which is also very very hot—but if Dad were alive I know he would be here with us. The moment G3 qualified he would have booked the trip for him and Mom. And so this morning, while Kati showers, I am in bed crying and missing Dad for about the millionth time. It would have been wonderful if could be here, if he had lived long enough to see G3 compete.

Arizona is hot. Yeah, it’s a dry heat, I know, but it’s still hot. Hell! Kati has more than once referred to it as Hell because, dry or humid, 105 degrees makes you feel like you are baking in an oven. Even when a breeze blows it isn’t cool or refreshing. A breeze out here feels like someone turned on a hair dryer and pointed it at you. It’s just more heat.

Our original plan today had been to go hiking. However, the place we wanted to go was two and a half hours away so even with an early start it would have been too hot to hike by the time we arrived. In this heat, Kati and G3 would not have had any fun. At 7:30, it was already 98 degrees.

Our plans were further derailed by the faulty car we got from Thrifty. When we got it the tire pressure was low in one tire. We asked for a new car but they didn’t have one. They told us to head over to Jiffy Lube and put air in the tire. We were not happy but we did it. The air pressure held for our trip to Saguaro, but by the time we settled in the hotel the tire started losing pressure again. Kati called AAA. I’ve never known AAA to show up so quickly. The guy was there in less than 10 minutes. He changed our tire, putting on the spare, and when he took the tire off he noticed a nail in it. Crap. The spare would not be good to drive on for the rest of the week. We wanted a new car but alas there were no cars to give us.

What choice did we have but to get the tire plugged? A quick google search brought us to Big Brand Tire & Service in Scottsdale. The men there were so incredibly nice. The first man Kati spoke to, she explained the problem we were having and wrapped up by saying we were on a vacation from hell. He immediately looked at the tire, found the nail, and made plugging the hole a priory.

Leaving the tire to be fixed we went to grab something to eat for breakfast. Before we were even finished eating they called to tell us the tire was ready. Back at the shop, we spoke to another guy who worked there while they put the tire back on the car. He was really friendly. And he is originally from New York—he was born in Astoria, not too far from my hometown—so we chatted for awhile about the East Coast. When the car was ready, he didn’t charge us. He wished G3 good luck and told us to enjoy the rest of our stay.

We headed to Montezuma Castle National Monument. G3 had never seen Native American cliff dwellings and I thought it might be a nice experience for him. It turned out to be anti-climactic. Years ago, Kati and I had visited a cliff dwelling in Colorado. There, we were able to walk through the dwelling and see it close-up. Here, tourists were not permitted to enter the dwelling. Disappointing! All we could do was look up at the cliff face and what we saw appeared to be nothing more than a large hole in the rock. Still, I’m glad we went. G3 got to see it and it’s one more stamp in his National Park book.

Tuzigoot National Monument was our next stop. Once upon a time it was a Southern Sinagua Village. (According to the Ranger they were ancestors of the Hopi People.) The village was inhabited until the middle of the 1400s when it is believed that a 26 year drought drove the residents to migrate north. Back when they did reside here, it was neither as hot nor as dry as it is now. It was—again according to the Ranger—once an oasis where farmers grew squash, beans, corn, and cotton. Based on studies of burial sites, it is believed the people were peaceful and did not engage in warfare. However, they did hunt buffalo and elk.

In the early 1900s, the site was nothing but rubble, a pile of rocks. In 1933 (or 1934), the CCC came in and renovated the structure. They followed the original foundations to rebuild several walls so that the village now looks like a well preserved ruin.

On the way back to Phoenix we stopped at Alcantara Vineyard to go wine tasting. Yep, you read that correctly. Grapes in a desert! This totally blew my mind. When we set out to visit Arizona, a winery was nowhere on our radar. But alas, the best thing about traveling is learning new things and learn we did. The wine was far more expensive than we are used to, probably because of the water bill. How much does irrigation alone cost to keep grapes alive out here? I should have asked, but somehow that question seemed rude, inappropriate.

Besides, the bartender was not terribly friendly. She had the personality of wilted lettuce. Maybe it was us. Maybe we weren’t classy enough for their joint. In our matching tee shirts and cargo shorts we were definitely underdressed compared to other customers. Or maybe it was the rainbow vibe. It is Arizona, so maybe they weren’t exactly queer friendly. Whatever the reason, we had no desire to stick around after the tasting.

But personality aside, the vineyard was pretty. There was just something appealing about grapes growing against such a dry brown backdrop. The wine was also good. There were a couple of Merlots that I think Dad would have liked. And wine tasting is something that I think will always remind me of Dad. If he were alive, I would have bought him a bottle. Actually, no, if he were alive he probably would have gone wine tasting with us.

We are back on the road and off in the distance it is raining. Much of the sky is blue except for one gray mass. When Kati pointed to it, G3 commented, “It’s like Mama’s dark cloud is calling to her.” Yep, my own personal black cloud that prevents sunshine and good luck from penetrating. What are the odds I can leave it behind here in the Southwest? What are the odds I’ll get home and an agent or a school district will want me? We just drove through the cloud and the downpour lasted 7.6 seconds. It was the shortest storm I’ve ever experienced.

For a mid-day snack we stopped for custard and curds. It’s a sickness, I know, but Culver’s calls to us and we can’t say no.

We got back to the hotel late in the afternoon. Kati and G3 cooled off in the A/C and watched TV. I sat outside—in the shade—by the pool and read. I did put my feet in the water and the water was hot. I’m not a pool person, I’ve never cared for pools, but even if I was a pool person I’m not sure I would have gone swimming. It would have been like soaking in a hot tub—not cool or refreshing at all. G3 opted not to swim because it would have been boring, he said, without other kids.

For dinner, we went to Nello’s for pizza. It was surprisingly good—for Arizona—but I think Kati and G3 liked it more than me. G3 called me a pizza snob. He’s probably right. Once you’ve eaten pizza in Italy your bar is much higher. I was happy to see G3 enjoy it. Except when we make homemade pizza, I’ve never seen him eat so much. While we ate, a dust storm rolled through. It was pretty cool. I had never experienced one before. So we took turns getting up and going outside to see it. Such tourists. Well, there really wasn’t much to see except the trees shaking. It did get darker and we could feel the dust in our eyes. The weather advisory warned that visibility could be bad but it wasn’t. I guess as far as dust storms go, it was mild.