Marking both ends of a rather dark and depressing week were two absolutely delightful Sundays. On the Sunday before I embarked on my journey along the river Styx, a friend from Brookton, W.A. arrived. Yesterday, my dearest friend and I savored the delightful spring weather with a voyage of recuperation and restoration to the petroglyphs near Red Lake, the dry lake north of Kingman.
I met Dave last year when he stopped by the office to have me sign a book, Ghost Towns of the Southwest. As it turned out his plans to tour the USA were derailed when he discovered the wonders to be found in the Kingman area.
http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=1968adventurer&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=0760332215&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifrSo, he purchased a car and became a regular taking in the sites and the events in northern Arizona. When it came time for him to return home, I made arrangements for the storage of his car and we began exchanging news paper clippings of interest.
When he returned a week ago we dug his car out of storage, spent the morning catching up on the latest news, and he provided a few more coals to stoke the smouldering fires of my fascination with the land down under. As I write this mornings post, a calender from Tomeo’s Service Station, Karragullen, W.A. with a beautiful photo of El Questro Gorge, Kimberly, now dominates the wall beside the monitor.
Yesterday morning, to speed my recovery, my dearest friend prescribed a leisurely drive north from Kingman to an old haunt of ours, a stark hill of petroglyphs near Red Lake. As it turned out this was a much needed tonic.
The temperatures were near perfect. We had the road to ourselves once we cleared the urban sprawl, and as we followed the sandy track into the desert wilderness I could feel the restoration that can only come from being in a quiet place of memories with a dear friend surrounded by some of God’s finest handiwork seep into my weary bones.
Ever the mindful and caring nurse, my dearest friend reigned me in after a short walk along the sandy trace where horned toad lizards darted in front of us even though my spirit longed for a stroll of miles. In celebration of the fact I was still counted among the living, and the fact I had managed a walk of several hundred yards without having to rest, my dearest friend surprised me with a cold spearmint tea and bag of grapes that we shared on our return to the Jeep. Life is good.
On a final note, please don’t forget those who have suffered so much in recent months, our friends in Queensland who have endured record floods, the fine folks in New Zealand and those in Japan who are suffering through tragedies of epic proportions. They need our prayers and support.