Fly away up Oak Creek Canyon, past the increasing snows of Slide Ranch,
to the switchbacks by
the piney
overlook,
adjacent to the small world of a Sikh snowball fight and
Native-American vendors.
Declivity gives way to plateau thereafter, as we approach the scalloped plowed edges of a Flagstaff service station,
where the San Francisco Peaks reign supreme,
then down out from the elevation-c.-7,000 high country into Mohave County (there's no accounting for Arizonan non-Hispanic spelling)...
to the expanses of the Yucca Rest Area,
near the Arizona Needles,
over the Colorado
River at the spot on the map known as Topock
and back
to our strange wonderful state,
with towns named after strange/natural out-of-state formations,
and the ghosts of yuccas in the Sacramento Mountains marching off to uncertain futures.
Down the alluvial slopes into the line of a deserted overpass in Ward Valley (this land where I entered the state to take up more-or-less permanent residence so many years ago),
up into the Piute Mountains,
and down again -- a palm-and-cacti
pseudo-oasis
near Goffs finds views extending east to the aforesaid prominences
and west beyond a sad, silent, waterless flock to
the Providence range in the East Mojave Scenic Area: creosote bush, dark igneous table lands, and even a bit of relief for animal companions.
But other signs, including prices a full dollar more than elsewhere (hey, we're back of beyond; what can we expect?), are less encouraging (non-humans, refer back to previous scene). Nevertheless...
Ole!... Since the Scandinavian equivalent is not coming to mind...
On. To lonely railroads before the Cady Mountains,
and the evenglow of the Calicos
extending to the outskirts of Barstow for rest. Stop.
