Day 13 – to Flagstaff, AZ

It’s time to head home. We’re ready. We checked out of the hotel by 7:30, collected the Teardrop and were on the road by 8 a.m.
 
We streaked across the Sonoran Desert on Interstate 8, coming within a half-mile of Mexican border, and stopping in Dateland, Arizona, about 120 miles southwest of Phoenix, to try the famous date shakes – lightly sweet and refreshing on this hot, dusty day. The town was originally a water stop along the railroad lines. During World War II, three air strips were built and used as training for B-25 bombers. Today, there’s a grove of date trees – the climate is ideal for growing medjools, “the Cadillac of dates” – and a traveler stop with a gas station, a gift shop, an ice cream shop and a date bakery selling homemade date pies, date cookies, date muffins, date squares and date bread. 

 We were chugging along north of Phoenix when our maps app started to churn and choke; there was practically smoke coming out of the nav system, it was working so hard. One minute, it told us that we had 2 hours to our destination. Then suddenly we had 2.5 hours left. Then 3. We guessed that there was an accident ahead on I-17.
 
Suddenly, Apple Maps routed us off the interstate and onto a back road to bypass the blockage on the freeway. We followed the directions, figuring that anything was better than an hour of stop-and-go traffic. But the back road was full of twists and turns as it descended into a gulley, and then it quickly turned into a narrow, unimproved dirt road as it followed a dry stream bed through the canyon. 
 
We could see helicopters hovering on the other side of a ridge, and billows of thick black smoke in the direction of the interstate. We consulted the Arizona DOT on Twitter and learned that the interstate is completely shut down due to a brush fire. All traffic, from both directions, was diverted onto this road. 

Imagine the volume of traffic on an interstate highway. Now imagine that traffic displaced onto a narrow dirt road. For 20 miles and the better part of an hour, we were snaking along, dodging boulders, lurching over potholes, squeezing past semis careening from the opposite direction, and trying not to slide off the side of the road into a steep, rocky ditch. At some points visibility was zero, because the traffic kicked up so much dust. In fact, our midnight blue car is now light beige. And as we crawled across the desert floor, our temperature gauge read 118 degrees. Poor Teardrop. He really went through the wringer today.
 

Yikes!

We were so relieved and triumphant when we finally found our way back onto I-17; we made it to Flagstaff by late afternoon. We are staying tonight in Lake View Campground, near Lake Mary, in the Coconino National Forest, about 15 miles southeast of Flagstaff. For a few minutes toward the end of our drive, as the temperature gauge still read in the 90s, we considered finding a motel in Flagstaff. But we’re glad we’re here. It’s cool and pleasant under the tall ponderosa pine trees. You know you’ve been through the hellscape that is the Arizona desert in July when 93 degrees feels like a breath of fresh air. 

There are no big trailers or rigs at this campground – just a bunch of spirited tent campers. The atmosphere is very friendly and festive The two campsites closest to us are occupied by a scout troop or a church youth group; there is a gaggle of 7 or 8 high school-age girls, but they are so boisterous that it seems like there are twenty or more of them. 
 
Our campsite happens to be next to the water spigot and the toilets, so we might as well be on the interstate freeway with all the traffic moving right past the trailer. Even after 10 p.m., as we’re tucked inside for bed, these girls are parading by within a few feet of us, laughing and giggling and calling to each other on their way to and from the bathroom. I’m grinding my teeth at their flagrant lack of self-awareness. It was quieter at Ruby’s RV Park.  
 
Oh, here’s another funny Dad story: I browned some ground turkey for dinner, then drained the fat into an empty LaCroix can and left it sitting out. Should I have mentioned something about it to Dad? Probably. But I forgot. He came along later, thought I left a half-drunk can of LaCroix sitting around, and swigged it down. He’s been hacking and gagging for a while, now.