When our granddaughter’s camping trip with us was cancelled, our plans evaporated. We had an invitation in Prescott as a backup.
As we leave home in Tortolita, we are given a sendoff by a new neighbor. A young tortoise is passing through on the front patio. It is small, cute, but now big enough to be established. We make an offer for the tortoise to house sit and take off.
As more backup planning, I have made a completely different itinerary based on the current weather patterns. We now plan to be doing day hikes in the Prescott area. With this Friday off, we set out for an old stomping ground of mine, one that I hadn’t visited in decades, Grasshopper Point, up by red rock Sedona.
Back in the days of pearl inlay snap buttons on stomper shirts and custom boots, I would get together with friends at Northern Arizona University. The core were pals from Tucson, who I had skinnydipped with since high school. They had expanded to a group friends in Flagstaff. We would arrive in Flag, party in the bars, dancing to swinging live music, then retire to the shelter of the women’s dorms, sneaking around, or as time went on, someone’s home. We might spend the next day’s hangover in the sun and nature of a remote freely nude creek.
Grasshopper Point was a favorite haunt. We would walk the trail downstream, finding a private spot and settle in. We could wander further without any encumbrances, if our states allowed the pleasure. There was a generally smooth path that would accommodate bare feet, but the main activity was perching on flat rock surfaces and using the water to cool off after the sun’s warmth.
This was decades …