just deserts

We were in the middle of the great Sonoran Desert when Darrel said: "This isn't the desert.  Well, what we thought was the desert when we were kids.  Deserts are supposed to have sand dunes.  Like the Sahara."

The Sonoran Desert is what we thought was cowboy and Indian country.  With mountains and cactus.  The type of place Roy Rogers and Gene Autry would roam.

Of course, it is not cowboy country -- despite what Hollywood tries to show us.  On our trip yesterday through the heart of the desert, I saw one lonely Brahma-mix cow wandering through the cactus looking like an alcoholic searching for a drink at a Mormon convention.

I suspect I would never live in the desert by choice.  Even a lovely desert like this.

And lovely it is.  The cactus were just coming into bloom.  The mesquite wore yellow flowers.  All against the background of craggy hills and as orderly as a cultivated garden.

I would have added a few more photographs, but when the Cotton boys drive, there is no stopping.  Not even for photographs.

We come by that obsession honestly.  I told you about our first (of two) family vacations in the road to freedom.  On our road trip from Detroit to Powers, my mother asked Dad if we could see the Grand Canyon.  He said no.  Because we were headed back home. And "it was just a big hole in the ground."

But he did stop to let us see the Painted Desert in Arizona.  By pulling over to the side of the road and announcing: "There it is."

And that was how our day went yesterday.  We were up at 6 and drove from Navojoa up through the border crossing at Lukeville.  Through Arizona and a bit of California to Bullhead City where we spent the night.

Not bad.  All in all that was about fourteen hours of driving.

The Escape is holding up better than the two of us.  But, if all goes well, we will be in Reno (to accomplish some home town paperwork) by Thursday evening.

And then Bend.

I suspect both of us are going to sleep in when we finally arrive in Oregon.