On the
way up, the wide-open spaces did their usual psychoactive number on
my head. Fragments of my new project -- another Aztláni western
story/novel/whatever -- danced across my sparkling synapses. Fresh signs
warned to watch out for burros and elk, and a huge flock of hawks
patrolled near Black Canyon City.
In
Sedona, the Bell Rock Inn was brimming over with funky western art.
James Darum cowboys lined the halls, a print of Roberts Shields'
Southwestern Robots hung in
our room. There were also cartoony coyote cowboys, nearly-psychedelic
desert/mountain landscapes, and much, much more!
In the
bathroom of one of Sedona's many tourist information centers, I saw
an example of Navajo graffiti: HÓZHÓ. I dutifully wrote it down and
photographed it, figuring that I had some research to do. When I
showed it to Emily, she knew it meant “balance.” Maybe it needs
to be written on more walls.
I wondered
what kind food they serve at Mariposa Latin Inspired Grill, but we
had some favorite restaurants to visit, like the Coffee Pot. I had
buckwheat pancakes the first morning, and huevos rancheros the next.
In
Flagstaff antique stores Emily got a camel saddle – she'd been
looking for one for twenty years – and a statue of an Asian deity
of mysterious gender. I got an old bullfighting novel, The Brave
Bulls, written and illustrated
by Tom Lea, reminding me that I have to get back to my unfinished
science fiction bullfighting novel.
As
we went down Route 66 to the Galaxy Diner, Bob Dylan's The
Times They are A-Changing
leaked out of an open-air cafe.
Back in
Sedona, we investigated a place with a giant white rooster in front
of it. It's officially called Silver Son West, but Emily wants to
call it the White Rooster. It had roosters, dragons, calaveras,
buddhas, dinosaurs, and other things that would make great décor for
an the wildest western of all time.
I had a
vision of a vampire being chased through such a place, crashing into
a wall of ornate metal crosses, bursting into flames . . . now if I
can just come up with a story or something I can use that in . . .
In
Oaxaca – one of our favorite Sedona restaurants – there was a
Mick Reber painting: Small Dreams of City Streetlife.
I was surprised to see guns, in a contemporary setting, with a hint
of social commentary, instead of props in Wild West myth. Maybe the
times really are a-changing.
The next
day, we took highway 89A through Jerome down to Prescott where we had
lattes at the Firehouse Coffee Co. on what was known as Whisky Row.
These days there are more antique stores than saloons. There was a
wonderful Tom Mix mural, and I wondered what the hell is Dave's Total
Insanity Sauce, and why would they be selling it.
In the
footsteps of ancient cowboys, Emily found just the piece of furniture
to go next to our front door, and just under the androgynous deity. I
found a Buckminster Fuller book, a Hopalong Cassidy novel, two Bomba
the Jungle Boy novels, travelogues about cannibals and head-hunters,
and Christina Garcia's The Lady Matador's Hotel,
a recent bullfighting novel that has been tempting me.
Could it be my own bullfighting novel is demanding to be finished?
And
then there are all those other unfinished projects. Guess I better get
to work.
