I have temporary wheels. And they’re pretty dang sporty.
Usually my White Knight, the Tahoe, and I are inseparable. But through a strange course of events, my favorite SUV is relaxing in sunny Florida while I am home in Arizona vacuuming my rugs.
Enter kind hearts. Since I flew home instead of driving, my son-in-law loaned me his ride while I’m here, at great sacrifice to himself. Then a friend offered her car for use while she’s on vacation, which set my son-at-heart free from carpools with co-workers, and parked a sweet sedan in my garage for a week.
Yesterday I looked at this zippy little thing and decided that what we both needed was a road trip. I craved some ‘mountain therapy’, which means nothing to you if you’re blessed to live in the high country or near it. But my home is in the desert, so I can see the jagged peaks, but going to them is a three hour commitment each way. I chose to be committed.
You know, it’s true that getting there is half the fun! I don’t usually drive three hours by myself anywhere. For most of my life, two hours has pretty much been my max. But after that cross country trip with Thelma last month, I found out there’s a lot I can do that I’ve never tried before. I was just plain proud of myself for loading the car and taking off on a six hour round trip drive alone.
There are some pretty hilly places in the desert north of my house, and cruising over them in my friend’s little sports car made me so giddy I was whooping and laughing out loud! I was a little kid on a roller coaster ride again, cresting hills and dropping off, leaving my stomach suspended mid air. It was such a joyous journey I couldn’t help but thank Jesus the whole way for giving me a fun day out—a break in the middle of the stressful events my family and I have been experiencing for the last few months. He and I had a wonderful time zinging up the Beeline Highway to the Mogollon Rim. He got kind of quiet after a while, though. I think I made Him car sick.
I made it to the top, cruised back in toward the hidden treasure known as Woods Canyon Lake, and shared my lunch with a chipmunk on a boulder while I breathed in the fresh piney air. I watched summer storm clouds gather over the water as I finished off my sandwich, and when the lightning got too bossy, I reluctantly got in the car and drove down that mountain in a raging thunderstorm, all the way back to the sunny desert. It’s hard to imagine two such different climates only three hours apart, but that’s the beauty of Arizona.
It would have been even more fun if Thelma could have come along, but she’s still recovering from our last adventure. So in her honor, I decided in advance that if I passed any toll roads I wouldn’t give in to temptation. And I avoided all eye contact with ice road truckers.
I want her to be proud of me, you know.