I know it's vacation and so this is obvious, but I'm having just the best time of my life. My good friend back in Corpus lent me an amazing mountain bike to ride out here in Sedona. Another good friend is showing me the most amazing trails out here, locals only kind of stuff. Lauren and I are sleeping in, eating huevos rancheros for lunch. We're surrounded by incomprehensible beauty. I feel like that Teeny Little Super Guy on Sesame Street that lived on or in or actually was a jar. If you don't know it I'll summarize: he was happier than he was small and he was very very small. That's how I feel right now. I feel like someone split open a petrified tree trunk and there I am, clicking my heels and singing my own songs right in the middle of a woody geode.
It really is almost too much. This bike. Uhh--you really have to know bikes to know what a generous gift this plush dual suspension rig is. It's like lending someone your Porsche for their road trip. And these trails. Again, uhhh. Tonight we were riding back to the trail head and the sun had already gone down and we can barely see the trail. The mountains are fading into deeper shades of not there, loyal silhouettes. And then house lights started to blink on, intermittently, like the invention of fireflies. The towers of red rock were soaking up to their peaks a purple pallor, beautiful and intimate, colors reserved for the night, for the moon, colors the sun never knew existed.
Being here is wonderful, traveling so deep into here is a privilege. The bikes take us into the heart of these rocks, of this place; into the source, to the oven door where God has on an oven mitt and inside, on a cookie sheet, is a single red stone.