Caught Mapping on Trip to Arizona

“Let me see the Arizona map,” my sister said as she turned her back on the Pacific and squinted toward the sun in the east.

I reached into the car door pocket and pulled out a map: Italy and the Balkan Peninsula.

“Nice country,” she said patiently. “But too far to drive.”

She did not ask what it was doing there. She has known me too long.

I had not packed a map of Arizona--our destination--nor one that showed the Southern California deserts we would have to cross.

But the house was locked, the car was stuffed and we were eager to roll.

“Let’s go through Julian and Glamis,” I said. “I’m not in a freeway mood.”

Glamis, which used to claim a population of five, now boasts a dozen year-round residents. Life centers around the Glamis Beach Store and Cafe, which is hunkered amid pink dunes south and east of the Salton Sea. Glamis is party-and-supply headquarters for thousands of motor homes, dune buggies, three-wheelers and other off-road vehicles that gather in the desert each winter.

We saw their flags rise over distant dunes. We heard the whines and roars. We slowed--but did not stop--in Glamis.

Eastward we drove, passing the odd sheep and the odd sign (Willow Wash, Bamboo Wash and “For information about this property--or any for the next 46 miles--phone. . .”). I did not jot down the number.

The land was bleak and treeless. The Chocolate Mountains were bland. The only splotch of color was in our rear-view mirror: crimson, pink and yellow roses that I’d clipped in the garden that morning. They were the last of the season and too pretty to leave behind.

Fifteen home-grown roses crossed the desert, their stems wrapped in wet towels and foil. They lasted for almost a week in our Sedona cabin, which had a plastic ice bucket for a vase.

Some may argue that it is silly to take your roses on a trip, but I don’t have a dog or a cat.

My 13-year-old goddaughter would understand; she took her lifelong teddy bear to England this summer and caused a family U-turn when she reached the outskirts of York and realized teddy was back at the B&B.;

This is the same bright charmer who shopped at Harrods for a black miniskirt and, in Edinburgh, bought a traditional kilt. Thirteen can be a wonderful age.

My friends Susan and Gwen would understand. Gwen took Susan’s cocker spaniel on a drive to the Grand Canyon last summer because Susan suddenly could not make the trip and the dog--as Gwen pointed out--had never been there. Grover loved the outing.

I went to Sedona and Oak Creek Canyon. I wanted to explore forest trails.

On that first morning in the canyon I dressed in flannels and jeans. I pulled on cotton socks and tied the laces of my right shoe. The left shoe, however, did not seem to fit. It was some time before I realized that I had grabbed two right tennis shoes from my closet at home. My sister laughed first and last.

It’s true that I packed in haste, folding sweaters, shirts and khaki pants into large plastic bags that could be squooshed into the trunk. Fortunately I had brought both a right and left hiking boot for the serious climbs.

Car trips allow room for such silliness. We took large down pillows to push behind our backs while driving and to make napping a dream. We took more books, magazines and newspapers than we could read. We took playing cards that went untouched, and pads of the old word game Jotto, which almost caused a war over four-letter words such as myna .

We took apples, Bosc pears, Lifesavers and pecans for road food and trail snacks. We had a small ice chest full of water, apple juice and Diet Cokes.

With the help of a new map called Experience Sedona (Thorne Enterprises, Box 2371, Sedona, Ariz. 86336), we explored red rock trails, the Mogollon Rim and vortex areas such as Boynton Canyon that have been touted for having psychic energy of the levels attributed to Stonehenge or the Pyramids of Egypt.

I kept that map in the car door pocket . . . right next to Italy and the Balkan Peninsula.