Rally On

 No one told the managers of this camper convoy that coinciding with our adventure was something called “Spring Break” and this phenomena caused every single person with a car, and a credit card to converge on exactly the same places where we wanted to be.

But before the chaos we  stopped at the Oak Canyon viewpoint and took a look down at the steep canyon that we would soon be traveling  through. The trinket sellers were out in force, and the outhouse had a very strong odor.

Stay Away From These Two

With the view taken in. We avoided the  trinket sellers and the outhouse  it was time to drive   the infamous “Oak Canyon"

View From The Vista Point

The road is narrow and twisty, a super ride on a motor bike, but requiring nerves of steel, and a club soda in one hand to negotiate it properly in a camper van.

The drive was pleasant but arriving in Sedona we encountered a massive traffic jam of cars that I think were just driving around looking for a parking spaces that were all ready full. The only way out was through the third exit in a roundabout that was completely jamed  of cars. On the third try through this round about we made it through this chaos. Our convoy  was separated, but we regrouped and  rejoined a safe distance from the madness of  Sedona.

The plan was to drive to Jerome and visit the Gold King Mine Ghost town and junk yard. I wanted to photograph the junk vehicles.

I Could Make Some Photo's Here

The actual town of Jerome is reached by a narrow twisty road that climbs up a mountain, that could be the steepest road in Arizona. The town is carved into this mountain.

Jerome Arizona

There is very little room left for parking. Lots of people that  did find parking were wandering the streets in search of who knows what. Needless to say, we did not find a place large enough to park two camper vans, and we were  soon heading out of town.

At the top of the mountain, I pulled into the scenic view, where there was room to park.

We were regrouping and planning our next move when we were accosted by gods own motorcycle gang the delusional sheep. They  started to engage us in pleasant conversation, and they could see  right away I was immune to their make-believe.  My traveling compadre was playing along with them, and they were laying it on thick in hopes of saying a payer or giving us a blessing. Fortunately, when I gave the hand signal for “loco en la cabeza” my pal recognized it immediately   and all those sheep   saw after that was our taillights and smoke from our tires as we burned rubber out of there.