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ING

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Real online banking.

One of the things a Robinson helicopter owner has to consider is the big bill that comes after 2200 hours or 12 years of flight (whichever comes first). Robinson made helicopter ownership and maintenance easy by having most limited-life parts end their lives at the same time. When that time comes, the entire helicopter goes in to the factory or an authorized overhaul center for a complete overhaul. When it emerges, it’s like a brand new helicopter.

The only drawback is that this overhaul currently costs $184,000 for a Robinson R44, which is what I own. And that amount goes up by a few thousand dollars every year.

So although my normal maintenance throughout the year is quite low (for a helicopter, anyway), I have to remember that big bill. Every hour I fly, I put aside about $85 in a “reserve” account. Right now, that’s a money market account at my local bank.

The helicopter currently has about 184 hours on its Hobbs meter. Do the math and you’ll see that I already have a pretty good chunk set aside.

The goal, of course, is to keep building up the balance in this account so when the big bill comes along, the money’s there to cover it. Lots of people go the other route — they take out a loan to refinance when the big bill comes. But I hate debt and would rather save up and be prepared.

The problem is that it’s very tempting to spend that money when it’s just sitting around, doing nothing. Especially when it’s only earning 1.25% a year. I was thinking of rolling it into CDs, which are less liquid than a money market account that comes with checks. But the rates are equally dismal at my local bank.

In New Jersey the other day, I got into a conversation about this with Mike’s ex-roommate, Greg. He suggested ING, an online bank. I checked it out last night and learned that I can get 3.5% on a savings account and 4.1% to 4.85% (depending on term) for a CD. Holy cow!

ING can offer such good rates because they have low overhead. They don’t have branches, they don’t offer checking accounts. They have very few banking products. Everything is simple and to the point. Even their Web site is simple.

The last time I had a CD was when my grandfather passed away and my little inheritance — about $15,000 — was tucked away in a CD until I turned 25. My father was the executor of the will and he put the money in a 6 month CD. At the time, inflation was running rampant and CD rates were up around 18%. My father thought the rates would keep going up, so he wanted the money to roll over at a higher rate. But the bottom dropped out and rates descended from the stratosphere. Disappointing, but not a big deal, because I wound up putting most of the money toward the down payment on my first house. But every time I think of CDs, I think about those rates in the late 70s. Today’s rates look pretty bad in comparison.

But 3.5% on a savings account is way better than the .5% my bank offers for savings or the 1.25% I’m getting on my “risky” money market. So last night I opened a savings account for my personal money at ING.

It’s an interesting process. You fill out an online form that asks for the usual information. You also provide information about your checking account, which is linked to your ING savings. ING makes two tiny deposits into your checking account and you tell ING how much those deposits were for. This is so ING can confirm that this is indeed your account. You can then initiate transfers between your ING and checking accounts via ING’s Web site or telephone. There are no fees for your ING account and no minimum balance requirements. Transfers probably take 24-48 hours, so there is a bit of a lag. But if you have a relatively large sum of money, it’s nice to have it sitting someplace where it’ll earn a decent return.

My personal savings fluctuate wildly. Most of my income comes in quarterly, so at the beginning of a quarter, I’ll have a nice, healthy bank balance but, by the end of the quarter, I may be scratching around for loose change. The ING account will work out nicely.

I’ll create a savings account and a CD account for my helicopter overhaul reserve. The CD will be short term — probably six months — and every time it’s ready to roll over, I’ll add a little to it. That’ll keep it intact and growing over the next 11 years or 2016 hours (whichever comes first).

Anyway, if you have a bit of money stashed away and you’d like an FDIC-insured way to earn a decent return on it, you should definitely check out ING.

A Trip Back East

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Some photos from a trip back to New Jersey and New York for the Thanksgiving Holidays.

I didn’t want to go, but Mike talked me into it. Then we made flight reservations before I could change my mind. It would be a short trip. I’d fly out on Wednesday and return on Saturday. Only three nights, and those would be made comfortable with a room at the Glenpointe Marriott in Teaneck, NJ. Dinner with my family at my brother’s house in New Jersey on Thursday, dinner with Mike’s family at a restaurant in Queens on Friday, Dim Sum with family and friends in Ft. Lee, NJ on Saturday morning.

The New York/New Jersey metro area where I grew up and lived most of my life is very different from Wickenburg, AZ, where I live now. So different that I decided to take some photos to try to document some of the differences. I could have done better, but this is what I’ve got to share. This is the view from our hotel room in Teaneck, NJ, on Thursday morning. It had snowed and rained during the night and it was bitter cold that day.

This looks out to the southwest. As you can see, there are lots of tall trees, but they’re pretty much bare in late November. The overall effect is gray. A gray day with gray skies, gray trees, and gray pavement. I hated the gray of the New York metro area in the winter months. But it was the cold that finally chased me out of the area.

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Here’s another look from our hotel room window. This view looks toward the southeast. The highway in the foreground is I-95, which stretches from Maine to Florida. The body of water is some marshland that might just be close enough to the Meadowlands to be considered part of it. The gray buildings poking into the gray sky are the skyscrapers of New York City off in the distance. The pointy one on the left is the Empire State Building, which is now the tallest building in New York again. It formerly held that title from 1934 to 1977, when the World Trade Center was completed. With the WTC gone, this depression-era building is once again the tallest in the city.

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On Friday, we drove to Queens. Here’s a snapshot taken on the Cross Bronx Expressway, which goes from the George Washington Bridge (on the Hudson River), across the top of Manhattan and the middle of the Bronx, to two of the bridges to Long Island: the Whitestone and the Throgs Neck. When I was growing up, this area of the Bronx was filled with burned-out building shells, and we’d often see broken-down or abandoned cars being stripped on the side of the road as we drove through. But the buildings have they’ve since been renovated and people live there once again. Don’t get the idea that this is an up-and-coming area of New York, though. It’s still a poor, crime-ridden area. Ever read Bright Lights, Big City?

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I forgot to take photos the day before, on the way to my brother’s house. We took the New Jersey Turnpike (I-95 down) and there are lots of weird scenic things along that, like the big gas tanks that appeared in a scene of Stephen King’s The Stand and Newark Liberty International Airport. Next time.

Here’s a pretty poor photo of the roadway on the Whitestone Bridge.

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There are three bridges that’ll get you from the Bronx to Queens and Long Island and they’re all pretty similar in appearance: single-span suspension bridges. The Triboro Bridge has some nice art deco touches that make it my favorite of the three bridges, but that one’s much closer to Manhattan, which was out of our way. The Throgs Neck bridge has great views of the Long Island Sound which, in the summer, is full of sailboats and very picturesque. Of course, the Whitestone Bridge does offer the best long-distance views of Manhattan. I took a bunch of photos and this one was the best. It really gives you the flavor of new York from a distance. The tugboat with barge in the foreground, the plane departing La Guardia Airport (out of this shot on the left), and the huge cluster of buildings in midtown Manhattan. You can clearly see the Empire State Building almost dead center and CitiCorp Center (look for the slanted roof to the right). Astoria, Queens is in the foreground, on the other side of the water. And you can just about see the heavy black bridge of the train trestle that parallels the Triboro Bridge. If the World Trade Center were still standing, its towers would appear to the far left in this photo.

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If you’ve never been to New York and you have the opportunity to visit, don’t pass it up. New York is like no other place on earth. As I was telling a Phoenix cab driver just the other day, it’s one of the few U.S. cities that blend old and new in a way that leaves you breathless. Go downtown, to the Wall Street area, and see exactly what they mean by the “Canyons of Wall Street.” The streets are so narrow and the buildings are so tall that light rarely gets down to the street. Although midtown has more tall buildings, the streets are a bit wider. You won’t believe the crowds walking the streets during a weekday lunch hour, the sea of yellow cabs, the bicycle messengers, the street vendors. This time of year, they’re roasting chestnuts near Rockefeller Center and steam is rising from manhole covers and vents on the street.

I do love New York, but I don’t have enough money to live there the way I want to. And New York is one of the grayest places I know.

We didn’t get into the city during this trip. Next time I go back, I’ll take some photos. But you might have to wait a few years. Once in Queens, we hopped on the Cross Island Parkway to go to Mike’s Mom’s apartment. I took this shot out the front window of the car. It’s an interesting example of one of Robert Moses’s parkways. He built them all over Long Island — Queens is on the eastern end of Long Island — and this was probably one of his first. One of the trademarks of his roadways was his stone overpasses. They all look pretty much the same, but they’re really nicely executed. When you look at this photo, it’s hard to imagine that tens of thousands of people live within a mile of where it was taken.

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This stretch of roadway is sunken in and surrounded by trees. Mike and I had our first apartment together about 5 miles further down this road, in Bayside. We had a wonderful view of Littleneck Bay (you’ve heard, perhaps, of Littleneck clams?), but had to listen to a never-ending stream of cars going by far beneath our terrace.

At Mike’s mom’s place, we had bagels for breakfast. This is a photo of me holding a real New York bagel. Notice that it is large and plump. The outside is crusty and the inside is moist and almost doughy. It doesn’t have blueberries or cranberries or any other type of berry in it. This one has sesame seeds (my personal favorite), but they also come plain, egg, poppy seed, salt, pumpernickel, onion, cinnamon raisin, or everything. Everything means seeds, onion, and salt and is a real assault to the taste buds. A common way for a New Yorker to eat a bagel is to slice it open and toast it, then cover each half with cream cheese and slices of lox (smoked salmon). Some people add red onions, capers, and/or tomatoes. (I don’t like tomatoes on my bagels.) A quick spread of cream cheese is referred to as a “schmear” in New York; I prefer a more generous helping. You can’t get a good bagel anywhere outside of the New York metro area, although you can get decent ones here and there. Einstein Brothers makes a decent bagel. Bagels do not come in the grocery freezer section; anything you find there that is labeled a bagel is a mere imitation.

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The next time you go to New York, have a bagel as described above. It’s part of the New York experience and should be required for all serious visitors. And, while you’re at it, take a ride down to the Lower East Side and have a corned beef, pastrami, and tongue on rye sandwich at Katz’s Deli. Get that with mustard. Do not ask for it with mayonnaise; you will be forcibly removed from the premises and publicly laughed at out on the street. A Dr. Brown’s Creme soda is a nice accompaniment — and don’t forget the kosher pickle. Leave the Carnegie Deli for the tourists. What you’ll learn — among other things — is how to properly make a sandwich. There should be more meat than bread. That’s something they just don’t get outside the New York metro area.

But I digress, again. This is a photo of the Throgs Neck Bridge, taken from Mike’s mom’s patio. She’s on the 7th floor and has a nice view out this way. Beyond the bridge is the Long Island Sound. Imagine it with lots of sailboats and you’re imagining the view on a summer Sunday afternoon. Put some green leaves in the tree in the foreground to complete the picture.

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As you can see, it isn’t always grey in New York in the winter. Friday was a very nice day, although it was still bitter cold, with temperatures in the 30s and enough wind to make it feel a lot colder. Of course, it did get gray again on the next day.

Here’s a look at the George Washington Bridge from the foot of the Palisades. The Palisades, in case you’re wondering, are a line of cliffs along the Hudson River in New Jersey. This photo was taken from a boat basin/park area almost directly across the river from the northernmost end of Manhattan. The view is to the southeast.

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The GW Bridge has two decks — upper and lower — and is a major route between New Jersey and eastern New York. It’s actually the first bridge you get to if you sail up the river from New York Harbor. The next bridge is the Tappan Zee, which is at least 20 miles further upriver. To cross the river closer to downtown Manhattan, you can use one of two tunnels: the Lincoln (midtown at around 30th Street) and the Holland (downtown at around Houston).

When I was growing up in New Jersey, my family had a small boat that we used to take out in the river. I’ve been around Manhattan by boat more times than I can count. It’s a neat trip that you can do on the Circle Line tour boats. We also took a few perilous trips into New York Harbor and around the Statue of Liberty. I say perilous because our boat was really small and the water can get rough out in the harbor. I also remember going past Ellis Island long before it was fixed up and opened to the public. I’ve never been on the island, though.

Anyway, all those boat trips started at the base of the George Washington Bridge, on the New Jersey side. I can still remember the smell of the water at low tide, and the look of all those exposed barnacles. And the way the boat floated up and down as it was loosely tied at the boarding area. We didn’t swim in the river back in those days — it was too polluted south of the Tappan Zee — but we did fish in it, although we never ate any of the fish we caught.

Here’s a shot of one of the “waterfalls” coming down the Palisades to the Hudson River. It’s really probably just runoff from a storm drain, but when we were kids, it was a waterfall and it was one of the most beautiful things we’d ever seen. My family often drove along the river’s shore road on Sunday outings. That’s back in the days when taking a drive in the family car was a cheap and fun day out. There were no malls, no computer games, no cell phones. We’d get in the car and go for a drive and drink up everything we saw out the window. If it was autumn, we’d go to a place called Tices Farms, which had apples and doughnuts (note the spelling) and cider and pumpkins for sale. When I got out of the car to take this photo, the smell of wet leaves brought me back to a time when we would rake them into huge piles and take turns jumping in them. Leave stems would stick in our sweaters and hair and we’d be breathless in the cool autumn sun. I don’t know if you can see it clearly, but there’s ice in the water in this photo. We’re talking cold enough to make a waterfall freeze. Cold.

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The Palisades area of Bergen County in New Jersey is one of its more historic areas. Originally settled by the Dutch in the 1600s, it was a hotbed of activity during the Revolutionary War. Posted alongside roads all over the area are “Washington’s Retreat Route” signs. Yes. This is the area George Washington retreated from when we weren’t doing very well in the first war with the Brits. Why we need that on signs is beyond me. But the area is also full of walking trails that were probably built during the depression. In more than a few places, you can find stairways and paths that climb the Palisades. This is one example, that follows the road for a short distance before cutting right up the cliff. We did a lot of hiking in the area when we lived there. The views from the top of the Palisades are magnificent.

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I took the shot that appears below from the AirTrain that travels around Newark Airport. That’s New York in the background.
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This photo reminds me of a visit by one of my editors when we still lived in New Jersey. I picked him up at the airport and was driving north along the New Jersey turnpike toward our house. He looked off to the right as we climbed a bit of highway that passed over the marshes at the Meadowlands and said, “What city is that?” He was looking at New York. That’s when I realized that the skyline I’d grown up with wasn’t nearly as familiar to everyone else.

Am I homesick? Maybe a bit. Would I go back to live there again? Nope.

Been there, done that.

Giving Thanks…

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…and asking questions.

This Thanksgiving season, as I prepare to fly back east to spend the holiday with family members in their comfortable homes, I can’t help but think about the thousands of people left homeless by Hurricanes Katrina and Rita.

I can’t imagine what it must be like to have my home and virtually all my possessions taken away by a natural disaster. I can’t imagine what it must be like to wonder where I’ll be living next week, month, or year. What I’ll be doing for a living. How my kids will go to school. Whether I’ll ever have the same level of comfort — even if that comfort level was low by many standards — as I used to.

We drop canned goods into collection boxes and write checks to aid organizations. Some of us even participate in holiday meals at homeless shelters. But do any of us really think about the people we believe we’re helping? How far do you think a few cans of tomatoes and a couple of pairs of jeans that no longer fit you will go to help the people who lost everything?

Thinking about the Katrina victims, formerly of New Orleans, is hardest for me. The levees broke and the pumps failed partially because they were in serious need of maintenance. Maintenance they couldn’t get because of budget cuts and confusion over who would pay. But where did that money go? What government-funded project got the cash that should have gone to the levees and pumps? A new war monument? A parking lot? Mardi Gras clean-up?

And what of the money that should be funding FEMA in this terrible time of need? Oh yes, I know where that’s going. It costs a lot of money to fund a war. I guess our government believes it’s more important to shove democracy down the throats of the Iraqis than to ensure the safety, welfare, and well-being of our own citizens at home.

So as you’re eating your Thanksgiving turkey this year, stuffing yourself with stuffing and gorging yourself with gravy, take a moment to think about the thousands in need in this country.

And give thanks that you’re not one of them.

Flying for Food

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Mike tries to arrange a group outing for lunch.

We were at Stan’s house on Saturday afternoon when Mike said, “Let’s go fly together somewhere tomorrow.”

Stan’s wife, Rosemarie, and Dave, another local pilot, were there. Stan flies a Cessna 182 and Dave just got a second plane, an RV-4, that he needed to build time in before he could take up passengers. Mike is half owner of a Grumman Tiger.

What followed was a discussion of various responsibilities the next day. We finally decided to meet at the airport at 1 PM and fly somewhere for lunch. The “somewhere” wasn’t decided.

On Sunday morning, during breakfast, Mike and I started to discuss where we could fly. We brainstormed and came up with a list of airports within flying distance that had restaurants nearby:

Restaurants on Field:
– Prescott
– Falcon Field (2!)
– Payson
– Kingman
– Deer Valley
– Glendale
– Scottsdale
– Chandler
– Winslow (weird hours)

Restaurants within walking distance:
– Seligman
– Valle
– Chiriaco Summit (CA)

Restaurants within free shuttle distance:
– Parker (restaurant at the casino)
– Bullhead City (restaurants across river in Laughlin)

Quite a selection. (Note that Wickenburg isn’t on this list. Why someone with a few bucks doesn’t build a restaurant on the field is beyond me. I know why I don’t do it: I’ve already been through the employer nightmare in Wickenburg and have learned my lesson.)

Sunday morning progressed. We had chores to do around the house. We even cleaned a small part of the garage! Then Mike made the fatal error of attacking the mistletoe that had begun killing some of our mesquite trees. (Mistletoe is a parasitic plant and, if not periodically cut out of the trees it infests, it’ll kill the trees.) It was hard work that required him to stand in awkward positions with a heavy saw over his head. After 45 minutes of that, he was too tired to do anything. Including fly.

That didn’t bother me. I wanted to fly anyway. I felt pretty confident that I could get to the destination around the same time as the two planes. Zero-Mike-Lima cruises at 110 knots, but I could easily push it to 120 knots with only two people on board. I’d already called Jim to invite him to join us with his Hughes 500c. Although he wasn’t sure he would, it would be nice to have two helicopters with the two airplanes. I was hoping we’d go to Falcon Field; I really love the Italian restaurant, Anzio’s Landing, on the southeast end of the runway. And there’s plenty of parking right out front.

By the time we got to the airport at 12:40 PM, the wind had kicked up a bit. It was blowing across the runway at about 8 to 10 knots. Airplane pilots don’t like crosswinds. When no one had arrived by 12:55, I got the feeling that Mike’s plan wasn’t going to become a reality.

Jim was already there, working on his Beech 18. He bought the Beech a few months ago in Florida and managed to leak 10 gallons of oil from one of its engines on the ferry flight back to Arizona. Since then, he’d been working on finding and fixing the leaks. He thought he had it taken care of when he flew out to Blythe for some touch-and-goes the other day, but the left engine was still oozing. A bad O-ring on one of the cylinders. He has to pull the cylinder to fix it. In the meantime, he’s begun pulling just about everything else. Last month, he pulled out the floor and replaced it. He’s now waiting for new runners on which to mount the rear seats. Yesterday, when we arrived, he was pulling instruments out of the panel and rearranging them in more logical positions. His helicopter was not at the airport. His wife, Judith, had already said she didn’t want to come with us, so Jim had decided to work on the Beech — something he could probably do for the rest of his life if he wanted to.

Stan and Rosemarie drove up right around 1 PM. I was talking to Jim when they pulled up, so I missed the beginning of their conversation with Mike. But the end result was that they’d come with us in the helicopter. Dave wasn’t coming. So a flight that started with potentially four aircraft ended up with just one.

Of course, with the helicopter, the list of dining opportunities increases. Helicopters don’t need no stinkin’ runway. There were at least five more places we could eat:
– The Wayside Inn, near Alamo Lake, is the destination for Flying M Air‘s “Hamburger in the Middle of Nowhere.”
– Robson’s Mining World, in Aguila, has a nice little cafe.
– Wild Horse West, near Lake Pleasant, has great burgers.
– The Kofa Cafe, out in Vicksburg Junction, used to be very good, but I haven’t been back since my first experience with the new owner.
– A truckstop on I-10 south of Vicksburg has a dirt strip out back where you can land and not dust the truckers.

Mike wanted to go to the Wayside Inn, so that’s where we went. You can read all about it in another blog entry. The food ain’t bad and the atmosphere is definitely different, especially if you live in a big city and don’t have much exposure to an off-the-grid lifestyle.

We flew by way of Robson’s, which was pretty quiet that afternoon. Robson’s big anniversary celebration is coming up on the first Saturday in January, and I think they get more visitors in that one day than they get all year long. I do helicopter rides out there during the event and it’s always a lot of fun. Then we followed Ballard Wash (I think) from its narrow start almost all the way to Alamo Lake. I circled the Wayside once, trying to find a flag to judge the wind, then realized there wasn’t much wind there and just set down in my usual spot near the intersection of two dirt roads and the old, unmaintained dirt strip. (If you ever fly out there in a small plane, I recommend landing on the road rather than the strip; it’s a lot smoother and better maintained.) I kicked up a huge cloud of dust that drifted to the east as I cooled down the engine and shut down.

We crossed the road and went into the restaurant. Everyone at the bar looked at us. “I knew it was you,” the waitress said.

“Yeah, well…” I said. Everyone laughed.

We had lunch among the fish photos and trophies. The place was relatively quiet. The last time we’d been in there with helicopters, a crowd had gathered and the restaurant was completely full. I guess having four helicopters and a plane parked outside is a bit of a draw to the locals. But that day it was just us and a man eating at the bar. A few people came and went.

We paid up and left. As I started up, a few people in ATVs parked at the end of the dirt strip, facing us, ready for a show. They were not rocket scientists. Not only had they parked right in front of me, forcing me to depart in a different direction so as not to overfly them, but they were close enough to get seriously dusted when I took off. I took off to the northwest, along the road to Alamo Lake.

We did a tour of Alamo Lake, then the Santa Maria River, and then Date Creek before heading into Wickenburg. It had been a nice little outing — even if we were the only aircraft to participate.

A Trip to Sedona

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I spend the day in Sedona, waiting for some passengers.

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of flying two very nice people from Canada from Wickenburg to Sedona for the day. We arrived at Sedona Airport, after a scenic flight around Wickenburg, Prescott, and Sedona’s red rocks, around 11:30 AM — just in time for the Pink Jeep Tour shuttle to pick us up and bring us down to the town. My passengers were taking a Jeep Tour; I planned on just hanging around downtown until they were ready to return at 3 or 4 PM. I escorted them to the Jeep Tour desk, reminded them that they could change their reservation, and watched them reserve a Jeep and driver all to themselves for departure at 1 PM. Then I left them to walk around town on my own.

The Pink Jeep Tour company’s offices are in “uptown” Sedona. That’s the heart of the tourist district in the northwest corner of town at the mouth of Oak Creek Canyon. The tourist shops that line both sides of the street there are dwarfed by the massive red rock formations behind them. But all attention in uptown Sedona is concentrated on those shops. I admit that mine was, too.

I hadn’t been to the town of Sedona for years. I’ve been flying in quite regularly with passengers, but I seldom come down off the mesa where the airport is located. There’s a restaurant up there and I usually have breakfast or lunch or whatever while my passengers explore the town on their own. They’re usually gone about 2 hours at the most, so I busy myself with a book while I’m waiting. It’s a nice, relaxing place.

But yesterday, my passengers wanted a longer stay in town. And since the Pink Jeep people offered me a lift in the shuttle, too, I went down the hill with them.

I walked the few blocks of uptown Sedona at a leisurely pace. I saw lots of T-shirt shops and lots of souvenir shops. The usual collection of real and fake Indian crafts and jewelry. Imported Mexican rugs. Jeep tour companies. Reservation centers. The wonderful map and bookstore that had been in one of the shopping areas was gone and I was sorely disappointed. I’d depended on that shop for reading material while I waited and it didn’t appear, at first, as if there were another bookstore in town. I finally found one across the street from the Pink Jeep storefront, the last shop on my walking tour.

My Sedona passengers from last week’s flight had spent only 90 minutes in town before returning to the airport. They called Sedona a “tourist trap.” And frankly, as I walked the streets, I couldn’t argue with them. But I hadn’t really expected it to be any different. I don’t know what they expected. After all, take a beautiful place, make its beauty well-known, and people will flock there. When enough people flock there, the tourist shops will start springing up like mold on old bread. After a while, those shops (like mold) completely cover the area, masking what people found so beautiful in the first place.

Now I don’t want to give you the idea that Sedona is “ruined.” It isn’t. There are still plenty of beautiful sights around town. Sadly, there are so many people there to view those sites, you’re always part of a crowd. You need to come to Sedona with your own Jeep and a trail map to get away from the herd. Bring a picnic lunch and your camera. And, for heaven’s sake, don’t come on a weekend!

I ran into my passengers on the street just before they went to lunch. They invited me to join them, but I felt as if I would be intruding, so I declined. I had lunch at a tea shop across from the Pink Jeep place and sat outside on a narrow balcony to eat and read the book I’d bought in the bookstore down below. It was windy and rather cold up there, so I didn’t last long.

Afterwards, I went for a walk back the way I’d come. That’s when I saw the Hummer tour sign. They had a 1-hour tour leaving immediately. It was the “Jeep Eater” Tour. Supposedly, this tour took passengers places were Jeeps couldn’t go. I pulled out my credit card and, minutes later, was seated in the front passenger seat of a Hummer, about 6 feet away from its driver. (Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that wide, but it sure seemed like it.) There were two passengers, a couple from Baton Rouge, in the open-air seating behind us. That was it.

The road that Jeeps can’t drive on isn’t in Sedona. It’s halfway back to Cottonwood, off of 89A. It’s a power line road — that’s a road built to maintain a power line — and frankly, there were only about 4 places on the whole ride that I would have been uncomfortable about taking my Jeep. That’s not to say that my Jeep couldn’t have done it. But I’m not sure that it could have done it with me at the wheel. During the whole ride, the driver kept pointing out other roads that the couple from Baton Rouge could explore on their own with the ATV’s they’d trailered up from home. The driver was obviously working hard to add value to the ride and maximize his tip potential. Whatever. It managed to stretch the tour out to 90 minutes, bringing us back to Sedona just when my passengers were due back. In case couldn’t read between the lines in this paragraph, I don’t recommend this tour. It wasn’t worth the $100 I spent on the tour plus tip. But at least I know what it’s like to ride in a real Hummer.

I hurried back toward the Pink Jeep place and found one of my passengers outside a gift shop. His wife was inside, shopping. They’d had a great time and had looked for me to join them before they left. I didn’t tell them about the Hummer.

I left them for a short while to pick up a gift for a friend of mine and a piece of apple pie that was really good. Then we got back on the shuttle, rode up to the airport, and flew home.

I’m glad I got to go to Sedona for the day. I feel all caught up with things down there. And I’m sure I’ll be back soon — not only by helicopter, but perhaps by Jeep to see just what my Jeep can do.