Miracle of Miracles
Lots of sun, not much wind, and quiet solitude.
Pulling into NF-535 well south of Flagstaff did not look promising as far as finding a full-sun campsite goes. Heck, finding any campsite still available looked impossible. Every niche in the woods and every open-air site was packed with rigs or groups of rigs, as well as all the tents and canopies you could hope to see in a lifetime. That’s Memorial Day weekend, I figure. Still, I pressed onward and upward, literally.
By the time I reached what I like to call the upper plateau where the sites thin out, impressively large clusters of the Hispanic community were encamped, and youngsters on ATVs were roaming the trail to relieve the boredom of a long camping weekend with parents. Camps were set up Read more…
Strolling Amok 