Sedona Conspiracy

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The rain started at midnight, and by eight in the morning was still coming down in sheets. It was one thunderstorm after another as a line of cells moved through the Sedona area. A thousand waterfalls cascaded down red rock buttes surrounding town, and thick mist shrouded the canyons.

Martin looked out his motel room window towards the southwest. “Might be brightening up out there. Let’s get going.”

Doug was lying on his bed, watching CNN. “I’d rather go to town. Red dirt can suck your boots off after a rain.”

“Don’t you back out on me,” warned Martin. “The permit’s for one night, and I didn’t drive a hundred miles to shop for new-age junk. Up-and-on, before trailhead parking fills up.”

Breakfast was two power bars; they picked up coffee at The Planet, and then made the short drive west into the butte country. Boynton Canyon was the most popular trail, but as they’d hoped the trailhead parking area was empty, people scared off by the rain. Even in their four-by-four the red hardpan in the lot had turned to mud slippery as ice.

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