T ravel
facts :
Only country to make its roads from coral: Guam
“I
t’s a sopranino.” I’m inspecting a tiny French horn that’s wedged between the wobbly seats of a dusty Jeep, while a bearded man climbs into the driver’s seat next to me. His voice is heavy and booming, and although he says to call him Joe, he bears an uncanny resemblance to Yosemite Sam. Smiling at my confusion, he snatches it, throws the Jeep into drive and pipes out a piercing rendition of Call to the Races. It’s fitting, given what we’re about to do. I’m two hours north of my hometown in what is arguably one of the most beautiful places on earth. Buildings in Sedona, Arizona are literally constructed into the mountains, while most of the landscape remains virtually untouched. The result is captivating scenery difficult to find elsewhere on this planet. The best way to see it is on a Jeep tour that shirks the roads and navigates the trails instead. I have done this before, but never with a driver who plays a miniature instrument.
California Blues
“When I was about eight I moved to Los Altos Hills,” says Joe, swinging the wheel hard to the right to avoid a particularly massive boulder. I’ve asked him how he came to be in Sedona, and unsure where to start, he starts from the beginning. Joe chirps on while the Jeep rumbles violently up the side of a mountain, virtually un-phased. “We lived in this ugly duckling ranch house… and I rode my bike past where Steve Jobs was stuck in his garage building his computer.” Multi-million dollar mansions would slowly surround his family’s ugly duckling ranch house, and his neighbourhood would eventually transform into the most expensive in the infamous Silicon Valley. “[Los Altos Hills] attracted all of the young bright entrepreneurs,” he adds. I flail wildly while the Jeep scales a treacherous part of the trail along a precarious cliff. “I started a big band in high school,” Joe shouts over the rattling of nearly every part of the vehicle’s interior. “Really successful — auditioned people all over the Bay area.” He nods towards the tiny horn
now sitting on my lap. “I played the French Horn.” He muses about the eventually defunct band and his abysmal performance in school. “I didn’t do very well in high school and my band was defunct, and I didn’t do much besides running on the track team. But…” The Jeep slows — this time to assess how to pass a group of mountain bikers. His voice suddenly becomes more deliberate. “My kids love this story,” he says.
The Defining Moment
“I was backpacking in the Sierra Nevada,” he begins, raising a hand. “I walked over to the west side of the little camping ground we had, [during] sunset and looking west. You could see these lakes and a bit below, beyond the timberline, you could see the forest.” Moving at barely a crawl now, he continues, less invested in the road than what he’s about to tell me. “In a moment… you could [just] see the moon and a jet plane. It got darker and darker and darker, and then you could see the lakes again.” He pauses, facing me. “You know why?” At this point, the trail is alarmingly narrow, and thorny bushes slide past the doors with sharp screeches. I’m trying hard to listen, despite my racing pulse. “Because there were these little campfires around them,” he says. “All of a sudden it began to hit me, that at one time this was all man had — these little campfires — but he was able to ascertain that the moon and that jet plane, these were things that he could go out and touch and he touched it. I went back to my campsite knowing that I was going to go back to school to understand this stuff.” Joe looks back to the trail, now lunging forward towards a basin. “I swear to God, that was one of the happiest moments of my life.” Glancing at his watch, Joe is silent for a moment. “I put myself through school by playing jazz keyboard at late night bars,” he continues. “Texaco Oil hired me before I got my Master’s degree [in geophysics].” I wipe the dust from my eyes while he explains the connections between Ayn Rand, property theory and smart investing, his eyes glancing towards me regularly to check that
I’m following. “I recognised Steve Jobs right at the beginning… I knew what he was thinking, because it was consistent with this property theory, so I invested in Apple,” he says, pausing, then sweeping his hand in front of him nonchalantly. “I’m fairly financially independent,” he adds, pulling the Jeep to a halt. “So that’s why I can afford to drive a Jeep.”
Back to Roots
We reach the top of the trail, and through the window caked with dust, the sun is low and glows orange behind the shadowy outlines of mountains. The Jeep is stationary, and Joe takes a breath, hands resting on the steering wheel loosely. “I promised my wife I’d get her out of Los Angeles.” He tugs at the dusty handkerchief around his neck and gazes through the window shield. “We drove down [from California] planning to go to Denver, but I got sick and had to take a day off. She killed time looking for houses and found one — a log cabin.” Joe talks slower now, dimming with the sun on the horizon. “[Sedona] gets me back into geology,” he says, gesturing toward the mountains. “It gets me back in touch with my child because we camped and backpacked as kids, and now I’m driving around in it.” With a cool breeze rolling through the canyon, Joe makes a few knowledgeable remarks about a mountain in the distance before he resumes his story. “I mean, it’s nice to have the extra money to take my kids to a little bit better restaurant.” After a moment, he shrugs. “You know, it’s funny. Most people move to a place to make a livelihood and then try to love it,” he laughs. “But we moved to a place we love and now we’re trying to make a livelihood.” He readjusts in his seat and glances in the rear-view mirror. “So… is anybody behind me?” He looks at me before putting the Jeep into reverse. A cloud of dust rises up from the tires as they start to roll. Joe swings the steering wheel around deftly, pulling the Jeep around to head back the way we came.
May 2013 Word | 63