On the road again.

The CE is indisputably a man of great valor. But just as Superman had his kryptonite and Samson his fear of shears, I have but to utter four little words to strike terror into my husband’s heart:

“I have an idea.”

Oh, how he quakes when he hears that phrase! “No, no, not again”, he groans.

But it couldn’t be helped. It was early in 2022 and we had long since lost interest in isolation and its proponents. I was itching to make up for lost time! The CE didn’t want to get stuck abroad due to illness or regulatory minutiae, so I came up with a much tamer option.

And, knowing he would never hear the end of it otherwise, he sighed, and assented.

Which is how, a year later (I really planned this one in advance!) we found ourselves in the middle of the Arizona desert, waving hello to miles and miles of saguaro cactus, all with their arms raised in friendly greeting.

We’d flown into Phoenix, hoping to make it to our first stop by sundown. Traffic wasn’t bad at all – perhaps the very recent and fierce snowstorm had deterred others who might have also “had an idea”.

In the last light of dusk, we reached Prescott, AZ and the surprisingly packed parking lot of the Prescott Hilton Garden Inn. Hotel snob that I am, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this any-port-in-storm overnight, so imagine my surprise when it turned out to be a five-star experience in a what I expected to be two-star lodgings. Everything was new and pristine, with an unexpectedly lively bar and restaurant scene off the lobby.

Among my errors in underestimating Prescott was expecting a sleepy burg and not making restaurant reservations for a Saturday night at 7 pm. Putting on his concierge hat, the desk clerk said, well, my favorite restaurant is Farm Provisions up the street – IF you can get in.

Hungry and road weary we plodded up the block in the icy cold, expecting some sort of diner or glorified coffee shop, so we were very happily surprised to step inside the door and find a lovely, candlelit restaurant. And of course, it was absolutely packed. There was one table in the furthest corner of the enclosed outdoor patio, and while we dined in our puffers to keep out the occasional gusts of cold wind, we couldn’t have been happier.

If you go, I highly recommend the grass-fed, grain-finished beef:

Ah, we slept well after that lovely meal, and awoke the next morning to the view of a creek outside our window.

We explored a bit, crossing the old railway bridge and walking along the creek a ways.

Then the CE was ready for what he calls a “cowboy breakfast” and the morning hotel clerk knew exactly where to send us. The Local Prescott is the ticket if you want a breakfast that will last you til dinner. And the decor helps you wake right up:

A quick bit of research yielded the interesting fact that a few of the CE’s favorite western luminaries had frequented Prescott’s downtown Whiskey Row, where the Palace was – and is – a favorite watering hole.

We couldn’t leave Prescott without checking out the saloon frequented by Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday!

Notice the CE’s smile? He’s definitely getting into the trip now, right? He might even be thinking the whole thing was HIS idea…

We strolled around the Prescott town square, which reminded us a bit of Paso Robles (with whiskey instead of wine)

But it was far too early in the day to drink, so we said our farewells to this charming little town, packed up our gear and headed back out into the desert. It sure felt good to be back on the road again!

Next week: a drop in the bucket list!