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Getting there was none of the fun

The worst part of our weekend getaway to Cottonwood was getting there. At least for me. It was not half the fun. It was none of the fun.

Driving something as big as my parents’ motor home had my knuckles white the entire way. Every bump in the road amplified itself as it rolled like a wave through the RV, rattling all its contents. And the rig seemed to create its own source of wind every time the speedometer passed 60 mph. Fortunately, the campground was only about 90 minutes away.

Then, inexplicably, I was relatively relaxed during the drive home. I had apparently learned what to expect when I turned the big steering wheel and hit the gas and the brakes. I was even comfortable enough to get a selfie while stuck for a while in a weekend traffic jam.

I’m driving a kitchen down the road.

I’m driving a kitchen down the road.

Between the two drives, the weekend was quite enjoyable. We did a small amount of hiking, looked through some local antique shops, ate at one of our favorite restaurants, and tried a new one. Mostly, though, we hung out in the campsite and unwound.

An interesting take on chicken and waffles at Crema in Cottonwood.

An interesting take on chicken and waffles at Crema in Cottonwood.

Sunday, we attended a traditional Latin Mass at a small mission chapel in nearby Clarkdale, where I ended up serving on the altar. The story of how that came to pass deserves its own blog post. Someday.

For now, though, Kathryn and I are getting ready to head out of town yet again. The weather here in Phoenix is just about perfect right now, so to celebrate, we’re going somewhere else for a week.