You're Driving Me to Phoenix!

Who said it (the title quote)? Anyone? Anyone?
Hint: It's from a wonderfully silly movie that I can recite beginning to end.

I’m in Scottsdale working on a commercial project for client #1, while staying up all night writing a development plan for client #2. It’s busy and stressful, but the upside is that I have my own room in a swanky hotel (there seems to be nothing BUT swanky in Scottsdale), and on this February morning, I went running – outside – in a tank top and shorts.

As I left the hotel to start my run, a kindly silver-haired fellow bundled in a tracksuit warned, “Ooooh, it’s cold out there this morning!”

I think it was 70, maybe 75 degrees. Somehow I managed.

It was dark when I started running, but once I turned around and headed back, the sun was rising and both Camelback and Superstition Mountain were bathed in morning light. The houses in this area fascinate me; some are gaudy and not my taste, but others integrate with the landscape and the climate. Single story with northern exposures, flat roofs, built into rock, shaded glass panes instead of walls, stone and steel. They’re breathtaking.

As I tripped along (too much watching the houses, not enough watching my footing), I imagined having house in the desert someday. Maybe not Moab – it’s no secret that Moab creeps me the hell out (AS IT DAMN WELL SHOULD) – but in the high desert among sage and scrub pine and funky new age spiritual centers.

Too bad there’s not more good climbing near Crestone (I know, there’s Penitente, but it’s kind of limited, and the alpine climbing season is really short, and alpine climbing sucks anyway), because it would otherwise be an ideal getaway.

Back to work. More to come.

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