Four Wheels Spinning – Stories from the States #9: Take Me to Your Leader – Sedona, Arizona

Take Me to Your Leader
Sedona, Arizona
November 1, 2001

It doesn’t matter how many photographs we take, souvenirs we bring
back, or stories we share, only Brian and I will know how it felt to be on
this trip. Our friends and family will “ooh and ahh” over our pictures and
ask us a million questions about the places we’ve been, but it’s hard to tell
an interesting story about the small details of our trip. Our morning
meeting with the map to decide our route for the day or our quest to break
down our campsite faster than the day before just don’t translate into
exciting travel moments. But it’s those details that provide the rhythm of
our trip and for no other reason than that, Brian and I will always recall
them with enthusiasm. Everyone else will be bored to tears. In the end,
the only people who will ever know what it felt like to be on this trip are
Brian and myself…and my mom.

My mom and I in Jerome, AZ

My mom decided on a whim to fly out to Arizona and meet the two of us
for a few days. The three of us packed into the Jeep and headed north from
the Phoenix airport, stopping in Prescott and the mining town of Jerome,
before settling in for two nights in Sedona. We chose Sedona for a few
reasons: the beautiful setting among the red rock formations, the bizarre
new-agey vortexes sprinkled throughout the area, and most importantly Sedona
is home to the Coffee Pot Cafe – “Home of 101 Omelettes”. We figured there
was something for everyone in this town.

The three of us did the town up. We took the famous “Pink Jeep” tour,
we hiked to vortexes covered in bizzaro rock pilings and zoned out locals,
we watched the sunset from a mesa, and we did it all without knowing that
somewhere in Sedona a single man was plotting to take over the town. Had we
known, there was nothing we could have done to stop him because the town of
Sedona is actually encouraging this man to go ahead with his plan. Three
tourists just can’t beat a whole town.

On our final night in Sedona, my mom’s birthday, we reserved a table at
the “hottest” restaurant in town and it was then that we came face to face
with the man himself (who will have to remain nameless so I don’t get sued -
I know my mom is the only regular reader but I suspect that this guy scours
the internet for anything written about himself). Not only does Mr. BigShot
own the restaurant, but as he pointed out to us within the first five
minutes of being seated, he also owns a local radio station, has a gallery
and store, and does all the artwork that hangs on the joint’s walls. And
when he’s not running the free world he performs on the restaurant’s stage -
created for his use only, no competition allowed. Lest I forget, Mr.
BigShot had his own TV show in the 70’s. If, in the future, having a TV
show qualifies one to perform five nights a week, we’re in for big trouble.
Can you imagine all the middle-aged WB/UPN network rejects doing comedy
shtick in their own cafes?

While we continued sitting slack jawed, Mr. BigShot informed us that we
were eating at one of the three best restaurants in town (his being the best,
of course) and proceeded to run down the entire menu – entree by entree -
telling us what was exceptional. He did this because he felt that we
deserved the truth and that waiters are never honest (despite his efforts to
train them otherwise) when they say “everything is good”. We were left
dumbfounded as he went on to repeat his speech with the same mix of manic
bravado and contrived honesty to every other table in the house.

Our plan of action was to keep our heads low and avoid eye-contact with
Mr. BigShot for the rest of our meal. This proved difficult on a couple of
levels. First, our waitress had spent far too much time meditating in the
vortexes. This became apparent when it took 20 minutes to deliver my mom’s
glass of wine. It’s hard to make a toast when the birthday gal is the only
one without a drink. Upon further questioning the waitress scuttled away,
giggling that “they’re working on it – it’ll be a few more minutes”. I’m
sure they were busy crushing the grapes with their toes. When the wine
finally arrived our hippy-dippy waitress asked us if we wanted to hear about
the dessert list. Of course we did, we love dessert, but we hadn’t had our
appetizers yet so we told her we’d wait. She ran away giggling at that too.

Our attempt at being inconspicuous was evaporating faster than our
server’s brain cells.

Then the real whammy hit. Mr. BigShot decided he was ready to perform
and mounted his personal stage, two feet from our table. He began his
routine with a few sad impressions and told jokes that belonged to a
comedian doing the rounds in the Catskills circa 1962. We forced smiles to
our faces so he wouldn’t yell at us. I’m not exaggerating here, another
table was deep in conversation and he stopped his show to harangue them,
“I’m not just some schmuck here – I’m a professional! Don’t you like
impressions?” We were front row, we were nervous and we clapped long and
hard. He went into his act for a mere five minutes before throwing down his
props in disgust. My guess is the crowd wasn’t appreciative enough of his
“art”. Maybe they hadn’t yet been subjected to his mind-control program, I
mean radio show.

In the end we had a nice meal, even though the waitress forgot to bring
half of Brian’s entree. Mr. BigShot sat down with other tables that
showered him with the praise he so desperately sought and left us alone.

We escaped the restaurant without buying his autobiography or artwork
that was for sale by the bar and headed back to our hotel. We drifted to
sleep that night watching TV with 4 minute biographies/commercials for Mr.
BigShot’s establishments and read magazines peppered with full page, glossy,
head-shot, adverts for the restaurant. We were beat – it was obvious who
ran the town – and there wasn’t a thing the three of us could do but run
away giggling.

It was a dining experience that Brian and I will never forget. Best of
all, my mom was there that day, reading the maps with us, drinking
margaritas in the afternoon, and snapping photos of us at every major
monument. For a few days, she fell into the rhythm of our travels. When we
get home and talk about the trip and pass around the photographs my mom will
be able to share the memories of this trip because she was part of it.

*Happy Birthday Mom*

Sedona Info

A vortex with man-made rock piles in Sedona, AZ

We stayed at the Sedona Real Inn courtesy of my mom. Had we been on our own
it would have been out of our price range so I’d suggest budget hotels or
camping otherwise. There are no hostels in Sedona.

While there, take a Pink Jeep tour (or any other jeep company’s tour) and
get a good look at those beautiful rocks. Hit the Airport Mesa with a
bottle of wine and watch the sunset over the same rocks. Check out the
“masculine and feminine” vortexes that are filled with “healing energies”.
Don’t miss the Coffee Pot Cafe – you’ll never get another omelette selection
like it anywhere else.

If you have time take the scenic drive to Jerome, a great little town built into the side of a hill. It’s filled with art galleries, quirky shops, and the cafe owners won’t yell at you.