The Vortex of Material Fulfillment

Sedona, AZ, reportedly sits smack dab atop some sort of energy vortex, which is a good thing I’m told—but how can you be sure that this vortex, if it exists, isn’t some kind of invisible death ray that was placed here during the 1400s by aliens who came here to capture and enslave the Indians who populated the nearby cliff pueblos? People have been flocking to this red-rock Mecca called Sedona for years, particularly during the height of the New Age movements of the 70s and 80s. New Age practitioners say that Sedona is one of four or five global “energy centers” that hold the potential for mankind’s final enlightenment. Or something like that. Other such centers include Ayers Rock in Australia and Sunrise Springs Resort in Santa Fe, NM. Had I known where the others were, and if they were conveniently located, we probably would have tried to go biking in those places as well.

We seemed to be in the minority with that thinking, however. It really didn’t seem like a lot of the people wandering Sedona’s single, traffic choked main drag had come for biking, or really for any physical activity. The Sedona we saw included a Parade of the Affluent—middle-aged well-to-doers clothed in hip and oh-so-sassy action-fashion wear. Quick-dry Khakis and the modern-day equivalent of Sansabelt stretch fabrics sewn into slimming polo shirts were the order of the day, along with fashion-conscious wide-brim hats to round out the day’s wardrobe with a Western flair! The streets were jammed with people who could afford to have good teeth and spare Metamucil, and everybody was flashing their feel-good smiles.

Like the New Age pilgrims who had come to Sedona to “feel the energy” two decades earlier, today’s Sedona visitors had meandered along the streets in their opulent Escalades and Lexus SUVs to check out the vibe and to be seen. Others were just curious to find out what the Sedona buzz was all about, so they had come for day trips or overnight jaunts in more nondescript vehicles. We saw several white-haired men snapping photos of the perfect boobies that had been sculpted on stone figures outside of one main street establishment.

Sedona’s main street is a bizarre collection of shops crammed together for a quarter mile on both sides of highway 89A. Here you can find Minnesota Minnetonka moccasins, fortune tellers, T Shirts of all kinds and the same typical fare that is ubiquitous in any Southwest tourist town, including those horrifying "life-like" baby Indian dolls with hair and headbands. Brrr. They give me the shivers! These little nightmares don't belong in shops. They belong in Hell. And for the life of me, I've never, not once, seen anybody, anywhere buying one ...

We found many of Sedona’s visitors walking up and down main street, trying desperately to tap into the vibe that had made the town famous years ago—a time before property values in the millions, a time when locals could live without having to hold three jobs, a time when the red rock meant more than just an opportunity for a jeep tour. But the vibe seemed to be missing. Or maybe people have simply lost their ability to feel it in these days of rampant materialism. Predictably, many of them defaulted to the one behavior they could count on: to try and buy the vibe.

In Sedona, tourist dollars flew out of pockets like lead flew from Colt six shooters in the Old West. The rich visitors set out about buying everything and anything they possibly could while on main street, and they walked with bags hanging from each hand. You could tell the newcomers because their hands were empty. Those who had stayed on main street the longest were weighed down with bags upon bags. Perhaps they reasoned that the sheer weight would push them through the Earth’s crust and into the vortex, where they would ascend to a new spiritual plane of shopping bliss. We fled in horror, but not before getting caught up in the Sedona shopping vortex ourselves.

Caroline and I had booked accommodations in the Village of Oak Creek, where things seemed a little more normal. The village is located several miles away from Sedona and seems to house the area’s service-sector working population. We had booked a room in an unusual place, which actually turned out to be one of the best nights of lodging for our entire trip. We had rented a night in one of the apartments above the Bike and Bean, Oak Creek Village’s venerable all-purpose bike shop.

We were given a cheery greeting by Gonzo, one of the Bike and Bean’s friendly staff. I had hoped that they could repair my damaged front shock, which was still oozing life from the previous day’s misadventure. If not, I reckoned that a bike rental would be necessary to enjoy the red-rock rides that Sedona has to offer. Fortunately, the crew at the Bike and Bean said they’d do their best to repair the damage, despite the lack of right-sized seals on hand. By the end of the day, they had effectively cleaned and repaired the shock, and the Golden Beast was ready for a ride the next day.

The Bike and Bean was a hub of biking activity, and the coffee was pretty good, too. The staff recommended an excellent ride that would take us around Bell Rock and then off into the desert toward the creek, where a fine swimming hole lay waiting at the bottom of a set of tight switch backs. The single-track trail wound its way through the red rock, traveled along some fine sections of slick rock and included some technically challenging climbs and descents. It was a beautiful ride, so much so that it was easy to get distracted. The spiked green fans of numerous large prickly pear cacti, however, kept our concentration on the trail ahead; a crash in some spots would have turned a rider into a spandex pin cushion.

When we reached the switch backs about six miles out, the sun had risen high in the sky and the day was heating up. The water looked great. So we doffed our gear and climbed right in. The cold water was refreshing. After a while we climbed back out to dry in the sun. At just about that time, a septuagenarian couple made their way along a trail on the other side of the creek. As a man with empathy, I can fully understand the horror and shock that these people must have felt when they spied the naked fat man sprawled out on a red rock, like a dead lizard bloating in the sun. The old woman apparently didn’t mind, because she drank in the sight with a long, steady gaze. A wide smile crept over her face. Out came the camera. I was proud to have been able to do my part in making someone’s Sedona vacation a most memorable one. I know that in some room somewhere that night, the old spark of romance was rekindled and someone was able to tap into some of that old Sedona magic.

See you on down the road.