"In Search of Life
East of the Colorado..."

We were feeling a bit giddy as we dropped from 7200 feet toward the desert floor. The rapid change in altitude probably contributed to the euphoria, but what we felt most was an increasing sense of excitement and expectation.

Almost by the minute, it was becoming more and more clear that at no other time in our fourteen years of married life had there been such a uniquely opportune moment, one in which we truly had total control of our own destiny, with no one to answer to, and no one to blame.

It was late August 1992, and we were among 8000 other residents of Big Bear Lake, California who had just gone through what would turn out to be the nation's largest and most damaging series of earthquakes that year. Our first wake-up call had come violently at 5:00am on June 30, and had lasted for 52 terrifying seconds. Ten days, and over 300 aftershocks later, our home had finally succumbed to the non-stop battering and begun a slow, deliberate slide down into the canyon over which it was perched.

The next six weeks were a nightmarish blur of helpful neighbors and compassionate friends, emergency volunteers and government officials, engineers and contractors, insurance adjusters and moving vans. With what was left of our material possessions deposited safely in storage, and all the endless but necessary papers signed, we were leaving our home of ten years, a place we once loved but now feared.

Being self-employed with an in-home business, when the house went, so went the business. Fortunately, due to the wise and consistent counsel of my wife, we had been quite conservative over the years and had paid down our debt. She was also responsible for the single best investment we ever made, earthquake insurance. As soon as we and the insurance company reached what we felt was an equitable settlement, we realized that we no longer had any obligations that required us to remain on this less-than-stable mountain.

During the year prior to these events, California had witnessed several other major tragedies, many of which had garnered considerable negative national attention. Late 1991 had seen Oakland's televised "World Series" earthquake. Spring of 1992 brought the San Fernando Valley floods, and Malibu's annual mud slides were particularly devastating that year. By early summer, Rodney King and the ensuing madness had completely dampened most local commerce and virtually all tourism, and the entire state's economy was beginning to take a serious slide.

My wife and I had for a couple of years been giving some thought to the possibility of what we wistfully called early retirement. We had loved living in Big Bear, but by 1992, what had once been a small mountain town had become a genuine destination resort, attracting about 100,000 visitors on an average weekend, and up to 300,000 on major holidays.

It had gotten to the point where, barring an emergency, you practically stayed locked up in your house from Thursday night to Monday morning, turning over the entire valley to the visitors from down below. During such times, we would talk of Bend, Oregon or Taos, New Mexico, even Aspen, Colorado where we had family, but we had done absolutely nothing in the way of serious planning.

Now, all of a sudden, here we were, still quite shell-shocked from the ordeal, heading out into the world, with no real place to go, and no home to come back to.

Our only goal that first day was to get to any point east of the San Andreas fault! That was accomplished by the time we reached Barstow, so as we hummed along I-40, we happily designated Flagstaff, Arizona as our first overnight stop on this trip that was literally the beginning of the rest of our lives.

We ended up spending two full days in Flagstaff. We found that we needed to "decompress," and this was an excellent place to do so. We were able to relax, look at the maps and read the travel guides. Eventually, we decided to go first to New Mexico to explore Santa Fe and Taos. We had heard some encouraging things recently about the former, and I had somehow managed to retain some vaguely positive but foggy memories from the mid-sixties about the latter.

We also decided that, since we were in no hurry whatsoever, we should try, whenever possible, to take secondary roads. We would stay off the Interstates and see "Small Town America," experience as much of this beautiful country as we could. Besides, we had both traveled I-40 between Flag and Albuquerque enough times to know that we wouldn't miss a thing going any other way.

By this point, you may have guessed where this story is headed. I plotted a thoroughly indirect route from Flagstaff to Albuquerque that involved driving through some unheard of but interesting sounding places like Lake Mary, Mormon Lake, Strawberry, Pine, Payson and Christopher Creek. Using 55 mph as a benchmark, we expected a leisurely two day drive, reaching Santa Fe on the second day in time for an early dinner. It took more than a week.

Like most Californians, what we knew of Arizona was severely limited to the few major towns and cities along the Colorado River, and along Interstates 8, 10 and 40. We had absolutely no way to anticipate the startling diversity and the breathtaking natural beauty that we were about to experience in Central Arizona's Rim Country.

What we found as we made the transition from the deep, cool greens of the Coconino National Forest, dropping over the edge of the Mogollon Rim into the pristine Strawberry Valley, and beyond to Payson, the colorful and vibrant hub of the region, was a place that was to make an indelible impression on us, one that would stay with us through New Mexico and Colorado and all the other places that we would visit over the next six months.

We were impressed not only by what the area had, not the least of which was a strikingly beautiful and obviously healthy environment remarkably similar to the one we had left behind, but even more by what it didn't have. This was close to the end of a long, hot summer, and here there was no stifling heat or humidity, no visible smog, no hoards of irritated tourists jammed in bumper-to-bumper gridlock, and a glance at the local papers revealed a refreshing lack of headlines advertising violent crime. It was as if we had stumbled onto the set of The Land That Time Forgot.

I kept a log of our travels, noting the positive and negative aspects of each area we visited. When it came time to compare notes, I scanned the list of my Rim Country observations. Under "Positive," I had written:

Pine trees; lakes and streams; great photography; homes on hilltops (old habits die hard!); huge lots; good roads; mild climate; clean air; good business potential.

One hour away from city;
Never heard of...

Though not Big City Socialites by any means, my wife and I do enjoy an occasional evening of metropolitan entertainment, and being over an hour away from the theaters and restaurants was not considered a "positive." As I stared blankly at my casual handwriting, I remembered the soft, sweet, cool fragrance of the endless Ponderosas and found myself adding the word "Only" to the first comment, and moving them both into the Positive column!

Now, one of the most frequently asked questions from new and old friends alike is "Why Central Arizona?" Of all the places we could have gone, they ask, why here? My response is not deliberately cryptic, but it just seems to come out that way. I tell them that ever since day one, we've felt as if we're in a place that's not The Place yet, but that has that potential. I tell them that here one can help plan, promote and contribute, rather than just wander around picking up the pieces. I tell them that here is a place where everyone matters. To most, this is an unsatisfactory response. It's not what they expected me to say, nor is it what they wanted to hear. I don't expect them all to understand, and, of course, they don't. But the few that do make up for the others, and I realize that, for now, for us, and for the Rim Country, it's best that way.

Now, for those of you who do understand and are coming up this weekend, all we ask is that you drive safely, enjoy and protect the outdoors, and continue to visit us often in this natural wonderland full of beauty, friendly people and immense opportunity.

By the way, if you'd like to get an idea of what things look like around here, take a cyber-stroll thru any one of our four Galleries in the RIMages section of the site. Click the button and enjoy!