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Arizona is one of the most diverse of the Western States. At a rest area north of Phoenix we stopped for a panaramic view of the desert.

Much of the land in northeastern Arizona is Indian reservation, where the congested housing developments of Phoenix give way to scattered mobile homes and the occasional teepees and hogans, right. Eighty-five percent of Arizona is either public land or Indian reservation, leaving some of the most beautiful land masses unblemished.

Red rock, blue sky. Every turn in the road brings a different color and view of the desert. The red rock northeast of the Grand Canyon along Hwy 89 south of Page.

White pyramids take on the hue of the slate blue sky overhead. About this time, glancing at the car clock, Cherie said, "you know, it feels later than 3:00." "Funny you should say that," I repliced, "since we're on Navajo land." One of Arizona's oddities is that the state doesn't observe daylight savings time, though the Navajo Nation does. So it really was later than 3:00 — as usual, Cherie's native sense (no pun intended) was right on.

The striated rocks close to the Utah border whet our appetite for the wonderland of rocks that await in Utah's Bryce Canyon.

	Glen Canyon Dam At Page, Arizona, where we stopped at a Safeway to buy a bottle of wine, not knowing if Utah is a dry state (which it wasn't), the Colorado River is dammed up to provide electricity for the area, forming Lake Powell. Here we crossed over from Arizona into Utah in the late afternoon.

There won't be any skiing on this ridge, despite Utah's welcoming sign boasting of their Winter Olympic games. Little Barn on the Prairie Other than Bryce Canyon, we didn't take many pictures of Utah, mainly because I did most of the driving through the state. While Cherie, drove, though, this abandoned barn caught my eye nestled among the rolling hills of northern Utah. Thought it might make a nice jigsaw puzzle.

Spudsville Forest fires choked off the sun and turned the landscape uniformly brown on much of our leg through Idaho. As usual, Cherie made a pithy observation while wrinkling her nose, declaring that she smelled French fries as we drove over the plains. "Hmmm, Idaho, potatoes, forest fires, French fries. Makes sense to me," I replied.

	Oregon was a little greener as we left the forest fires and much of the desert behind, approaching the Columbia River valley.

And finally we hit Washington, land of surprising good wine, good times, good friends, and an impending reunion with our long-deployed and much missed son.

Snoqualmie Pass After stopping in Walla Walla to taste the wines, staying the night in Sunnyside, Washington, and tasting the wines of Yakima and Columbia Valleys, we drove north through Yakima and west through the beautiful Snoqualmie Pass on toward Seattle, Tacoma, and Gig Harbor. The excitement was palpable.

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