We are started very late due to circumstances beyond our control. It is a beautiful day, maybe a tad hot, but being naked in an air-conditioned car eradicates such concerns.
We have driven the two hours down the Interstate highway to Wilcox, a small central hub of a town alone in a vast expanse between Tucson and New Mexico. It has thrived amongst some irrigated farmland in the valley between mountain ranges, the cattle ranchers and as a stop on the highway. Here, on the two lane highway to the south, it is open grass and rangeland, all dry from the extended drought.
We are heading for the Chiricahua National Monument, which is a collection of hoodoos much like Bryce in Utah. Not as colorful, not as prolific, but there are not over two million visitors each year. I have found what is described as the least populated trail and it all sounds fascinating as it leads to a natural bridge.