Rain Follows Us to Arizona, Blame George Harrison

Recalling the odd yellow clouds and rain in Nevada earlier on our road trip, this storm is equally unexpected and much scarier.

North of Flagstaff on Highway 89 we see signs of water shortage—no campfires allowed, no charcoal. Ominous clouds cling to mountain peaks, but we’re driving at a lower elevation across the high desert listening to The Beatles.

As soon as we hear the riffs for “Here Comes the Sun,” the rain spits then gushes. White knuckling the steering wheel, I pull off the road and park three times. I creep out between cells only to coast off again.

Having experienced many whiteouts from snow, this was my first water-out, and I hope my last. Fortunately the cars on the two-lane highway drive slowly and many stop on the shoulder near us. No accidents as far as we know.

Wish we could drag the rain home to California to help quench the horrible fires.