Deserts are not as I thought of them in my childhood. Instead of barren expanses of sand dunes and sun, some deserts are teeming with vegetation. I experienced that firsthand with my trip to the Sonoran Desert near Phoenix last week.

There is beauty in the efficiency of a desert environment. I can see why Frank Lloyd Wright chose to build his winter home, Taliesin West, near Scottsdale. Every plant and animal in the sand is a stalwart reminder of the perseverance of life. Every mountain towers over the arid desert floor in stoic testament to geologic power. The area is a very nice place to visit. Despite that, I did not feel connected to the land like I do in northern Minnesota and coastal northern California. I expect that I will visit the Phoenix area many times in my life, but I will never live there.

On my flight back to a frore Minnesota, I had the misfortune of sitting next to an unemployed airplane mechanic. I have nothing against airplane mechanics, but that guy was a real downer. His breath reeking of alcohol, he told me his tale of woe: how he lost his job, how he just had his identity stolen, how his wife called right before he boarded to tell him she wanted a divorce, and so on. I felt bad for him, but I didn’t want to listen to his rambling. I couldn’t bring myself to completely ignore him, but I limited my contribution to the conversation to an occasional “That’s too bad” or “Mmm-hmm.” A couple hours rolled by before things took a turn for the worse.

“I’m building a plane,” he said, “and all it needs to work is an anti-gravity device. Do you know where I can find one?” Oh no. He didn’t seem to accept my assertion that nobody has built an anti-gravity device. “The government is hiding one in Nevada that they got from the aliens,” he claimed. I gave him a raised-eyebrow look that said, “Are you insane or just really drunk?” He ignored my look and proceeded to tell me how his sister had an encounter with “the greys” before asking me if I believed in God.

Needless to say, I was uncomfortable, but how could I escape at 35,000 feet? Fortunately, I managed a radical swing in the conversation towards fast cars. Thank goodness for the American obsession with the automobile.

I had the opportunity to visit two auto auctions while in Phoenix. The first, Barrett-Jackson, featured about 1200 cars with an emphasis on late-60s and early-70s muscle at the enormous WestWorld complex. The second was an RM auction of about 100 fine cars at the historic Biltmore resort. They were both enjoyable, but I found the RM auction a much classier experience.

Not only did I see a million-dollar antique Rolls Royce and an equally-valuable 427 Cobra at the Biltmore, I got to see and hear a very rare Porsche RS61 Spyder too. None of the cars were behind velvet ropes, so I was able to inspect their beauty from a distance of mere inches. All of the finest marques, new and old, were represented: Porsche, Ferrari, Aston Martin, Auburn, Duesenberg, and Jaguar to name a few. Each vehicle was absolutely stunning.

Talk of the car auctions, combined with the guy’s odd insistence on giving me dap every few minutes, got me though the rest of the flight. When we landed, I quickly escaped into the boreal night.