This site will never be political and although you may associate the subject of this post as a politician, I assure you it is about a man.
My husband and I have tremendous respect for John McCain. We went to see him at a rally near our home when he was running for President. Maybe I voted for him in that election, maybe I did not. I attended the event to honor the prisoner of war, the dedicated public servant, not necessarily to support his campaign. This is me keeping my governmental thoughts to myself.
About ten years ago, while in Arizona, my investigative efforts (translation: stalking) yielded the address of John McCain’s ranch outside of Sedona. Even with GPS – back then we had a Garmin – the property was difficult to find. Finally we arrived at the long dirt driveway on a quiet, unpopulated road. Several mailboxes sat on posts by the entrance to the access road leading to the family home. I jokingly told Mister Rain to pull into the marked private lane, his reply a protest that the Secret Service would “get him.” I reminded him that Senator McCain was not President McCain but he still was unwilling to take a chance. I called him a chicken, we laughed, then continued on to our next destination, passports still intact, no handcuffs required.
Fast forward six years and Senator McCain has passed away. In one of the many articles about him, there was a piece about a restaurant near his home that he frequented, Up The Creek, in Cornville, Arizona. I added the name of the establishment to my list of future stops to make in The Grand Canyon State. When the time came to begin planning our upcoming Sedona trip, I looked up more information about Up The Creek. I discovered that in his final weeks, this was the only place Senator McCain wanted to go. I found out that he used to ask one of the owners to play Abba on the in-house piano but the gentleman didn’t know any of their music. After Senator McCain’s death, he wished he had learned some of their songs.
We made a reservation. As we got closer to Up The Creek, we lost cell service. I could easily understand the allure of the area to someone whose life was so public.
We were seated in the corner by a set of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Oak Creek. As I set my purse on an empty chair, my husband quietly said my name followed by, “the piano”, and motioned for me to look behind me. There it was, so close that when pulling out my chair to sit down I had to be careful not to hit the instrument. As we had followed the hostess to our table, something told me this was Senator McCain’s table. We didn’t say anything, this is a very local spot, we did not want to appear to be lookie-loos (can a blind person be a lookie-loo?). We enjoyed our meal and the beautiful view outside. Hummingbird feeders hung at the windows, Mister Rain watched them have their dinner too.
As we departed the eatery we recognized the non-pianist owner whom we had seen in a different interview than the one his business partner had given. He thanked us for coming on our way out. My husband stopped to tell him how we came to find out about his business. The gentleman pointed out to us where Senator McCain would sit at the bar, then he turned, pointing to the table we had just left. “And that was his table.”
My husband and I looked at each other, bid farewell to the proprietor, then walked to our rental car. We pulled out of the parking lot, not speaking for several minutes, until finally Mister Rain said, “Come on.” You can’t make this stuff up. Down the road or up the creek, life is quite a trip.
#sisterrain #alittlesightalotofheart #legallyblindtraveler #travel #senatorjohnmccain #upthecreek