Through Trees of Stone

The wind howls across the Arizona plains as I aim a Honda Gold Wing 1800 toward the Petrified Forest National Park on US 180 east. I lean the 850-pound machine into the gusts to hold a straight line. The Painted Desert spreads before me  -  a vast horizon of cracked earth and colored sandstone  -  and the cloudless sky is tinged with a red film of dust dispersed by the dirt-devils swirling the air. Dozens of these frenetic mini-tornadoes gyrate like belly dancers across the plains. They are the only things moving between the road and desert horizon.