After days of shivering at the rim of the Grand Canyon, bundled in layers like we were preparing for a polar expedition, the promise of warmth drew us south. With the promise of more beautiful hikes, Sedona was calling, and we were more than ready to answer. But first, we had to get there.
The drive from Flagstaff to Sedona along Route 89A is one of those roads that makes you grateful you’re not in a hurry. Oak Creek Canyon unfolds like a secret the desert’s been keeping. A lush, winding corridor carved between towering red cliffs. The road snakes alongside the creek, dipping and curving through canyon walls that glow amber and crimson, even in the late morning light. Pine trees cluster along the water’s edge, their green a startling contrast to the rust-colored stone. This is the kind of drive where you catch yourself holding your breath around the corners, not from fear, but from the sheer beauty of what’s waiting around the bend.
By the time we reached Sedona proper, the temperature had climbed into the pleasant range. Actual warmth! The kind where you don’t need three layers and a toque just to feel your face. We parked near the town center and set out to explore.
Tourists in Paradise
Sedona wears its tourist-town status comfortably. The main strip is lined with galleries, crystal shops, southwestern art boutiques, and enough places selling dreamcatchers to supply every bedroom in North America. We wandered in and out, the girls browsing jewelry and discussing the merits of various geodes, while I tried to look interested in turquoise pendants. It’s a pleasant way to kill time, even if you’re not buying anything. The vibe is relaxed, unhurried, and thoroughly committed to the whole “mystical desert energy vortex” thing.
But we weren’t here for shopping. Well, at least I wasn’t! For me, it was all about the beautiful hikes around Sedona. We were here for Devil’s Bridge.
The plan was simple: park, catch the Sedona Shuttle to the Mescal Trailhead, hike out to the famous natural arch, take some photos, hike back. Easy. What could go wrong?
The Trail That Wouldn’t End
The shuttle dropped us off at the trailhead, and we set out with our sandwiches, snacks and water tucked into our daypacks. The weather was glorious; blue skies, warm sun, and a gentle breeze that felt like a reward for surviving the cold nights at the Canyon. For the first time in days, I wasn’t wearing a jacket. It was perfect.
The trail started out straightforward enough. Red dirt path, scattered juniper trees, prickly pear, and the occasional cactus standing sentinel. But then things got…confusing. We’d round a bend, convinced we were making progress, only to find ourselves facing another stretch that seemed to lead nowhere. The trail markers were sparse, and more than once we wondered if we’d somehow wandered off onto some alternate route that would deposit us in New Mexico.
“Are we going in circles?” Beth-Rose asked, squinting at the path ahead.
“No,” I said, with the confidence of someone who had absolutely no idea. “It’s just…winding.”
Jana looked skeptical. Heather looked happy. I looked like someone who should have checked the trail map more carefully.
But the scenery made up for the uncertainty. Every turn revealed another postcard-worthy vista: red rock formations rising like ancient cathedrals, brilliant blue sky stretching endlessly overhead, and that warm Arizona sun pouring down like liquid gold. Even if we were lost, at least we were lost somewhere stunning.
Just when we were seriously considering turning back, we ran into a couple heading down the trail.
“How much further?” I asked, trying to sound casual instead of desperate.
“Oh, just a little bit more! Maybe ten minutes. Totally worth it!”
We sat down just before the final set of steep switchbacks, pulled out our sandwiches, and made a decision. We’d come this far. Might as well finish. It would be pretty silly not to.
Beautiful Hikes: The Bridge and the Line
And they were right. It was worth it.
Devil’s Bridge is one of those beautiful hikes with natural wonders that photographs can’t quite capture. It’s a massive sandstone arch, a delicate-looking span of rock that seems to defy gravity as it stretches across empty air. Standing beneath it, you get that humbling sense of scale that reminds you just how small you are and how old these rocks really are.
There was just one problem: the queue.
A line of people snaked along the approach to the bridge, all waiting for their turn to walk out onto the arch and strike a pose. Some held yoga positions. Others stood triumphantly with arms raised. A few took selfies while their partners coached them from the sidelines. It was like waiting for a ride at Disneyland, except the ride was a geological feature that had been here for millions of years and probably wasn’t impressed by our Instagram habits.
We watched the procession for a while, amused and content. The girls debated whether it was worth waiting, but in the end, we decided the view from where we were sitting was just fine. Sometimes the best photo is the one you don’t take because you’re too busy actually being there.
And so we sat in the shade, drank our water, and soaked it all in. The light warm breeze. The red rocks glowing in the afternoon light. The distant sound of laughter echoing off the canyon walls. After the stress and cold of the Grand Canyon, this felt like exactly what we needed.
The Scenic Route Back (Unintentionally)
The hike back was long, but still beautiful. The afternoon sun cast different shadows across the rocks, and the trail, confusing as it had been on the way in, felt a bit more familiar on the return. We made good time, spirits high, legs tired but happy. Plus it was downhill.
Back at the shuttle stop, we climbed aboard, ready to head back to our car and call it a successful day. That’s when things got…scenic.
Turns out, we got on the wrong shuttle.
Instead of heading directly back to town, we embarked on what can only be described as the Grand Tour of Every Single Shuttle Stop in Sedona. We looped through neighborhoods. We stopped at trailheads we’d never heard of. The driver, bless him, seemed completely unfazed by our obvious confusion, cheerfully announcing each stop as if we’d planned this all along.
“Chapel of the Holy Cross! Anyone getting off? Anyone? Bueller…?”
Nope. Just us, still sitting here, wondering if we’d accidentally signed up for the all-day sightseeing package.
Eventually (eventually!) we made it back to our starting point. By then, we’d seen more of the outskirts of Sedona than most tourists manage in a weekend. Silver lining, I suppose.
The Best Choice We Made All Day
But now, hunger was setting in, and the debate began. The girls were lobbying hard for Chipotle. After all, it was on their master plan of things to do on this epic road trip. Safe. Predictable. Boring?
But Heather had a different idea.
“There’s a Mexican place I remember from years ago,” she said. “I think it was around here somewhere. We should try to find it.”
I was skeptical. “Years ago” is not a reliable timeframe for restaurant survival. Places close. They move. They turn into vape shops or yoga studios. But Heather was insistent, and honestly, after a day of hiking and shuttle adventures, I was willing to follow anyone who seemed confident.
And so we walked around, scanning storefronts, checking restaurant sandwich boards, until Heather spotted it: La Vecina.
“That’s it! I think that’s it.”
A Favourite Cantina
It might not have been the exact same place from her memory, but it was close enough. And more importantly, it was perfect.
Walking into La Vecina felt like stepping into someone’s favourite cantina; the kind of place where the walls are bright with hand-painted murals, the music is lively without being overwhelming, and the smell of grilled peppers and fresh tortillas makes your mouth water before you even sit down. The ambience was warm, welcoming, and genuinely Mexican in a way that no chain restaurant could ever replicate.
Our server greeted us with the kind of friendliness that feels earned, not scripted. Attentive without hovering, knowledgeable without being pretentious. Even the bussers were in on it, stopping by to make sure we had everything we needed, cracking jokes, making us feel like regulars even though we’d just walked in the door.
And the food? Incredible. So frikken good!
I can’t remember exactly what everyone ordered; some combination of enchiladas, tacos, chile rellenos, and enough chips and salsa to float a small boat – but every bite was worth the detour. Fresh ingredients, bold flavors, portions that didn’t require a second mortgage. This was the kind of meal that makes you grateful you didn’t settle for the safe choice.
But Jana and Beth-Rose were in heaven. Chipotle was forgotten. Heather looked smug. “Told you.”
And she was right. La Vecina was hands down the best choice we made all day. Maybe the whole trip. Jana still raves about it, ten months later.
Driving into the Dark
Eventually, full, happy, and thoroughly satisfied, we headed back to the car. I handed the keys to Jana, who’d been itching to get behind the wheel. She grinned, adjusted the seat, and took off like she’d been driving Route 89A her whole life.
I settled into the passenger seat, content to let someone else handle the winding road back to Flagstaff. The canyon was dark now, the cliffs invisible against the night sky. Headlights carved tunnels through the blackness, and the curves came fast and smooth under Jana’s handling. I wasn’t even nervous…
I leaned back, letting the hum of the tires and the warmth of a good meal lull me into that pleasant, post-hike haze. Our Sedona day was done. Another destination added to our list of beautiful hikes. Flagstaff and another night in a motel bed awaited. And after that? Death Valley.
The road trip wasn’t over yet.
