Monument Valley to Canyon De Chelly

Interesting day today. Not quite what I had expected.

It started well with another beautiful sunrise over the valley.

I ate breakfast (bacon sandwich!) then sat online for a short while before heading out to fill the car up and make my way to Four Corners, a landmark in the Navajo nation that sits right on the junction of Arizona, New Mexico, Utah and Colorado. The idea was to leave the highways behind and hit the back roads once again. The route is mentioned in Lonely Planet and is described as, in dry weather, suitable for a two-wheel drive sedan.

It’s not.

I’ve got the route marked on my huge Arizona map book, which features all the unpaved roads, dirt roads and so on, and I’ve also got the very basic, quarter page description in Lonely Planet, although that doesn’t help at all.

I leave Monument Valley slowly, taking in as much of it as I can, and fill up with petrol. For some reason the flow doesn’t stop automatically and petrol flows over the outside of the car. I wonder if this is a problem but am fairly sure it’s not. I head out and leave the valley behind me. It’s the classic view. I consider myself lucky to have been there, but know I'll be back.

I’m looking for a road that isn’t marked, and take a guess. My GPS says I guessed right, I think. I see a road marker, and I’m on the right road. The soil is beautifully red and I’m the only car in sight. Monument Valley is stretched out beside me and I’m very happy. The road is flat and just the right amount of dusty to throw up a very picturesque cloud behind me. It’s easy going.

It gets worse. The sand gets deeper and there are some pretty big bumps. Thankfully no mud. I go slow and it’s OK.

But then I think I’m lost. My GPS keeps wanting me to go back to the highway and I keep ignoring it. I see wooden road markings and I’m sure (ish) that I’m on the right path. I seem to be driving for much longer than I expected. I start climbing up and up and realise that I’m driving up Comb Ridge, and Monument Valley is splayed out below. I’m still the only car and it feels so wonderfully private. The description in Lonely Planet mentions driving up the ridge, so I feel confident I’m on the right path. GPS catches up and yes – it’s all good. I’m feeling good and plough on. But then things get funny again. The GPS tells me to turn when there are no roads. I presume they’ve been washed away or even blown away for that matter. I push on. I get to the top of a large hill and after going over some very, very rocky ground, find myself on a huge flat expanse of rock. There’s no road. I back up. I think I saw another track a short while back. I turn down that road and after a minute end up in exactly the same place. This is the moment I start thinking I’ve made a mistake. I have reception on my phone, an apple, and about a litre of water. The GPS says I’m just 6km away from a highway, so why can’t I see it or hear it? There is absolutely nothing around me. I get out of the car and walk about. I walk forward about 50 metres and see what could be a track. I’ve got nothing to lose so move very, very slowly over the rock and down the track. After a few minutes and lots of ‘recalculating, recalculating’ the GPS catches up and yes, I’m on track. But it’s not an easy track. Deep, deep sand and huge rocks litter the way and I inch forward. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see something flash. It’s the sun reflecting off cars. My heart jumps and I am very, very relieved. I tell myself that there will be no more back roads.

What road?

As I hit the tarmac, I eat my apple and gulp down water in celebration. I know wife and mother won’t be impressed with latest adventure so feel guilty. The drive that I expected to take an hour or so, had taken three, but not too much longer. I look forward to getting out of the car and visiting Four Corners.

I visit Colorado. It’s my first time in the state and it’s quite nice. 

There’s not much at the monument, so I get back in the car and head towards Ship Rock, an almighty rock in the middle of nowhere that really doesn’t look like it belongs there. For some reason I don’t take a photo and just move towards Canyon de Chelly. My GPS has the hump with me and keeps trying to take me in odd directions so I turn her off. My map doesn’t help as I’ve only got Arizona and now I’m in New Mexico. I feel oddly uncomfortable not having a guide of any sorts.

I don’t feel better until I’m back in Arizona and can look at my map. Ah, paper maps.

I drive and drive and drive. I go up, and up and suddenly I’m surrounded by green and the sweet smell of flowers. The air cools and the road curves and curves almost back on itself until I reach the top. It’s a completely different place. Hard to believe it’s Arizona. It’s almost Swiss. Then I go down, and down and it starts to look more like the Arizona I know.

Finally, I see the first signs for Canyon de Chelly.

I take the north rim drive in, and pull over to look. It’s an incredible view. Like no other canyon. Huge, but small enough to grasp. I strike up conversation with a Navajo couple who are selling jewellery and composing flute music. We talk about the culture and the pride. I tell him how angry it made me to learn about the vote and citizenship issue, and he talks about his grandparents, and the history of his people. It’s passionate and sad, and I want to know more. He tells me I look like Macaulay Culkin and I make my exit.

I head on through winding roads and finally end up at the visitor centre, and a small hotel which thankfully has a room. I check in, then head back out to do the longer south rim drive. I start from the far end and work my way back.

What a stunning canyon it is. The floor is so green, almost European, it’s easy to imagine people farming and living there – although it doesn’t take a lot of imagination as Navajo families still do live there and work the land. It’s beautiful.

If you look closely at the middle of the photo you can see houses built directly in to the walls of the canyon. Remains of similar dwellings dot the canyon. They must have been so sure-footed.

I work my way down the rim drive, and am really quite entranced by the beauty and silence of the canyon. I only see about 6 other people the entire time. It’s so peaceful. Why more people don’t visit, I don’t know. I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. It’s a place you could spend a lot of time. The mouth of the canyon is just by the visitor centre, so it’s no problem to imagine the first people wandering in, past rock walls of just 30 feet, going deeper and deeper until walls 1000 foot high surround them and the valley floor. Water, grass, trees, animals and birds – it’s verging on tropical. Life must have been beautiful. You know, until the Spanish and US government. 

I’ve not eaten since breakfast and suddenly realise I’m about to die. I head back to the hotel and inhale some food. The waitress calls me ‘hon’ the whole time.

I’m in my room by 8pm and thrilled about this. I get to have a couple of hours doing nothing in bed. I feel like it’s been a long, long time.

Tomorrow I head to the Petrified Forest and on to Alpine. I hear they have excellent pie.