Page

I’m frustrated by the lack of internet. Things are piling up.

But in the big picture – not even that much bigger – I know it doesn’t matter, especially after a day like today.

My alarm went off at 5.45. Ouch. But not that much ouch as I know what’s in wait, and it’s one of the highlights of my trip. After a quick but substantial breakfast in my ‘kitchenette’, I head to the meeting point. We are briefed, we are loaded on to what looks just like a prison bus, and we are transported to the Glen Dam. We have to have all our stuff in clear plastic bags as the area is under Homeland Security (it never used to be. The local kids used to use the tunnel we head down to get to the river). We head into (bracketed) said tunnel and we go down and down and down. It’s so dark the full beams have trouble penetrating. At last – light. We arrive at the base of Glen Dam. It looms up over us like some kind of monolith. It’s breathtaking. There’s enough concrete to build an 8 lane highway, 4 inches thick, from here to Chicago. That’s quite a lot. We are loaded on to rafts, and off we set. I should point out this isn’t rafting in the sense that most people think of it. This is flat water floating down the river. It was serene and beautiful, not rough and adrenaline pumping.

We glide gently down the river, getting sore necks from looking up.

Birds – eagles, herons and Ospreys – soar above and around us. The scale is absolutely impossible to grasp. We slip by sheer walls of up to over a kilometre high, but they look as if they’re just a few hundred metres. It’s impossible to imagine. A bit like when you first visit the Grand Canyon – it’s so big you can’t comprehend it. I still can’t.

We push on past fishermen and women, pulling rainbow trout like there’s no tomorrow. It’s really quite chilly in the shadows. There’s a cool wind as we come around corners, but as the sun peeks over the top, we’re warmed and as I gaze into the river I’m tempted to just roll overboard. We hit a beach, and check out some ancient carvings on the wall. No one knows what they mean but they’re lovely. The water is just 8 degrees centigrade, but someone jumps in and then gets back out. We load back up and head on to what I was looking forward to – Horseshoe Bend. I saw the bend from the top last year. It’s just incredibly beautiful. Just as much so from the river.

I speak to an English woman whose sister was here last year. She saw an Osprey swoop down and pluck a fish from the river, only to be attacked mid-air by a Bald Eagle. The fish fell to the river and the birds continued to fight. We didn’t see that.  

Due to a road collapse (that’s the 89) we can’t go the usual route down to Lee’s Ferry (the drive back back would take 4 hours instead of the 45 minutes on the 89), so just after the bend, we turn around and I get to see it all over again. Fine by me. We cruise past it and I stare and stare and stare. I ask our guide how many accidents happen – there are no fences at the top of the gigantic wall that looks down over the river. He’s been working on the river for 14 years and was born and raised in Page, but only recalls two. Not bad. Maybe people aren’t so daft.

The news is on in the background now, and there’s a warning of a dust storm in Prescott. That would have been pretty cool to see. There’s also some footage of a trial. That’s just weird.

Anyway. We arrive back, load back on to the prison bus, and head back. A quick lunch (all provided by Colorado River Discovery and really quite good!), and I find directions in my named lunch bag for the next part of the day. I hit home first to butter myself in factor 30 and then head out to Hidden Canyon Kayaks. Some total dudes welcome me and I sign, as I seem to be doing a lot, forms saying that if I die, it’s no one’s fault but my own.

We head out to Lake Powell and get in our canoes. Not kayaks. I’m terrified I’ll burn to death and continue to plaster factor 30 all over myself. We set out to Lone Rock. A big rock – I mean big, America big – in the middle of the lake. Then we move on to a small canyon where we get out. The boys jump off rocks, I climb them. The view is beyond belief. How is there so much space? How do places like this exist? I’m flabbergasted by nature.

We pile back in and set out for another canyon. The water makes amazingly odd holes in the wall. I can only think of the insides of bones. I chat to a guide about waves on the lake. They can get huge – 6 feet. He and the other guide have had to be rescued. Twice. The weather here is fickle.

We head back to the beach, it’s a long slog back, but thankfully there is cloud on the horizon. A man announces he’s renouncing his Atheism when the clouds finally cover the sun. I join him.

We hit the cars, I hit a food mart, I hit the beer section. I get home, I sit outside and realise that I was quite paranoid about burning but it’s nothing but a good thing. I crack a beer (Odell Brewing IPA, really very good) and sit outside, planning my next few days.

Tomorrow night is my last booked night. I’ve had to be in certain places at certain times but that ends after tomorrow. I’m looking forward to that – it’s when things really open up. I think I’ll head to the Four Corners and stand in Arizona, New Mexico, Utah and Colorado at the same time. I’ll head to New Mexico to revisit White Sands. I might get a bit lost.

Right now, I’m heading out to Slackers. I had the best burger of my life there last year, and I’m going back for another one. Here’s hoping I won’t be disappointed.

Here’s to redundancy. Cheers. 

Flagstaff to Page

It’s been another exhausting yet brilliant day. I’m in bed right now, and have no internet. I didn’t last night either, at least, not good enough to upload photos and a blog post. Gosh darn it, America.

Well, let’s see. The day started out with a walk to La Bellavia for breakfast. Eggs and bacon and a big mug of coffee. Then I walked up to the railroad tracks that traverse Flagstaff and sat and waited. I was determined to recreate a photo I took in 1999. See below.

I waited and waited then decided to go find some water. Needless to say, as I wandered off, I heard a train approaching. I literally ran back, only to discover it was coming from the other direction. So I wandered off again. And again, a train came – from the right direction – but this time I couldn’t make it back in time. Frustrated but determined, I plonked myself down and waited. I read my Lonely Planet. I looked at empty Flagstaff. I was just beginning to realise that what I was doing was a bit daft when bingo – along came the BNSF. Not nearly as good, but I'm pleased enough. 

For some reason this made me incredibly happy and I bounced off back to the hotel to pick up my bags and hit the road. Which I did. My plan was to hit Cameron Trading Post (there’s a lovely bridge), then Marble Canyon (lovely bridge), Grand Canyon North Rim (lovely br – view), then potter on to Page (best burgers in the world). I took my time today. I’m getting to the Arizona I really love. The red rocks, pink cliffs and skies so blue it’s hard to believe. Sometimes I look at the view and just can’t believe that what I’m looking at is completely natural. Sounds daft, but just look at the colours. How can you not fall in love with views like this?

 Marble Canyon proved to be rather good too. I’ve never been here before, so that was exciting. Saw some Californian Condors too.

I drove for hours along some of the most beautiful cliffs and rocks I’ve ever seen. It makes me so excited for Monument Valley.

This is a house built on to/under a rock. Cliff dwellers, they’re called. Not anymore, but they were. Big rocks rolled down the cliff face, and people just build their homes on to them. It was cool, robust and cheap. Not bad.

Then the climb started. The highest viewpoint (Imperial Point) of the Grand Canyon is at the North Rim. It’s over 2,742 metres up, so it’s quite a climb. Suddenly, the pine trees that cover, completely cover, the Kaibab Plateau, surround me and the air is thick with the smell of them. It’s almost delicious – lush even. I roll down the window and gulp it in.

A couple of hours later, and I’m there. It’s later than I had hoped, but so what. I walk, I stare, I look enviously at the log cabins perched on the edge. I’m struck by how empty it is. If you’ve ever been to the South Rim, you know how busy it is. Hundreds of people, all desperate to get a good look, all stopping at the same points – it’s enough to make you not want to go. It’s changed so much every time I’ve gone, and that’s partly the reason I decided to skip it and go north instead. There’s also the obvious fact that I’ve never done the north so it was about time. I’m glad I did. I’d say the views easily match, if not rival, those at the South Rim, and the solitude make it all the more striking.

Unfortunately, there’s never enough time (one day I will do a rim to rim hike), and I peel my eyes off the sheer drops and head back to the car. I realise that I’m going to be getting to Page much later than hoped, never mind the fact that the 89 is still closed, and the recently paved 89 T is only open in daylight hours. This means a loop around into Utah and coming into Page from the north. Another 45 minutes to the journey.

By the time I roll across the Glen Bridge, I’m virtually running on fumes, the sky is black, and I’m ready for bed. Check in, hit the supermarket, find out I was given the wrong code for the internet, but it’s too late – I’m in bed.

It’s been one hell of a day. Tomorrow, I hardly drive. If I’m unlucky, I’ll be in the car for an hour, max. In place of 4 wheels, I’ll be on a raft, and then a kayak. Colorado Rive and Lake Powell, here I come. 

Phoenix to Flagstaff

What a day it has been. But let’s start at the beginning – last night.

Unfortunately, the car I had reserved for this trip, a Wranger Jeep (the only car I saw fit to do this in – bar a Thunderbird), was no longer available. All of them had been recalled due to a safety issue. To be honest, I was already so tired I just didn’t care. I got a good deal on another car, also 4x4, so all was well.

The thunderstorms I was watching from the sky led me all the way to my first stop in Wickenburg, lighting up the sky in the most spectacular way. Booming claps and flashes that outlined the storm clouds – just glorious. I was in bed by midnight.

I slept.

I woke early. Predictable. A quick breakfast, a Skype with the missus, and out to the car it was. The journey to Prescott was just perfect – a clear blue sky, Natalie Maines on the stereo, and quiet, quiet roads; bliss.

With the car to myself, and a whole day to get to Flagstaff, I paid an unplanned visit to a pioneer graveyard in Congress. A perfect start. No information, just very old graves.

I arrive at Prescott to find an arts and craft fair going on. I ask a man with an anvil and hammer if he would help make my new bracelet fit and he was happy to oblige. Only cost me $5.

I buy a t-shirt to help support the families of the 19 firefighters who lost their lives in the recent fires around Yarnell. I passed through the small town on the way. Scorched rocks and charred stumps all around it make for some sobering thoughts. It’s only a small place, so easy to imagine that every family must have been affected in some way.  

A visit to The Palace, Prescott’s oldest saloon, fills me up with cherry pie and coffee, then it was on to Jerome.

I’ve only passed though Jerome once before – last year – and wished we had stopped. It’s the most peculiar town. Perched on the side of a hill, it was a copper mine made up of 15,000 people. In 1955, there were less then 50 people, and today, around 500 artists and building owners make up the population. The buildings are mostly protected, and have mostly gone unchanged (bar safety renovations and paint, etc.). I headed straight to the ghost town and mine, which cost all of $5. Worth every penny!

One thing I really wanted to do this trip was to see a bit more of backcountry Arizona. I knew there were many roads Google Maps didn’t cover, so bought a great big paper map of Arizona, and lo, there was a dirt road that would lead from Jerome to Williams, not far from Flagstaff. It’s name – Perkinsville Road.

I spoke to the girl in the gift shop about the road, how long it would take and what kind of trip it was, and she seemed to think it’d be no problem, which was good to hear (although I should have a full tank and plenty of water, you know, just in case). I headed back to town to eat at one of two restaurants I had marked out (thanks Arizona Highways) only to find one was closed and the other’s kitchen was closed. So I hit the next place I saw, which turned out to be very good (it also had a Foursquare special, which I found slightly amazing). With a full belly and some doubt about whether I was sticking to my agreement of not doing anything stupid, I headed out to hit the back roads. On the way back to the car, I asked some older women about the roads just to get a second opinion. They said that due to the torrential rain the area had been having, getting stuck in the mud was pretty likely. I decided that she was just a worried woman, and thought that if it got too bad – I’d turn back.

Onwards! The first 30 minutes was up a very dusty road, narrow and winding but relatively simple. The drop I could see just below my window was big enough to make me regret the decision already, but, soon it leveled out. Flat and beautiful open plains, and great big storm clouds gathering overhead, just as I passed the first warning sign. I decided the storms were moving away from me, I’m not sure why, and pushed on.

It was pretty hairy in some places, lots of mud, but nothing too crazy, until I rounded a corner and there it was – a washed out road. I had no idea about these roads or how the ground reacted to such amounts of water, so I really thought that was it. I got out. I was pretty annoyed. I poked the water with a stick, not sure why, and was about to get back in and turn around when family in their great big truck arrived behind me. They told me it’d be fine, and they just ploughed right through. It didn’t look that deep. I saw them wait at the bend ahead to see if I got through, I backed up, hit the gas, and boom – through. I wish I had taken a picture of it, but really I was so excited I forgot to. From then on I felt I could do anything. I hit another two or three washed out roads and just went right on through. Mud and water everywhere, but still going strong. The storms that I thought were moving away from me, weren’t, and it wasn’t long before I moved into the rain. Hills started to be rather worrying, sliding all over the place, and I thanked God for four-wheel drive. I really, really needed it. I didn’t manage to take photos as, to be perfectly honest, I was worried that if I stopped, I might not be able to get moving again.

I was just beginning to wish I’d stuck to paved roads, when up ahead, I saw tarmac. Ah, sweet, wonderful tarmac. As soon as my wheels hit asphalt I stopped, got out, and looked back. The car was muddy, the view spectacular, and my mood elated.

Doesn't look as bad as it is. Honest.

30 (flat and paved) minutes later, I arrive in Flagstaff, check into the Hotel Monte Vista (Esther Williams room), and have a cold, well-deserved beer.

As I walked home under a star filled sky from having one of the best pizzas I’ve ever had (check out Pizzicletta if you’re ever in the area), I could feel my eyelids beginning to close. 

Now, I can feel I can’t stay awake much longer. It must be at least 10 

Oh, it turns out Labor Day is America’s May Day. So there you go.