What a Grand Canyon

The ride from Las Vegas to northern Arizona is an incredible scene of red rock and vast desert expanse. The best route is via 93 which takes you over the Hoover Dam. I had heard that following 9/11, the dam is increasingly difficult to pass without major traffic hold-ups from security checkpoints. I was in no great rush and decided to take the risk in exchange for a glimpse at this incredible landmark. The ride out of Vegas went smoothly and I was lining up to cross the dam with minimal hassle. It is a grand site to behold, a vast concrete structure surrounded by emerald green water on both sides, smack in the middle of an otherwise hot desert plane. After passing the checkpoint, I pulled up on an overpass where I was able to get a great view of the big beauty.

No rest for the weary. I was determined to make it to Grand Canyon National Park before it closed for the night. We had been as a family when Jay and I were in elementary school. Larned family legend has it that little brother almost fell in while Mom and Dad were looking the other way. I couldn't comprehend this truth, but upon arrival suddenly found myself dangerously exposed to the canyon edge. I hiked the Southern Rim with complete fear and total fascination. Scenes of lost footing and a deadly tumble flashed before my eyes. I got over the scary visions and focused on the stunning, dizzying, wildly colorful scene surrounding me.


Lots of people had warned me about the heat--the last thing I wanted was to heat stroke into the canyon. I eventually had to hike back to the car where I reveled in air conditioning and geared up for the last leg of the day's trip to Flagstaff, AZ. A ride that should have taken 45 minutes from Grand Canyon took nearly 2 hours. I found myself caught behind a 30-man string of 25mph machismo. Oh! To be a 70 year old male, salt and peppered with a mullet, tattooed beyond recognition, riding a Harley. I'm sure it's a good life. I hear the chicks dig it. But all it did was enrage me.

I arrived at my nighttime destination delirious with anger, heat, and fatigue. But I began to smile again when I saw what a cute little town Flagstaff is. It's a hippie hangout, surrounded by little mountain peaks and funky shops. I found some dinner and ate in a public square where there was a live blue-grass band playing. I stayed in the Grand Canyon Hostel for which I will not write rave reviews. No need to go into the details, but I will say that a) I blame my roommates and b) it's called proper hygiene. I have always had incredible experiences with hostels internationally, but this place was not like the other places. Stay FAR away.