Mike & Chaz’s Road Adventure, Day 3:
This post will have to come in late, because the Gold Coast hotel where we’re staying does not have wireless. Contrast this to the crappy Motel 6 where we stayed in Flagstaff, which had wireless (albeit “borrowed” from another Motel). It’s quite striking that we don’t get wireless from somewhere else, but seeing as how huge even this minor hotel is, I’m not terribly surprised.
At 8:38AM, fresh as flowers, I awoke and started the day. We straggled from our seedy Motel 6 to a Denny’s nearby for coffee and breakfast (and a bathroom break). We sat down and were promptly not served. After some talking-to, we got some pancakes and coffee from the waitstaff. The coffee was abominable, but it was coffee, and I need coffee. Coffee coffee coffee.
Now approaching 10AM, we headed to the Grand Canyon, getting very lost in Flagstaff and looping around several times searching for the appropriate road, which we never found. Instead, we found some weird connecting highway going east-west (Grand Canyon is north of Flagstaff) and took it to the park entrance. Silly us. This particular juncture is an excellent place to spell out two strange things: Arizona Time and my bladder.
Arizona apparently doesn’t operate on Daylight Savings, Stealings, or whatever it’s called. The benefit of this is that they aren’t as screwy as the rest of the country (lousy farmers). The bad of this is that we had no idea what time it was. We left at somewhere between 9AM – 11AM local time. The time posted at the Grand Canyon was different than my watch, which was different than my car. Terrible.
As for my bladder, it apparently contracted in the middle of the night. I had to pee at least five times urgently. This led to some ridiculous adventures, such as stopping at a Nordic Village west of Flagstaff, Chaz picking pine needles from an abandoned park, me driving past Hoover Dam in search of a restroom, and going at the Grand Canyon thrice. Maybe it had something to do with the three coffees and two cokes I had. Maybe. Better than the nosebleed I had at Petrified Forest.
So, we arrived at the Grand Canyon after much futzing with geography. We visited the Visitor Center (where I peed) then headed to the Hermits Rest trailhead, where we parked by a train which, much to Chaz’s delight was labeled Grand Canyon (Mike: You don’t have trains in Europe? Chaz: Not labeled Grand Canyon!). On the shuttle to Pima Point, Chaz nearly got thrown off the shuttle when he kept sticking his head out of the side of the shuttle; the driver warned him twice before a pack of Amish came aboard.
The Amish hold strange customs. Two in particular vexed us. The first was the lack of sensible hygiene. Was it hot out? Yes. Were they wearing shirts, long dresses, and bonnets and hats? Yes. Were these clothes neatly washed and pressed? Yes. Did they use soap recently? No. That was Chaz’s impression, and I share the sentiment. We also co-pondered the particular relationship between the members. Young men, probably a little younger than us but sporting bursting neckbeards and blooming sideburns were paired with young women. The women, if you could call them that, were definitely not over eighteen—anywhere from fourteen to eighteen would have been my guess, although with the frumpy gray dresses and black bonnets, who is to know for sure? But we both agreed that the age differential stirred suspicion and concern. Are enclaves immune to laws? Are traditional societies inheriting grandfathered protection?
Amish aside, we took pictures at Pima Point and hiked the mile to Hermits Rest, stopping to take pictures. We reached Hermits Rest (where I peed again; anyone keeping count?) around 2:30PM and decided to hike down into the Canyon for just an hour and a half or so. We made it another mile or so down before turning back due to time and lack of water. I should note that I was going slowly, feet sheathed in mere sneakers. Chaz, however, was channeling Mountain Goat as he blithely skipped down the canyon wall, teetering on the most precarious seesaws of rock while I crawled on hands and knees (there were no hand-rails; it’s a mile to the canyon floor).
After returning we saw a sign at the trailhead where we originated warning about hiking. The line read: Can you run the Boston Marathon? The sign then described a young woman who could run the Boston Marathon. A promising medical student, she and a friend day-hiked down the rim with 1.5L of water and some snacks, thinking they’d be back later that day. They ended up lost and exhausted with little water. Her friend stayed and rested while she attempted the climb and perished. We, however, were only going 1 mile with similar provisions. Comforted as we were, I still can’t resist warning everyone against hiking in the desert without adequate preparation.
Finally, we returned to Hermits Rest where we took a shuttle back. The shuttle driver entertained us with stories of his 20+ years visiting, and 1+ year living at/working in the park: deer and sheep and lions that can jump 45 feet through the air to pounce on you (see the quotes section for mountain lion-related hilarity). He had never seen a mountain lion, although he probably won’t stop trying. When we got back, we ate a quick snack and headed onward to Las Vegas.
Sunset in Arizona came slowly, painfully, and beautifully. I say slowly because the sun hung in the sky suspended above a flock of clouds before lazily slipping into a thunderstorm. There, beams of light collided with beards of clouds, reminding me of sunset at a vineyard, where the last bits of day make their way through the hanging grapes and leaves. I say painfully because as it fell past the last storms it floated right into my field of vision while I was driving. The sun torched every retina on the road; I know because traffic slowed instantly from 90 to 50, leaving near-collisions and almost-accidents in its wake. And I say beautifully because the sun, after leaving the sky, left its earthly halo behind to light our way for just a few more hours.
Approaching Las Vegas we passed through Kingman, the last sanctuary of innocence, where we paid for a little gas while it was still cheap (I also peed). We roared through I-40 at high speeds and rolled into Nevada. Chaz on Nevada: “the best part about Nevada is the name.” That about says it all. We skirted the Hoover Dam, since it was nearly 9:30PM and dark (and I had to pee again) and, with a quick stop (for me to pee), we neared the desert jewel. We stopped through a police checkpoint, where they seemed to be looking at people not things. We didn’t appear suspicious enough to warrant further examination, and we approached the city.
If you’ve never driven to Las Vegas at night, let me set the scene: it’s dark—the road’s lit only by headlamps from crazed Nevada drivers hurtling down the road. It’s hot—80s or 90s outside while your AC gurgles inside your car. It’s lonely—the only sounds are Chaz’s CDs playing Dido or your bladder screaming “OH GOD I NEED TO PEE.” Then, it hits you—that light, that unearthly glow emanating from behind that mountain, that light does not belong to forest fire nor moonrise nor UFO but manmade, coal-fired light. You can see it practically pulsing behind the mountain, and as you race north on Highway 93 towards it, you see tiny lances of spotlight piercing the gloom. Traffic slows. High-beams dim. The road turns, the mountain gives way, and the darkness opens its jaws to expose a sparkling tongue the width of an ocean, encrusted with millions of burning jewels, and light filling every corner of your eyes. Every blink, every squeezed-shut sojourn into the solace of darkness is met instead in the inside of your eyelids by the mirror image of those scorching lights seared into your mind. Welcome to Las Vegas, baby, City of Sin.
Hilarious Wednesday Quotes:
Mike: It’s Boulder City.
Chaz: Who the F*** lives in Boulder City?
Mike: Wow that was harsh.
(In Las Vegas)
Mike: (driving) Welcome to The Strip
Chaz: Wow (accidentally unlocks the car)
Mike: Don’t unlock the car!
Mike: They call that the Grand Canyon madness. Not really. I just made that up. That’s part of the Grand Canyon Madness.
Chaz: I’m probably going to get us arrested.
Mike: No you’re definitely going to get us arrested. It’s not like the government has nothing to do with a national park.
Chaz: Well it’s a National Park, not a Government Park, isn’t it?
Chaz: (in a Denny’s in Flagstaff) This glass of ice water was the best part [of breakfast]. God knows when we’ll have cold water again.
Mike: Lunch?
Mike: Don’t wake me up unless you’re on fire.
Mike: Let’s go to that hotel (Quality Inn)
Chaz: No it’s not shabby enough.
Mike: Ok, what about that one (Motel 6).
Chaz: That’s shabby enough.
Mike: Rule #2. If there’s a guy riding a children’s bicycle, do not make eye contact or hand gestures.
Chaz: (in Vegas) Look! Look! Look! It’s an ELEVATOR! IT’S AN ELEVATOR!
Mike: I can’t look right now Chaz, I’m trying not to die.
(in the Grand Canyon, reading a sign)
Mike: So, if we run into a mountain lion, we should pick up small children and fight back aggressively.
Chaz: It doesn’t say pick up YOUR small children. So you just pick up someone else’s child and throw it at the mountain lion?
Mike: And fighting back aggressively seems like a bad idea.
Chaz: Well, I fought back aggressively, and now I have all these cuts on my face.
(in Las Vegas, driving toward the strip)
Mike: Rule #1. If anyone tries to give you anything, say “I don’t speak English.”
Chaz: Should I… fight back aggressively?
Chaz: Wow, look at this place. Can you imagine the people who lived here thousands of years ago?
Mike: Uh oh, here comes the Native American lecture.
Chaz: I mean, living here at the Canyon, without water, with only primitive technology–
Mike: Yeah, like non-digital cameras, mules without GPS… that’s tough.
Mike: Pygmy Guides? Did that sign say Pygmy Guides?
Chaz: I believe so.
Mike: So he’ll sit between us in the front and tell us directions?
Chaz: Ooh, horses. We should steal the horses and ride to the Grand Canyon.
Mike: Right.
Chaz: But we should take four, so that when the two we’re riding are tired we can switchout.
Mike: Idunno Chaz, the other two would have to drive the car.
Chaz: Yeah, I mean, you’re hitting the donkeys with your legs.
Mike: Next time, wear shin-guards.
Chaz: Yeah you mule, dig your donkey-ass teeth into this!
Mike: Donkey teeth? Which teeth did they inherit?
Mike: Maybe? What school did you go to again?
Chaz: Maybe-town. Perhaps-school.
2 Notes »