Heading to the Grand Canyon

When I’d finished taking dozens of pictures in Monument Valley, I got in the car and headed to the Grand Canyon.  I was pretty excited, so I found my self driving pretty quickly and with purpose. I was feeling a combination of excitement and some anguish. I’d seen the Grand Canyon once before, so I know it’s enormous, indescribable. I would be camping and hiking alone. The weather was looking a little changeable and I knew it would be quite cold at night.  Would I be warm enough? Would I be overwhelmed by feelings of insignificance?  Would hiking at that altitude – about 7,000 feet – be more than I could handle physically? What would I find to eat there?

Many questions swirled in my head as I drove.  I arrived at the east park entrance about 2:30 and had to wait in quite a line of cars. I purchased an annual National Park pass for $50, since it would have cost me $30 just for a Grand Canyon pass for seven days, and I plan to visit other National Parks along my journey.

The ranger at the entrance strongly suggested that I go to the visitors’ center at this end of the park, so I could get oriented before heading to the campground.  I must admit feeling a trace of apprehension when I encountered a number of tour busses and many private cars in the parking lot. I had anticipated that this early in the season I’d be largely not among crowds. I learned that the east entrance is actually about 25 miles from Grand Canyon Village and the Mather Campground where I had reservations, but there was little reason to linger in this center any longer.

The ranger at the registration booth at the campground sat behind a bulletproof glass window with one of those microphone and speaker systems very similar to what you find in theaters. Could it really be that people who work here are in danger of being shot by random campers? Or, if I can be permitted yet another poor choice of words, was the bulletproof glass overkill? I didn’t ask. I just checked in, pleased that my prepaid online reservation several weeks earlier had actually gotten through successfully.

I found my way to tent site 191 on the Maple Loop.  All the different loop roads in the campground are named for trees or shrubs – ash, juniper, oak, redwood, and so on. It briefly occurred to me that it may have been no accident that a New Englander was assigned to the Maple Loop. I imagined someone somewhere in a windowless reservations center getting a chuckle from this, and I hope this really happened.  It would be a shame if I were the only one to notice.

Although well-kept and clean, the campground is obviously well used and a little tired. At my site, I can see the recent footprint of a large family-style tent, including the holes where stakes were pulled out of the ground. My tent, being considerably smaller, fit nicely on a patch of flat ground – with no protruding rocks – under a small cluster of trees that I imagined would provide some protection in the event of rain or other precipitation.

All campsites were equipped with fire pits and picnic tables. The table in my site seemed to tell a story of ages, years of gatherings of families and friends, raucous times that etched and stained a history on that table that wasn’t altogether appetizing to me. I was glad to have a beach towel that I could use as a tablecloth, covering up the narrative that I didn’t want to know about in my solitary state of mind. Plus it was just kind of gross.

When I finished setting up my tent, I went to find (and use) the men’s room. On my way, I noticed a big silver Ford van with New York license plates parked in the site beside mine. A young man was in the process of unloading gear so I greeted him. ”So… another east coaster,” I said. He turned and smiled a wide and welcoming grin. His name was Blaine and he’s from Ossining in Westchester County, a place I’m somewhat familiar with. He told me that he and his wife, who was around somewhere, just arrived after driving down from Colorado where they’d spent a few days camping out and hiking. Jessie, his wife, came around the front of the van just then and we introduced ourselves.

We stood briefly chatting about our respective adventures and then I went off on my way. The men’s room was also well-worn, with graffiti all over the stall walls. I observed that the toilet tissue rolls were mounted on heavy-gauge steel hardware, very thick stock that looked as though it must have been forged by a blacksmith – no kidding!  And there was an industrial-strength padlock at the end of each bar that I was certain would resist the largest bolt cutter. At this point, I’m adding up the evidence: Bulletproof glass and toilet tissue that cannot be stolen. This must be a high crime area.  I’m very glad to have my Swiss Army knife and I make a mental note to carry it around with me all the time while I’m here.

It’s about 4:30, so I decide to take a look around the Marketplace that’s shown on the map as being right nearby. I want to reserve my first look into the Canyon for the next day, when I can do some exploring. Not sure about the scale of the map and thus the distance to the marketplace, I got in my car and drove there. It was a very quick trip, less than a mile, and I was astonished to find what appeared to be a full-scale supermarket. It even had a deli and an outdoor store, where one could purchase anything from a fine tent or down sleeping bag to batteries and bug spray.

First I went to the wine section and was pleased to find my favorite, Yellowtail Chardonnay, and the price was about what I’m used to paying back home at the state liquor store. This was a surprise because I rather assumed prices would be inflated here. Next I picked up a large of French onion Sunchips, again my favorite, and a bottle of bug spray. Then I ventured to the outdoor section and asked if they might possibly have Maglite replacement bulbs, because mine would not light up even with fresh batteries. Again a surprise: they had the bulbs there and at a reasonable price

Finally I stopped by the deli counter and was really pleased to see a menu with a variety of fresh sandwiches, made to order, pizza by the slice, fried chicken and even an espresso system offering Seattle’s Best Coffee.  I ordered a chicken ranch sandwich on 9-grain bread, to go. This would be the perfect complement to the Yellowtail Chardonnay and the French onion Sunchips. My dinner plans were now complete.

Back at the campsite, I could see that Blaine and Jessie had a fire going and they appeared to be cooking something in a big cast iron pot. I got out my ‘tablecloth’ and set out my feast. It really tasted good to me and I enjoyed the warmth provided by the wine, since I didn’t have a fire going and the evening was beginning to get chilly.

I decided to take a walk around the campground, or at least much of it, and try to call home at the pay phones down by the registration booth. There’s no cell phone service at all in the Grand Canyon, and no internet either. I wasn’t able to use my cell phone until I got actually into Flagstaff three days later. I think I suffered some withdrawal, but the ‘hurt’ was totally good.

There was quite a large group of that appeared to be high school students in one of the large group campsites. They made a fair amount of noise. The published ‘quiet hours’ are from 10 pm to 7 am. I wondered if they’d be able to settle down, but they were far enough from the Maple Loop that I wasn’t too concerned. 

When I returned to my campsite, I could still see Blaine and Jessie sitting by their fire, so I decided to see if they’d welcome a visitor.  They were happy to have me. They had cleaned up and showered, grateful for the chance after several days of rugged hiking and no shower facilities where they were. They’d been shopping and were cooking chicken-vegetable soup in the pot on the fire, but things were not moving forward as quickly and they hoped. At one point Blaine remarket that it would be quite a while before they could eat. I learned that Jessie has many food allergies (wheat flour, nuts and more), so it’s sometimes a challenge to find food that she can eat. Blaine admitted that every once in a while he likes to get himself a pizza.

We talked about our respective journeys. I told them about the reason for and the scope of my own and they reciprocated. Jessie had finished her master’s degree in education and was hoping to get a teaching job back in the Westchester County area. Blaine had done some college, but was uncertain about plans and had been doing some substitute teaching. He felt an affinity for kids in the younger grades and thought that might be something he’d pursue. Together they determined that this might be the last chance to take a long road trip like this, to really see the country, before settling into careers. They’re taking 6 months for this trip and they’ll be back east before the school year begins. I admired their decision to do this.

As we compared notes about our various passages, I remarked on my surprise at the overt racism I observed in Virginia and Alabama. They looked at each other and then told me a little about their experiences. Blaine is very dark skinned, I presumed African American, and Jessie is quite light-skinned and blonde. They drove from New York down to Florida first and then headed west across the south, ending up at the Grand Canyon on the same day as me. (I marveled for a moment that the three of us had spent our entire lives preparing for this encounter. It’s kind of staggering when you think about it like that.) They recounted some of the terrible looks given to them, and Blaine told about a time when he came out of a men’s room and encountered a little girl. He said he’s certain that the look of terror on that girl’s face will stay with him forever. It really hurt him, especially since he’s so fond of kids and has come to believe he’s got a real skill in communicating with them. The experience really shook Blaine to his core. Blaine is a big man, but his countenance is very gentle. He’s a big teddy bear.

I turned in about 8:30. Their soup wasn’t yet done cooking, so they must have been hungry. My little Maglite flashlight was working again, so I read Illusions for a bit before going to sleep. That night the temperature dropped to 28 degrees, but I was in my down mummy bag and very comfortable.

The Rim Trail

The morning was brisk and I was really excited about getting over to see the Canyon. First, though, nature called, so I headed over to the men’s room. I saw my first mule deer browsing the grass in a clump of trees.  I learned the previous day that you could tell mule deer by their large ears. On the way back from the restroom, I saw several rabbits and then noticed 3 more deer in the trees near my tent. I was able to grab my camera quickly and get a few pictures. This was becoming quite a nature experience for me know and I was feeling really cool.

Water boiled quickly in my Jetboil and I made my oatmeal and a cup of pretty bad coffee. Mindful of all the cautionary messages I’d read about being prepared for the Grand Canyon and the rigors of exercise at the altitude of about 7,000 feet, I wanted to be sure to stoke up for what I anticipated would be a long hike.

I pulled out the Grand Canyon Guide, a tabloid paper I’d received at the entrance gate and reviewed the map of the area.  I determined that it would be best for me to just walk the half-mile over to the rim trail from the campground, rather than drive.  I thought I’d bring three water bottles – one in my hand and one in each of the two sleeves on my fanny pack – and also bring several granola bars and some salted nuts. This, I was sure, would provide the hydration and nutrition I’d need for the day.  I washed out my oatmeal bowl and finished my coffee, visited the men’s room one more time, and headed with great eagerness over to the rim trail.

Right by the entrance to the campground was a bus stop for the shuttle bus system. There was a route map and also a sign with directions for walking over to the rim. It looked very easy and it was. My walk to the rim was filled with anticipation. It was before 8 a.m. and there was no one else around. The day was beautiful. I imagined what it would be like for me once the inspirations started surging forth, brought to my consciousness by virtue of just being at the edge of one of the world’s great geological wonders. 

Around a bend in the trail, there was a rack of trail guides for the rim trail. It was a simple brochure showing many of the plants, birds and animals that I might encounter. The brochure cost a quarter, but I had cleverly removed all the change from my pockets, not wanting to be weighed down by anything so crass as money. I resolved to take a brochure and pay the quarter later.

As I approached the Grand Canyon rim, I walked more slowly, not wanting to rush the moment, letting myself be fully aware of any thoughts that might enter my mind. I might very well experience true enlightenment in the flash of an eye, or possibly the inspiration for an invention that could change the world, or an idea that would become a great novel. Instead, at that moment, I remembered that I’d forgotten to put the granola bars and nuts in my fanny pack. 

Damn, I thought. Should I walk back to the campground or will I be ok with just my three bottles of water? I decided I’d go ahead and walk and take the risk. I figured that hydration was really the important thing, especially in the very dry air at this altitude.  So I headed west on the rim trail. From the point I arrived at the rim, the hike to the western end of the trail was about 9 miles. I thought I might be able to make it that far, and then I could take the shuttle bus back to the campground.

There were only a few people on the trail that morning and I reveled in everything. The sky was completely clear of clouds and the view into the Canyon was glorious. The trail is wide and paved in this section, with wonderful accommodations for visitors who use wheelchairs. Occasionally there would be a fork in the path, where walkers could go one direction on rough and steeper path closer to the edge of the Canyon, and wheelchairs could go the other way, paved and at a more level grade.

As I approached Grand Canyon Village and the several inns and shops there, things got busier. People were just getting up and outdoors after breakfast. I think there were four or five hotels there...

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Arizona to Montana (the abridged version)

OK... here's what's happening now. Today (May 17) I'm in Whitefish, Montana, on the eastward leg of my journey. I realize that I have to speed this up a little. What I'm going to do is post a bunch of pictures with brief captions to bring you up to date. Then, later when I'm home, I'll flesh out the narrative with the details, as well as the conclusion of the journey.

Here goes:

When I left the Grand Canyon, I headed south to Flagstaff, Arizona, and found this place on the way! I had to wake up White Buffalo to see this, but he was thrilled.

In Flagstaff, I found this display of shirts created by victims of abuse. Very moving.

The night after I left the Grand Canyon, I stayed at a Holiday Inn Express in Barstow, California. Regrettably, this sign outside the door to the hotel was really the only thing worth photographing there. What an odd place. Well, there was a huge outlet mall and I have to give them credit for having a Starbucks, where I had my first vanilla latte in several days.

After all I'd been through, getting to the National Arts Marketing Conference at the Millenium Biltmore in Los Angeles seemed almost banal. But I did refresh some professional contacts and it was good to see some old friends.

Driving north from LA, I stopped for lunch on the pier at Santa Barbara. I had a grilled crab and cheese sandwich.

My new friend Joan Carter (I met her at the campground in west Texas) let me use her guest room in her home at Morro Bay, California. The timing on my journey was just right. Joan showed me some of the sights around town. It's a beautiful place.

Here's Joan and her wonderful dog Mica, a coyote mix, with a great disposition. A retired nurse, Joan is now a tireless activist for social, political and other causes. She's spent a great deal of time at the Cindy Sheehan 'movement' in Crawford, Texas, and Joan even has a poster personally autographed by Cindy on her refrigerator. It turns out she's Jimmy Carter's cousin, so I guess she comes by her activism authentically. (Or maybe Jimmy picked it up from Joan?)

Driving north on the California coast was a treat. I found this beach with sea lions lazing on the sand. Boy, did it smell, worse than any barn I've ever smelled!

The California coast really is beautiful, even on a cloudy day. This scene is somewhere north of Morro Bay and south of San Francisco.

My friend Antone Sabella hosted me in San Francisco. Here's the view from his deck. If you go to San Francisco, eat at A. Sabella's Restaurant on Fisherman's Wharf – Tony and his sister are the third generation to run the restaurant.

One day I took a drive up to the University of California at Davis to see the Robert and Magrit Mondavi Center for the Performing Arts.

Here's White Buffalo at the Golden Gate Bridge. We walked out to the middle of the bridge. I drove north from the Bay Area on Highway 101 for a way and then I headed over to Route 1 that twists and winds along the coast. For some reason, I was drawn to Mendocino, where I found the Wisdom House Gallery. When I went in and talked with the proprietor and artist named Shiloh, she explained that the wisdom they share there is to follow your heart, to do what it is you really want to do, and that art heals. I guess it's as simple as that.

I wanted to camp out in northern California, but couldn't find a campground open, so I stayed at the Sunrise Inn in Eureka. They had free wireless internet! I got dinner at a Chinese restaurant that was just about to close. The owners invited me in and prepared me a great meal of spicey orange tofu with steamed vegetables. They are from southern China and came to this country in 1992. What a delight to talk with them.

The next night, though, I spent the night at the Honeyman State Park, just south of Florence, Oregon, site of the remarkable Oregon Dunes – and also the place where my father's mother was born. Pictures don't do justice to the magnitude of the dunes.

I feasted on this Dungeness crab. It was spectacular, so fresh. When I got the meat out of the shell, it nearly filled the bowl. Although I bought some cocktail sauce, I never used it because I so enjoyed the flavor of the meat.

The dunes are really fun to climb on. I learned that it's much easier going down than up.

There's driftwood all over the dunes. I love the bleached look of the wood that's been pounded by the surf for some extended time.

After the Oregon coast, I headed north to Seattle, Washington, where I spent a week staying with my mother and step-father on Mercer Island. I visited with my brother Andy and I think I saw almost all of my cousins in the region, thanks to gatherings assembled at my cousin David's new house on the lake and my cousin Nancy's home on the golf course. We had some wonderful times. It's very hard to believe that I didn't take a single photo in Seattle. Guess I have too many from other trips!

From Seattle, I headed east to Sandpoint, Idaho, where I stayed with my Aunt Randi (my mother's sister) and Uncle Roger at their condo on Lake Pend Oreille. It was so nice to spend one-on-two time with them and Sandpoint is a wonderful place. Roger and I drove to the Schweitzer ski mountain. You can see forever from up there.

The view from Schweitzer...

Randi and Roger Evans

From Sandpoint, I headed east, south and north, winding my way to Whitefish, Montana. Along the way, I visited the National Bison Range! White Buffalo was beside himself – these are his people!

As he sat on the window ledge of the car, he just kept exclaiming, "That's what I'm talkin' about, girlfriend!"

From my base in Whitefish, Montana, I ventured to Glacier National Park, about 30 miles away. Although the "Going to the Sun" highway isn't open for the season yet (Logan Pass is over 6,000 feet above sea level and it's still blocked by snow!), there's still much to see everywhere you look.

I waded into the water with my Crocs – not too cold, really.

I wondered if this man, whittling on a stick, was posed there by the Park Service, next to this piece of driftwood that looks like a person sitting there. But he got up and walked away when I went down to the water. I wondered if he might have a message for me. Guess not...

And that brings us up to today, Wednesday, May 17 – Norwegian Independence Day, by the way. In a few hours I'll head to the east side of Glacier National Park to take a quick look at things from that direction. Then I plan to head east in earnest. I'll cross the rest of Montana, traverse North Dakota, Minnesota and Wisconsin. Then I'll traverse Michigan's Upper Peninsula and enter Ontario. I'll head down to Toronto and then up along the St. Lawrence River to Montreal and down in to Vermont. Then I'll be back home. Whew!

So, watch for more detail on the above brief version, as well as a report on this final leg, after I'm home for a while. I've been on the road for 6 weeks now and I think I've been in 24 states. Just a few more to go.

Thanks for sharing this with me.

– Rolf