1.17.21 :: HRH, the Grand Canyon
My eyes really didn't know what to do with themselves today. I don't know about you, but 2020 hasn't been a year to turn off. It's rare to just sit and look at something without a task at hand: texting, typing, watching, plotting, reading subtitles. To just sit and stare at this canyon...I had to mentally whack myself to keep from reaching for my phone, a snack, thinking about where I wanted to visit next, how long I wanted to stay in the park, if my mask was in place, etc.
It wasn't the canyon's fault. My god. She's such a thing of beauty, I almost hesitated to walk up to the first fence. My heart was so full of wonder not just at the size, but the years--the centuries and epochs and massive weather extremes--it took to carve her land.
And it's not like I hadn't seen beauty all the live-long day. The drive from Vegas to the Grand Canyon is just plain fun, especially on a sunny day. (Do they even have non-sunny days out this way?) The journey starts in the city, but quickly climbs and cuts through thick packs of sand-colored mountains. As you Richard Scary your way along the lanes that zip around each peak like tiers on a wedding cake, in the distance, for the first time in forever, appreciate that there is water: Lake Mead. Oh, how she shines--like the sole summer rose who managed to bloom in the thicket.
Keep going and the vast empire of flatlands consumes the vista again, but you'll come across acres of windmills, perfectly planted in rows as neat as the Ohio State marching band. Watch them slowly turn, almost as one, all reverently facing north--and you'll feel as though you've interrupted their morning service, but just crank the BlackPink and soon enough you'll be on Route 66. Be sure to stop for a pee and a photo with Lightning McQueen (not at the same time) and ignore the Roadkill Cafe sign. A couple hours and mountain ranges later (plus one town with a yellow house that has two big windows in the back and a hose that wraps from one end to the other in a big smile) and there you are: summer camp. Trees as far as the eye can see. You don't realize how much you miss a good ponderosa pine until you've spent a week with Joshua and Palm making sporadic cameos. Make like the Hailey Millses and whistle down the road, until you see the signs for jerky.
JERKY AHEAD.
REAL BUFFALO JERKY.
DON'T BE SCARED.
TURN MEOW. -->
(I really wanted to high-five that guy, but jerky. And covid.) Be sure to play the license plate game while in line at the park gates. (Hello, Mainer!) Park that puppy (and be sure to turn off the lights--so many stretches here that require lights in daytime), wander to the nearest lookout, and just marvel.
Marvel all you like.
You can try to take pictures, but an iPhone will never capture the glory. It's almost ridiculous to even try. The colors that only get redder and richer as the canyon drops into the Colorado River. The sunset that sets her roof on fire and then, almost out of nowhere, blankets her body in blue.
The horizon of ridges reminded me of an old closed book, as though if you opened one up you could read all about how this peak came to be. And the way the canyon sits, as though a dozen saris were caught mid-twirl and gently landed with their skirts outstretched. This is where they sleep.
And aren't you lucky to spend an hour in their presence?
One Muslim man shared his appreciation by praying, chanting, and bowing his head on the canyon's solid ground. Me? I did the stupid thing and tried to get a bit closer, taking a very precarious path to a non-fenced overlook and how I did not fall in from sheer hubris is beyond me. My insides churned as I practically army crawled back the way I came, and when a nice young woman asked me to take her picture I laughed and said no, because if there is one boundary I must take seriously it's listening to my shaky legs when they buck at being so close to certain death.
The moon eventually winked to let us all know that nighttime was imminent and our canyon had had a long day. I blew her a kiss and headed to the parking lot with the rest of the looky-loos. Where my car shone like a beacon.
Because I had left the lights on.
Hope you all had a chance to stop and look at something beautiful today, too. And your batteries are fully charged. xx
Ah Lady Livingston. Your words bring back wondrous memories of one day in a December past that Joe and I HELICOPTERED into the Grand Canyon. My Joseph was determined to have his Janie view the Canyon despite his inability to hike AND his deathly fear of heights. Limo to airport to helicopter in time to see the sun rise. Glorious. Upon landing we enjoyed a champagne breakfast as we took in the glorious surroundings.
ReplyDeleteJoe did just fine but not our backseat mate. A sweet, award winning cowboy (the rodeo was in town. Oh those Wrangler jeans.) needed every upchuck bag I could grab. His wife and friend seated in the front were obliviously joyous taking in the sights while thismom provided care, comfort and gum to his apologetic chant: "Sorry ma'am, so sorry ma'am, thank you so much ma'am." Once we landed it was almost impossible to coax him back on the copter. Thought he'd need a burro to return.
Another tidbit of information. Passengers are weighed before the copter flight to ensure that The incredible flying machine is well balanced. Hence the two lovely lightweight women were place up front with the pilot. Upon stepping on the scale I asked that they add ten pounds- just to be safe. After assurances that the five of us could fly together safely we embarked on our flight over the Hoover Dam and into the Canyon itself.
We have photos and video documenting what I hoped was our first and only ride in a helicopter.
The very next day one of the helicopters crashed into the Canyon, killing all on board. Surreal. Though it was not our pilot we had met and chatted with the fellow who went down. As Ioften tell my friends- I don't need to make up stories. They are real. Too real at times.
Thank you for sharing your journey. Onward to whatever comes next!
Love you! Janethemom