The Grand Canyon (Whoomp There It Is) - 175 mi. from Meteor Crater*

*I went from my hotel in Flagstaff to the Meteor Crater then backtracked to the Grand Canyon, hence the added miles!

U-G-L-Y AND YOU AIN'T GOT NO ALIBI YOU UGLY WHAT WHAT YOU UGLY. - Wildcats

This greatest cheer in the history of all cheerleading applies directly to the drive I took to get to the Grand Canyon. I have a lot of U-G-L-Y things to say about that drive, and the maintenance of Arizona highways near the Grand Canyon in general, but first let me say "Rough Road" isn't enough signage to warn drivers of the hideousness in which they are about to partake. Try: Garbage Pothole Express, or You Didn't Need Your Suspension Anyway Highway, or We Spend 0 Dollars on Infrastructure Annually Alley. I don't know the story here and I don't care. From a tourist's perspective, the area rolls in cash money from all the idjits like me traveling in for the many local natural wonders...where the money goes, who can say. Judging from the age of some parts of the highway and massive amounts of shoddy patchwork they've done over the years, it isn't much. Perhaps the logic is that the people will put up with it because they have no choice.

An indigenous neoptera

Well, you do have a choice...the longer route! Instead of taking 40W to 64N, take 89N to 64W. You get much better roads and the views are far more spectacular (mini canyons!). The other way is faster, but it is also more squalid and your car will hate you. Also, you have to play chicken with all the trucks that want to hang out in the passing lane because it is less warbly, pitfilled, and bangful.

One of the things I think I forgot to mention was my incredible planning skills when it came to this part of the trip...completely accidental skills, but I will take all the credit regardless. I just happened to visit the Petrified Forest and Grand Canyon on the weekend of National Parks Week. The entrance fees to the parks were waived--that's $50 of savings total, and all by happenstance. When I planned my trip, I had no idea the stars were aligning to catch me a break. It makes me feel better about all the Starbucks I've been buying and did not exactly budget for.

On the first day I busied myself with setting up camp--it turns out this was the last time I would put up the tent since I arrived too late at my final camping destination to set up camp (Joshua Tree). The area was incredibly beautiful--lots of wooded areas abound, which is true of the rest of the park, too, if you haven't been. Aspen, spruce, fir...it's a wonder that more explorers didn't go ass over ankles straight into the canyon as they discovered it (or came upon it, in the old timey, wheel & wagon days). The place is thick with trees and then suddenly, DROP.

It looks warm. 

Oh, the lessons that I never learn, or learn hard whilst beating my 100% bone head against the ground. It seems, despite all my declarations otherwise, that I can get cold. Really, really cold. That last, freezing sleep in the car wasn't just a fluke...it was a lesson. I threw all the blankets and sheets I had with me into the tent that first day at the Grand Canyon campsite, and added in the winter cap and mittens & hoodie for good measure. I was still a shivering mess that night. The next night, I wore jeans, too, and that seemed to make the last bit of difference. Never underestimate the cold, friendos. Even for human heat lamps like me, the wind and mild night dampness will cut through right to the bone.

I spent the next day driving around the Grand Canyon village and viewing the canyon itself. It wasn't as bad as it can be since it is still early in the season, but there were plenty of people out and about, either driving personal vehicles or taking the shuttle buses. I tried to stay away from the most crowded areas, but sometimes it could not be helped. Every time I witnessed Typical Tourist Behaviors, I had to smile, remembering that elder park ranger that had helped me out way back at Big Bend. The contempt in his voice, the faraway look in his eyes...he called the place "a zoo" and I could tell he could spend the rest of his life happy to never go there again.

Ravens, ravens everywhere!

Typical Tourist Behaviors Witnessed:
1. People tromping through other's camp sites. FYI, this is a no no. Also FYI, a simple Google Search prior to camping will teach camping etiquette in 5 minutes. Try, "How Not to Be an Asshole While Camping."
2. People swarming wildlife even though there are signs everywhere screaming LEAVE THEM ALONE THEY WILL KICK YOUR ASS. You can't help getting near wildlife since it seems to have no issue with getting right up near you, but you're not supposed to close the gap and encroach. I witnessed two Elk Incidents that made my blood run cold. First of all, here are some pictures of elk that I saw right at the visitor's center, easily the most populated part of GC Village.

They are not bothered by all the humans and stroll up to the area to drink the water pooling around various faucets. I saw them all over the park, drinking from various water spots or grazing--you couldn't miss them because they are huge and they have big pompoms on their butts. Pretty freaking cute, right? Wrong. One family wasn't happy with just a picture of the animals--they wanted a selfie with the animals right behind them. The mother kept pulling at her son (5-6 years old) to get in the selfie with her but he was clearly scared of the Very Large Animal. When he screamed, the elk responded as you would expect, lurching toward the family and the people starting to crowd around the scene. Everyone whooped and reeled back because, you know, Very Large Animal, and the elk decided that was enough. Yet the woman continued to pull her son toward the elk and yelled at him, indicating that this was somehow his fault (pointing at the elk, then him and shaking her index finger at him--she was speaking another language, but the message was clear).

The other Elk Incident took place as I was driving 45 mph (the posted speed limit) on the very winding road back from Desert View. A huge van of people had pulled over and were running back and forth across the road to take pictures of a group of elk grazing in a stand of dead trees. Mind you, this is coming around a bend, so cars had to hit the brakes to keep from running these people down. Some were clearly not phased by this, taking their sweet ass time to cross the road.
3. I also saw people going past the safety barriers to "get a better shot" or sit on the edges of the cliffs. They advise you not to do this, but I don't think it is a rule, per se. Just, ugh. Some people were clearly accustomed to the area and were surefooted enough, but others were not.
4. There was trash everywhere including all over my campsite when I arrived.

I know, not the worst, but it was a shock from the previous places I'd visited. Not to be a shit about it, but the clientele skewed a whole lot younger, too. Lots of lodge dwellers and tent campers, very few RV folks. All the previous camping I've done has been in the midst of a majority of RV/camper individuals, all of whom were around retirement age. I never worried about my safety in that crowd.

This made me very happy.

I hate to say it, but it definitely felt different at the Grand Canyon. Not in any obvious way, but certainly in the "I Don't Trust People to Begin With So I am Watching You" way. There were little things that happened here and there that kept me mildly paranoid. I will not relate them here, but will just leave it at that: It was just different. Compare it to visiting a non-tourist city vs. a tourist city (anywhere in the world). You don't expect to get hustled in Omaha, but you're fool if you think it won't happen in the middle of Times Square. Those knock off furries are NOT NICE and will punch you in the face if you don't pay them after you take their picture. The Grand Canyon Village area is like the Times Square of National Parks.

I am sure this is a shock to exactly no one, but I think it is easy to forget when all you ever see are the best pictures people bring back from their adventure.

As for the "camping" part of the experience, the Grand Canyon Village (Mather Campground) is the polar opposite of camping at a place like Big Bend (or even Bottomless Lakes). There are stores and restaurants all around you--and when I say stores, I mean stores that have everything. Food, clothing, supplies. The campers to the south of me had a dead car battery and asked if I had jumper cables. I didn't, but advised them to try the store. And they had them. They have everything.

Tree...or baby dragon?

It gives you peace of mind to know that civilization is right around the corner from your "wooded lot" but aside from the proximity to the Grand Canyon itself, it wouldn't be my highest recommendation to "get away from it all." Although if you want to get away from internet access, this is a great place to do it. They claim several places have access to wifi, but the only place that seemed to have working wifi was the aforementioned store. Not that we should be seeking out wifi on our camping trips! Unless we are feeling a bit weirded out and need to connect to our tribe to feel a bit more insulated and safe, as much as such a tenuous construct will allow us, anyway.

The Library. I did not go inside. I do NOT wanna talk
about it. Except to say: THHPPTT!

One thing I did not expect: The food was AMAZING, especially at the Desert View Snack Bar. They had this Chipotle Chicken Salad that was far yummier than it had any right to be, especially for the price.

But what is the point of any of this if not to see the grandest thing on the planet? It is a perspective altering experience and holds 100% of your attention when you finally get to see it. I tried to see it from as many vantages as I could on my own. I know this makes me the Odious Tourist Who Drives Solo and Expels CO Emissions All Over Our Park, but I took the HellTrain to work for 15 years, so everyone can suck it.

Desert view watchtower

I was excited to see the Grand Canyon, but will admit that it did not resonate as I thought it might. Perhaps it is because I've seen it before, perhaps it is because I am one month into this road trip and starting to feel the wear and tear of constant travel. I enjoy the driving part of the journey--even though I've learned that trucking has changed substantially since I was last regularly on the road (more on that later) and even though the view can sometimes be monotonous or grim--but I have no idea how anyone could travel for a living. It wears you out.

And while I am homesick, it is a weird variety of homesick--I am looking forward to getting back to Wichita to hang out with my mom, watch TV, sleep in a bed, and meet her new little cat, Luna. But that wasn't my home for so many years, was it? What about Brooklyn? Bay Ridge? The old 9115 Ridge Blvd, Apartment 6H?

When I got back to Flagstaff the day before yesterday and checked into the Baymont Inn for some downtime (no sights to see; laundry, relaxation, and that is it), I finally had a twinge of feeling about my old life. I remembered my nice couch and big screen and the whole lot of nothing I would do in my downtime...except for drawing. And I realized I didn't miss that couch, that apartment, those things--none of it--and certainly not that feeling of purposelessness.

I miss drawing, though. But I can take that with me anywhere.

Big Bend, Really Far Away Texas (Part Two)

 Things I saw at Big Bend, in no particular order:

Birds! So many birds--there were vermillion flycatchers everywhere, zooming and divebombing all day long. They were entertaining, and obviously keeping the bug population down because I had zero issues with pests or biters at Big Bend. There were bright red boyos and I believe the orangey looking ones were their girlfriends. I am not an aves expert, so couldn’t say for sure, but they did look like matching pairs.

The most striking birds were the turkey vultures--they're big with impressive wingspans. Their flight patterns over the campsites were something to see…but my favorite part was when one would come down to the ground and carefully walk around looking for morsels. These are large, awesome birds with the scary vulture face, so to watch one carefully strut around on the grass was kind of hilarious, sort of like those less-than-majestic, face-front photos of bald eagles. So regal and suddenly so...gawky. They look like a first-day waiter balancing a large tray of drinks.

The best bird of all was the roadrunner. Look here: I have despised roadrunners since one tortured a skinny coyote on my favorite childhood cartoon. I always wanted Wile E. Coyote to catch that stupid, taunting bird and roast its little ass over a fire. I know there are fan drawings depicting that very scenario, and wouldn’t doubt someone’s put together a Looney Tunes snuff film because the outrage was just too much to bear. If only we’d known just how wonderfully dreadful real roadrunners are, and if only some of that sick twisted truth would have translated into the Bugs Bunny/Roadrunner Show.

This is him. Cute little murderbird!

My roadrunner sighting happened as I was driving from the campsite to the general store—it’s not terribly far, but hello, my name is Lazy, and I just put up a tent IRL and wasn’t about to hoof it. I almost ran it over, and it was a close call because the thing was taking its sweet time getting to the edge of the road, as though it saw my car and was like, What. Bitch? After staring at it for a minute, I made my way to the store. Being approximately 5-years-old when it comes to animals, I told the cashier I just saw a roadrunner as though he cared or was my mom and also I am five. But he was game (God love him and his kindness) and proceeded to tell me all about our friend, the roadrunner.

For example, if you’re driving through the park and hit some random bird and it happens to stick to your grille, the roadrunner will come up to your parked car and rip that carcass right off of there for ya and proceed to chow down. When I gawped at this, he sort of got this contemplative look and proceeded to tell me about a day he and some customers were at the store and looked out to see an amazing sight: three rare, colorful birds, bright and beautiful, congregating right there on the pavement just outside the window. Everyone was enchanted and delighted, sharing the moment in a crystalline bubble of wonderment…then a roadrunner comes zooming out of nowhere, stabs one of the pretty little birdies in the head with its beak, and proceeds to dismember it right there in front of the horrified audience. It’s like a little Hannibal Lecter bird! It’ll eat your parakeet’s liver with fava beans and a nice Chiantiiiii. Actually, according to park literature, the roadrunner literally lives on the blood of its enemies. Seriously, their main source of hydration is the blood of their kills. Now isn’t that some Vlad the Impaler shit or what?

On my second day at Big Bend, I ventured out to see some sights. I didn’t get crazy with the hiking but did take some rumbly roads to see weird rocks (and in my head, repeating and repeating, T.S. Eliot—who else—“There is shadow under this red rock,/(Come in under the shadow of this red rock)," documented thusly.

I enjoyed the walk up to look over the valley where the Rio is nestled as it afforded some strange scenes, like this bridge over boggy waters where all the foliage is blasted gray and lay flat as though some life leeching weapon had detonated and they decided to build a park upon it. The bridge itself was ridiculously boingy which I kind of enjoyed because what’s the worst that could happen, I fall into the slimy, slurpy watermud and, I don’t know, yell until someone drags me out? It actually did remind me of that part in LOTR: Two Towers where Smeagol leads Sam and Frodo through the Dead Marshes—very similar except no (visible) bodies.

Much of the path was walled in with plants and trees pushing inward, and there were many spots where everything would snarl together into dense patches of thicket which somehow made me feel safer. The top of the hill rendered lovely views of surrounding hills and the lush greenery around the river itself, and after doing the one, two, three, okay we’ve seen it now can we go it was time to go back down the stone steps and set up for dinner.

Stars! Both nights I stayed up as long as I could, but I was in bed (1st night, the wind cavern/tent, 2nd night, the car) by ten at the latest, so really the best stargazing didn’t happen until I had to get up to go to the restroom. Oh the days when I might have missed all those starry opportunities, but not anymore! Especially if it is cold, and if I wake even just a little, then I’m lying there cursing at or to whom I don’t know, and it is time to unzip the zipper of the tent, negotiate shoes and flashlight and overcoat, and trudge through the dark to the dimly lit facilities. Thrice the first night, twice the second.

 As groggy as I was, I still made myself stop and look up and wonder at what I had been missing for all these years. If you are in a part of the country with good stargazing opportunities, do not take it for granted. I am grateful that I will never recover from the awe of considering the universe and just where we are in it. And there are no words for how it feels to be able to do what I am doing now…not the opportunity (for which I am separately grateful, of course) but the ability to do it at all.

When I first got sober, I was terrified of the night. Every hour of darkness was spent wrapped tight in low grade anxiety. Going anywhere outside was not acceptable and to be avoided at all costs, and every hour was spent wrenching my hands together, watching the clock, and dreading the time I would have to go to bed and turn out the lights. I never had the TV off, ever. Since my drinking was uniform (wake up, go to work, start drinking after work, drink until bedtime, sleep 6 hours, repeat) and my nights were dedicated to one endeavor and one endeavor only, was it any wonder why the terror sunk in as soon as the sun set?

That first year of sobriety was full of every emotion you can imagine—and in full, clear technicolor—and so much of it was truly wonderful, but it’s hard to think back to those nights spent clenched in despair. I didn’t think I would get over it; though I’d been coached I could find a “new normal,” it still seemed a fool’s dream. And the thought of driving almost 800 miles to the middle of nowhere to camp outside and stand in the middle of the darkness to contemplate the universe by myself without imploding in a fury of panic stricken, introspective horror…unthinkable. Insane. Impossible.

Thank God, the Lutheran Hospital in Brooklyn, the Resource Counseling Center, and my own inner strength (which I never believed I had until these past couple of years), for getting me to this place. I feel like I could stand on the edge of the earth and fall backwards into the universe, to whatever’s next, come what may. Give me all the stars and endless nights of clear eyed and brilliant reverie.

Big Bend National Park, Really Really Far Away, Texas

Wow.

Wow wow wow wow.

That's all my idiot brain could think as I drove to the Big Bend National Park, then through it, to get to the Rio Grande Village campground. The Chisos mountains are knock-you-on-your-ass breathtaking, and it was honestly a challenge to focus on the driving and stop gawping. So much twisty, windy, hilly roadway--there may have been an exclamation of "Wheee" or three, no lies.

Full disclosure: The last time I camped in a tent was when I was very little (maybe 4-6) and it was pretty much a disaster. It's a whole story, with drenching rains, a soggy tent, and a dog with half a face. It just gets more awful with details, so suffice it to say it ended with a rainbow and my written-in-stone belief that I would never camp again.

Did y'all know camping is cheap? It is--some places are just $7 a night--at least one place I looked into was free. And that's where the idea started. It wasn't exactly because I wanted to camp, per se, but as the idea bloomed, so did the appeal of the challenge. Never pitched a tent (or knew how it was done), never worked a camp stove or built a fire, knew absolutely nothing about camping (how it works, where to park, where to put the tent, what tools I would need, etc.)--so I started studying in the months I was breaking down my apartment, getting rid of stuff, and making plans to head to Kansas.

I made my lists, revised them, cross compared pricing of different items, and read many, many online reviews to get a sense of what I would need, what to expect, and help start narrowing down to the list to what is required (because there is a whole lotta extra crap you don't actually need).

I even watched videos on how to put up a tent...which they kept saying was a "two man job," but it turns out it just takes one woman.

That's right, I said it. Me. (C'mon, you had to know that was coming.)

So, when I practiced putting up the tent in mom's living room it was probably a bit too easy. I made sure not to rely on things I wouldn't have with me at the campsite, but I was still on carpet, in a climate controlled environment, out of the sun and wind. Once I was doing it "for real" at Big Bend, I got most of the tent up without breaking too much of a sweat, but hammering the tent pegs in turned out to be a real bitch. I did it, though--I got them in and they were nice and tight. I felt triumphant and made a sandwich. Mighty yawps abound.

Well, then came the night.

I stayed up until maybe 10 o'clock--I wanted to see the stars I was promised and I was not disappointed. The skies were clear and as the night progressed the sky grew brighter and brighter with a clean view of all those distant suns. But I was tired from all my mighty tent building and campsite set up, so I went to bed. And of course woke up about two hours later needing to visit the communal ladies room. Because I'm old, it was cold, and ya know, nature. Ugh.

The camp was so quiet that every noise I made felt jet engine loud, from the zip of the tent door to the crunch of my feet on the gravel--don't get me wrong, there were night sounds of little bugs and whatnots peeping and cheeping, but it was otherwise completely windless and silent. Every footstep I made sounded like a titan crashing all the stone pillars of the world and I was sure the whole camp could hear me. When I came out of the ladies room, I happened to look up and nearly fell down. What a difference two hours makes...millions of stars and not one cloud in the sky. I don't think I've ever seen the night sky quite like this, not ever in my life, not even as a child.

I was very tired, though, so titan stomped back to my campsite, felling more cities and waking the rest of Texas along the way, zipped myself up into my tent and my sleeping bag, and tried to settle back down. All in all, it was going pretty well! I had put up a tent. I had a flashlight. I was sleeping in nature and not freaking out. It was good.

I was in a doze when it started. A hollow sound that seemed too far away to be of any consequence, except that it was.

Did I forget to mention the wind forecast for that night? It said 30-35 mph winds, with 50 mph gusts. The night was so still up until that point that I figured the forecast had simply been wrong. Not so. Not at all.

For the rest of the night the wind shook my tent, yanked it to and fro, beat it up, down, left, and right. Three of four tent pegs came loose, leaving the tent anchored by one stubborn peg and one highly annoyed occupant, curled tight in a ball of shivering distress. One of the flaps of the canopy also came loose and whapped it up all night long.

The wind howled and roared, receded, then would scream and gust and caterwaul and there was just no end to it. And no consistency of course, since this wasn't some breeze coming off the mountain to gently lilt all the little baby animals to sleep. No, this was the wailing and screeching of the banshees locked in the 4th circle of Hell, spewed up from graves in the dark folds of the canyons to shriek us through the night and into daylight so that eleven full hours in that tent equaled maybe four or five hours of actual sleep. I'm guessing.

It was like living in that Night on Bald Mountain part of Fantasia except there were no ripped demonoids, just me in my little tent made of tissue paper and tears.

But I did it! I made it through the night with zero panic attacks and only just a little tired. Although I did pack up the tent that very morning and prepped the car for sleeping. Because nope. Nope nope nope. That was enough of that.

More Big Bend later...gotta motor.