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.

Roswell, New Mexico to Magdalena, New Mexico (side stop in Albuquerque) - 303 miles

While the drive from Big Bend to Bottomless Lakes was grim in one way, the drive from Roswell to Albuquerque was challenging in a different way: Mind bending sameness. I’ve heard people complain about Kansas this way, and I am eager to make the comparison when I drive from Colorado, through Dodge City, to home. I am accustomed to the drive from Wichita to Lawrence and Kansas City, which features the serenely beautiful Flint Hills, but I’ve heard Western Kansas is a real drag. The only time I recall driving through it was when storms were blowing through, so the sky was bruised and churning, and that dark sky against bright wheat fields? Not boring, not by a longshot. We huddled in a rest stop where the canned radio broadcast warned of torrential rains and tornadoes. Pretty sure that Roswell to Albuquerque run will beat Western Kansas on the boreometer by a mile.

Before leaving Bottomless Lakes, I spent some time in Roswell. The first day I drove into town, I was fleeing the heat of the camp and just wished to cruise around in the air-conditioning and maybe do some recon at the one and only public library. It was so damn hot (mid 90s) and no matter how much I turned up the AC the heat was still getting to me. So, that put me in a mood and my stomach had turned—to be fair, this probably clouded my opinion of Roswell a bit.

There is a visible disparity, more jarring than usual because the town is so very small, between the wealth and the poverty. It is clearly a tourist town, with a museum dedicated to its crowning achievement in extraterrestrial contact(s), and an unbelievable number of hotels and restaurants, many with kitschy green aliens standing at the door to greet you. Not everywhere, mind you, and I got the distinct impression that there was a part of Roswell that thrived on the notoriety, and there was a larger part of Roswell that survived on it, but was unapologetically “sick of this shit.”

In all the touristy stuff I saw, none seemed terribly compelling, though I do admit I never went into the museum or any of the gift shops. It’s difficult to express my feelings about the place. Everyone has been to at least one tourist destination in their lives…for some reason, despite all the places I’ve been, the one I am thinking of now is Ocean City, Maryland. Tacky tacky tourist trappy. But it made sense—everything seemed to belong there, as though if you took away the boardwalk and all its garish delights, smells, and sounds, you’d rip the soul out of the place. It wasn’t really my scene, per se, but I still enjoyed the authenticity of it. It was real, even in its fakeness and money grubbiness, it felt like it was meant to be exactly this way.

The only other time I’ve felt this same kind of disconnect with a tourist destination is Orlando. Now, Roswell is not the same level of sad, dilapidated, terminally sticky “pit” as Orlando—never think that—but both places had that absence of soul. I will now be set on fire by the peoples of these fine cities, I know it, but that was the impression I got. There was nothing about Roswell that made me want to stay, not even the second day when the weather was much better and I wasn’t feeling so punkish. Great breakfast at the IHop, I will say that—lots of hustle from the whole team and the waffle was A-OK (and certainly better than the sad, limp Waffle House waffles).

[Insert long drive here where I stared to long into the abyss and it stared right back at me and said, you know what, I’m good.]

 I forgot that I loved Albuquerque. I visited this city back when I was 7 or 8 when my grandparents took me on a roadtrip through the Southwest (a much shorter version of this very trip, in fact). We went to visit my Aunt Elsie and her brood—Aunt Elsie was my grandmother’s sister-in-law and was what I considered a genuine lady. Very well mannered, always dressed impeccably, hair never messy. Her house was equally perfect and she had a feeder for hummingbirds which I found whimsical and magical. Her family was warm, welcoming, and impossibly attractive and our stay with them was the best part of the trip. I’d been having a hard time in that period of my life, and the first part of the trip had been a struggle for me, so Albuquerque is where I started feeling like myself again, laughing and enjoying life. It’s funny, I hadn’t really thought of it until now, but it was a turning point for me. It probably made a bigger difference in my life than I’d ever considered.

Sandia Foothills

Albuquerque is an adobe loving mecca of Southwestern aesthetic-worship and, God Love 'Em, even the damn Starbucks is adobe. It’s a beautiful city nestled in the cradle of the Sandia mountain range. I drove all over the place checking out as much as I could and seriously loved every last bit of it.

I had lunch at Casa Taco, where the taco shells are somehow both soft and crunchy—a new taste delight—and the whole taco experience was d-freakin-vine. 5 out of 5 star tacos. I also visited a local Wal Mart for Magdalena supplies and found it to be exactly like any other Wal Mart ever, the common linkage of American culture, I guess?

I hadn’t planned to stop in Albuquerque, but I had to pick up prescriptions and CVS, employing some sort of witchery, was able to transfer my prescriptions there. It was a perfect preamble to my time at Magdalena, which I will document, though it will be a brief post of mostly pictures and fawning. I am so glad I got to spend a little time in ABQ and remember some things I’d almost lost.

Bottomless Lakes State Park

My favorite horror movie is The Descent (2005). If you haven't seen it, see it. Make sure it's past sundown and all the lights are out. And watch it alone.

You'll be fine.

[Do NOT watch the trailer. I would have linked it, but as with all trailers these days, it tells way too much. Why spoil it for yourself? If you are a horror fan, it's better to just experience the movie fresh. And if you are decidedly not a horror fan, please don't watch this movie, ever.]

Big Hill next to my campsite.

I've always been afraid of depths--the more you learn about the ocean, the more you start involuntarily kicking and run into a wall. The Descent is about lunatics who think it's a great idea to go spelunking. Spelunking, if you are not familiar with it, is the act of deliberately submerging oneself into caverns under the earth. Caverns that turn into hollows that turn into tight tunnels that may or may not suddenly collapse on you. The Descent is a movie made specifically for the likes of people like me. No thank you, depths, that's a hard pass, caverns, truck off and fly, tiny tunnels of terror. 

So when I first started learning about sinkholes, you can imagine how my mind processed that information. A hole. That just opens up. Under you. SIGN ME UP. Drag Me Down. To Hell. Considering the chaos of the universe, with ice comets, gas planets, and no air, such tomfoolery as sinkholes sounds tame and we should all consider ourselves lucky and get over it. But still, how could this be allowed to happen?

But happen it does! One opened up just down the block from my apartment in Brooklyn some years back and it took months for them to fix it. There was no warning. One day there was a tree, the next day there was no tree. And there was a hole. A hole that did not look all that impressive, really, and nothing like the sinkholes you've seen in other places, but apparently this thing went super deep and it took and incredible amount of work to shore everything up, stop the water flow that caused it in the first place, and fill in what started as a "tiny" hole (that eventually filled the street and went 70 feet deep). 

Other campers and sites. 

As they repaired the sinkhole, I would worry about it, but figured since I was on the 6th floor I'd probably be okay unless a sinkhole developed under a corner or half of the building and it just tipped over and went smack into the street and other buildings...and in that case I probably wouldn't be worrying about anything anymore. I believe earthquakes cause the same kind of anxiety in people because buildings can and do collapse. We've all seen the stories of people being pulled alive out of the rubble days after an event. 

My fear isn't the dying part. It's the waiting to die part. When I watched The Descent the first time, there was a scene that played directly to my fears. It grabbed that nerve like a guitar string and twanged it until it snapped. The idea of being trapped in a close space with no hope of escape or survival, and just waiting to die...for God knows how long? It's a common horror theme--people being buried alive, bricked in behind walls. All scary stuff, but there's something about terra firma suddenly going terra liquidus that just spooks the hell out of me. Like, drop kick me out of a plane, bungee me off of the Royal Gorge, make me feed hotwings to a gator. Anything but being submerged under the earth. 

So, the Bottomless Lakes are sinkholes! Probably formed thousands of years ago and totally stable and safe. But don't think that wasn't part of the charm of visiting this place and setting up camp right next to one, Lea Lake. It's a dare thing, I'll turn my back on you thing, a double guns into the sun thing. The worst part of Bottomless Lakes wasn't the sinkhole specter, it was the damn insects. They were ever present during the day, but became a true menace as the sun started to set, and even though I covered myself in insect repellent, some of them still managed to get to me. Gnats, mosquitoes, horseflies, regular flies, dragonflies--it was a mess. 

In the tent.

 It was only in the dark of night, with my tent zipped up, snugged into the sleeping bag, all lanterns off and stowed away, that I started thinking about those lakes...and sinkholes...and unpredictability. I imagined a giant cavern below the lakes, with only a thin layer of soil separating the lake and the cavern, worn thinner over thousands of years of erosion...until finally. What kind of sound would that make, I wonder? FOOMP? Or perhaps a horrible sucking noise? I could see myself asleep in my tent, on my air mattress set firmly on the hard ground, then weightless and falling hundreds of feet-

Well, I locked that shit up right there. My therapist says I am a catastrophic thinker. This is no lie. Whenever I start down that path, I visualize a stop sign and realign my perspective to reality. And it worked.

The lakes are beautiful and roundular, and setting up camp was much easier this time around. The wind was calmer, as well, so I was finally able to break out my Coleman butane stove and make coffee which took forever but who cares because I DID IT I MADE THE COFFEE. I will likely make the coffee again when I am at Grand Canyon or Joshua Tree, but it was still something I was way too overproud about because I've never worked a whole gas stove contraption by myself (gas grills, with help, always--I can turn them on but the tanks make me nervous).

Lea Lake

The camp itself was very bare, not like Big Bend, but the bathrooms were a huge improvement, with more stalls and free showers that were set up perfectly so you wouldn't get your stuff wet and felt safe while you were in there. It was a very chill camping experience--I spent most of the time reading. I think I mentioned before that I kept about 5 books? One of them is called Fools Crow by James Welch. I kind of wish I'd saved it for the second leg of my trip when I will be in Montana near the area where the book is set. It was funny, however, that on the second day in Bottomless Lakes, a smell came over the campground--a not entirely grotesque smell if you're a horticulturist or even just an amateur, and certainly nothing special if you work with large animals, especially in the equine/bovine arena. It was dung, I thought maybe fertilizer, or perhaps just the breeze had changed and we were now downwind of a farm or ranch. (I hoped it wasn't some sort of septic tank situation, but it turned out the smell was all over Roswell the next day, too, so I'm betting on a large herd of animals nearby but unseen). Since there is a lot of buffalo hunting, hide skinning, and horse stealing (and riding) in the book, the odor added to the authenticity of the experience. Weird, I know, but true.

Being near Roswell, I had my tinfoil hat at the ready and watched the skies for the inevitable alien driveby. You can tell me it didn't happen, but IT DID IT DID. I can see how people think aliens landed here and continue to land here. I have never seen more bizarre cloud structures in all my life. Better yet, these cloud structures refuse to be photographed accurately, so even though you may see a baby xenomorph as plain as day in one...

 ...it just looks blobular when you try to capture it. CONSPIRACY? I think so. Or how about when I was talking to my mom and saw some perfectly shaped saucers and had to stop to take a picture but later you could not see them? Do you see any saucers?

They are, in fact, there. SEE.

It's the cloaking device. They don't want you to see them. But they are there. I also saw freaky tendril clouds that reminded me of Cthulhu (our Pasta, who art in Colander...) -- honestly, if you are a person who truly "wants to believe," New Mexico is the place to kickstart your extraterrestrial fantasies. I, for one, don't need to "believe" or have "faith." I know. The universe is for all intents and purposes infinite, therefore intelligent life on other planets exists. This isn't even a difficult question. Math people can tell you the odds. And don't even start with that, waaahhh then why haven't they visited us waaahh. Watch news programming for 30 minutes and ask me that again. You will get what you richly deserve, inhabitant of Dangerous Monkey Planet.

I do have things to say about Roswell itself, and its gorgeous library, but I am still processing that one a bit. I may post today, maybe tomorrow, and maybe in the writing I will be able to adequately (and diplomatically) express my impression of the place. 

Big Bend to Bottomless Lakes State Park, New Mexico (355 miles)

After eating camp sandwiches for a few days, and having half transformed into a werewolf (Were Erin, We'rin for short), it was time to sit at a table and use a fork like a person, so I stopped in Marathon to have what turned out to be one of the best damn caprese sandwiches of my life. I am not exaggerating, though I will admit I was a bit deprived for a while so maybe (strong maybe) my senses were a bit skewed. Nonetheless, damn fine sandwich, V6 Coffee Bar. 5 out of 5 stars.

And no, I did not stab at the sandwich with aforementioned fork--there was a salad, too, with this yummy lime-something dressing that complemented the salad perfectly. They have great coffee, too, as you would expect!

The drive to Bottomless Lakes was incredibly depressing, truth be told, as the highways between Marathon, Texas, and almost-Roswell, New Mexico, are deeply sad, warbly affairs filled with all manner of trucks and their damn grilles because apparently 385 and 285 are gas-and-oil refinery gateways to the West? Anyway, lots of industrial businesses + lots of trucks = a road in constant need of repair and lined with garbage. There was even a spot where we all had to sit and wait for 20 minutes because there was only one lane of usable road so each side had to take turns. 

While it was a grim sight and bumpy ride, I did get to be part of a CONVOY since it was me jammed between all these rigs and "Truck!Yeah!" guys, with a few RVs thrown in for good measure. My favorite highway space is me, alone, with groupings of cars behind be and in front of me, but like far behind and in front so I can see them and know they are there, but they aren't, you know, all up on me. I really do think there are people who love being a part of a CONVOY, but I am not one of them. There's even a song about it, I think it is called CONVOY.

What the trip reminded me of more than anything was all the time I spent playing Sim City 2000 back in college. I miss that game so hard. All those miles and miles of industry with no commercial or residential areas is a quick ticket to a ruined sim city, where all the buildings start crumbling and the crime shoots through the roof no matter how many police stations you drop on it. Building successful sim cities really wasn't so hard once you got the hang of it. You just had to know the right ratio of industry to commercial to residential, then drop those police and fire stations in between the little peeps and all the scary industry. Before you knew it you'd have stadiums, high rises, and all manner of simulated "success." Of course you had to turn off the "disaster" setting because that bullshit was fun like once, when the aliens would invade or whatever, but then you had a serious mess to clean up and what slightly neurotic gamer needs that hassle?

Hours and hours. And hours. I loved that game so much. I know they released a version recently, but it was so widely eviscerated in the reviews I didn't bother to even try it. Anyway, my time in the CONVOY made me think of it--wistfully, because who knows if I would even enjoy laying down all those tracks of plumbing now? Who am I kidding. Set me up with a mega coffee, and comfortable desk chair, and a sweet, sweet desktop and I could play that game for a week straight. Then take a nap. Then get up and play Rollercoaster Tycoon. RollercoasterTycoon!Yeah!