We agreed to avert our eyes until we reached the railing so that we would see it together. Watching our feet, we dodged tourists until we could hardly stand it, and then, grabbing the rail, we looked up.

Language falters and then dies at the sight of the Grand Canyon. I would fail at trying to describe it anyhow; even the photos don’t do it justice. This is definitely a place one has to experience personally.

The previous day we drove up from Sedona to Williams again, knowing we could stay at our freebie campsite in the woods.  From there we hemmed and hawed as to where we would go next, considering the fact that snow was due in the near future. At an internet coffee shop, we decided our best bet would be to leave immediately, just for the day, trying our best to duck out before the oncoming storm.

We drove back to camp to find our grill and chairs were missing. They left Emmy’s bed, thankfully. It probably smelled of wet dog. It was sad, not just because of the stuff, which we just shrugged off, but because most of our experiences on the road so far have invigorated our faith in humanity. People have been so giving, with their information and their time, with wine, extra food and even socks.

We packed up, climbed in the truck and made our way sixty miles north to the South Rim.

That night we found another free National Forest campsite a few miles from the entrance of the park. It was cold, but we scrounged up some wood and ended up with a roaring fire. We leaned back and watched the stars through the smoke from our breath. “Man, we’re lucky.” Mikey said, as he often does. He does this little nod thing, pouting a bit, looking around in amazement before he says it. I love that.

–

The next morning the world was different. Whipping, cold winds shook the camper, and the promise of snow was in the dark clouds overhead.  An armada of helicopters flew over our site on their way to pick up tourists—the sound was deafening. We craned our necks to watch, and then ducked into the shelter of the cab.

We drove for hours, eventually reaching Lake Havasu City, where it was sunny and 70 degrees. It’s always strange to travel to a dramatically different climate by car.  It’s as if we’d been transported through a wormhole, or a glitch in the Matrix.  We stepped out and peeled our outer layers off and walked on the sand.

That night we sat for a while with our neighbor, Tom, a nice guy from Wisconsin who pulls a tiny plane behind his motorhome. He opened the hatch so we could see it. Two chairs, some bars and an engine. Tom called it his lawn chair in the sky. He had flown all over the states, and on the hatch was a painting of him, in his little plane, flying over the Grand Canyon.

We were camped in the overflow parking near the beach at Lake Havasu State Park. The evening weather predicted rain, but even so, we put on our raincoats and hiked the sandy trails around the lake. The wind was warm, and the water was a sparkling blue-green.

 

 

Up Next – Paso Robles California.