It was time to head back south a bit. Just a little bit.
Kim had wanted to see Antelope Canyon and we were so close it had to happen. The morning air had become a bit more brisk, even though we were in sunny Utah, as we rode south on 89. Highway 12 for Bryce Canyon slid past to our left as we headed for Kanab and ultimately Page, Arizona. In Hatch, we stopped for breakfast at a Harley themed motel and grill. It was definitely homemade and definitely good.
The heavy rains we’d seen in Zion had apparently moved on east and doused the region, but there was little sign of it on the roads or landscape. We broke into Arizona and as the sun settled lower, decided to find a camp site early, both to get back out in creation and to help a little on our battered budget from so many recent motel stays. Past Fredonia, Highway 89A led into National Forest land and we figured we could scrounge up a dispersed campsite pretty easily.
Riding up into the forest, the temps dropped as did the setting sun. Finally a forest service road appeared that looked promising, but after riding a couple of miles in, the only spots that seemed doable had deep mud patches and standing water. In addition, there were hunters camped randomly off the road. Turning back towards the highway, we idled back up the road, a lone hunter walking slowly ahead in the fading light as we rolled past with a wave.
The only accessible spot was near the highway, but we got the bikes into the woods and Kim began setting up the tent and hammocks between a stand of large pines. The ground was spongy from rain and as I scrounged under piles of limbs stacked up by park services to burn in the controlled fires we’d seen on the way, I was pretty disheartened. Even deep under the piles the wood was soaked. I searched and searched around the area but everything was wet and found nothing for tinder. The twigs I did find wouldn’t ignite for anything, no matter how much scrap paper I tried. The air was so full of humidity I began to wonder just how much rain had fallen. I tried all the tricks I knew for starting a fire - even chopping deep into old wood to the dry heart. Shavings wouldn’t ignite, in short nothing worked. It was getting dark and I’d given up more than once. I even tried cursing a blue streak but that didn’t help.
As we sat in our chairs in the last of the light, the tiny fire ring mocked us until I gave it one more try and got some shavings going. It took a very long time but eventually a mouse sized bonfire got going and we enjoyed the sight and sound of the wimpy fire. We’d strung up a couple of hammocks and the Noah’s Tarp, but I was suspicious of a heavy rain and crawled into the tent. Kim decided to enjoy the hammock until the rains came and luckily they never materialized.
The next morning’s pack-up took a while, as the rain soaked ground and humidity had made the tent base and ground cloth muddy and generally too disgusting to pack up wet. The offending camp gear was stretched out over bushes in the sun and eventually dried enough to knock off the muddy clumps.
From the camp site we rolled back onto the blacktop and eastward for Page.
From theKimCam:
At the Navajo Bridge crossing over the Colorado River, we stopped for a look and a break to make brunch. As we sat at a picnic table under the covered area where the Indian women hawked their jewelry, I heard a car pull in behind me. A couple of moments passed and suddenly I heard someone exclaim, followed by a loud thud. Kim was facing the vehicle and jumped up yelling to me to help. I finally untangled my legs from the tiny table and turned to see an elderly man lying on his back next to the car. Kim and I both knelt by him as his wife came around from the other side, telling us not to pick him up. I knew better than to suddenly try to lift him, as he was very frail and we didn’t know if he’d broken anything.
Despite hitting his head on the ground he seemed okay save for a bleeding scrape on his arm. We gently lifted him up and told him to lean on the car for a while. It was obvious he’d been suffering for years and was very frail despite his height. His wife had gotten him out of the car, along with his walker, and had left him leaning against the car while she went back to the drivers side. There was a slight slope to the parking lot and it was enough that he was unable to keep himself upright and had fallen hard, hitting his head. Kim had seen him start to go over but was unable to get to him in time, disturbing her greatly.
He was very embarrassed at his inability to take care of himself, and knowing he’d been a big strong guy earlier in his life I’m sure probably made it doubly hard for him, but we joked about it to loosen the atmosphere. After making sure he was truly okay, we got him on level ground and into his walker. Kim and I watched as the couple slowly made their way towards the bridge overlook and went back to our Ramen noodles.
We finally saddled up and rode back across the bridge to the other side just to see it. As we circled through the lot I saw the old couple, who’d made it all the way across and were standing with their backs toward us. Instinctively I started to honk and wave goodbye, but stopped myself since I was afraid if he looked back he might lose his balance again. On the road I told Kim, and she had made the same decision as well.
From the KimCam
Page eventually slid into view and we needed coffee and wifi. Again, McDonald’s was the convenient answer though we ate next door at Taco Bell. I must say my palate has been slaughtered and bludgeoned on this trip by fast food places. Normally I dine on foie gras, caviar, quail lips and such, having been suckled on Dom Pérignon 1959 since birth, however McDonald’s sausage biscuits have made a place in my heart. My French wet nurse and au pair is likely rolling in her grave...
That said, after waiting in line for coffee and a sausage bikkit, Kim and I plopped down on a couch by the window and I noticed a safety yellow motorcycle jacket on the adjacent couch, followed shortly by a woman named Sandy arriving with her coffee. We had the best conversation in a long time, concerning freedom, life changes and adventurous spirits. Sandy was returning from Phoenix to Wyoming on her Honda Silver Wing after a fast trip there.
Sandy shared how she’d reached a point of discontent in her life in her 50’s, realizing she was unhappy despite a good job and had been considering early retirement so that she could change her life. She wrestled with doing it, finally deciding to work another few years since it was the “safe” thing to do. One morning as she drove to work in heavy snow, she stopped at a light and looked to her right. There, sitting in the snow, was a young man with his dog. He looked directly at her and smiled with a big smile. She said it hit her very hard, an epiphany of sorts, and as she drove away with his smile following her, she realized that though the boy would be considered homeless, in fact she saw how happy he was with nothing but his pack and dog. It was a moment that changed her life and her fears went away. When she got to work, she walked in and told them she was taking retirement.
She shared that she moved to Wyoming from the east coast, knowing from her first visit there it was where she needed to be. One of the next things she did was to take a riding class, face her fear and get a motorcycle license and begin to ride, joining the local Harley club on her newly acquired Honda Silver Wing. From there she branched out and now traveled solo wherever she felt to go.
Our conversation lasted a long time, but was one we all really enjoyed. It inspires the hell out of me to meet women who step out and face fears, especially traveling by motorcycle against the norm. We exchanged info and parted ways, watching her head north for Wyoming as we saddled up to find a nearby campground.
Wahweap campground was the answer, sort of lying on Lake Powell, but by the time we arrived the office was closed and a list of available camp spots was taped on the door. We grabbed one in the tree-less crowded campground and I began to set up the tent while Kim did other things. There were an abundance of spiders on the tent as I unrolled it, realizing that the wet camping area we’d stayed in must have been loaded with them. I flicked a few off before the Iron Butterfly returned, luckily.
Always a good sign...
The sun and temps were dropping but we had no wood for a fire so the evening was spent wrapped in blankets in our chairs, listening to the sounds of drunk teens playing beer pong a few sites away and the endless chatter of our neighboring three French girls.
The only excitement was a burst of winds which grabbed the Kelty Noah Tarp, tossing the ground stakes high into the air out of the sandy soil and flapping it like crazy in the dark.
The next morning was quite cold, and as I lay in my bag felt a tickle in my ear. As I reached to rub the ear canal, the tickle worsened and I felt movement down in the canal. Suddenly a spider came out of my ear and as it ran across my cheek. I grabbed it and crushed it between my fingers. Obviously, the tent was still featuring spiders from the night before and he’d happily made his sleeping area in my ear as I slept.
Next came the fear wave of wondering if somehow he’d bitten me in the night unnoticed and the poison would be going straight to my huge brain which lay just millimeters away? Or maybe my ear would rot off and ruin my modeling career? Whatever.
This was my second “spider event” of the trip, the first occurring in Durango, Colorado. Shall I tell you? Okay... So, Kim and I’s last evening at the campground in Durango was spent sitting in our Helinox chairs and staring at the stars through the pines, enjoying a fire and a few sips of vodka until we both fell asleep in the chairs. The next morning as we groggily packed up, the collar tag on my t-shirt kept bugging me and I kept messing with it. The day was a long, hard one and by the time we got into a motel we both just fell on the bed in our clothes and passed out.
The next morning I awoke and sat up in bed, the damn collar tag of my t-shirt again bugging me. I reached back to move it, only this time it moved on it’s own. Hmmm. I felt the tag move further towards my shoulder. Brain highly awake now, I reached back and felt the tag turn into a lump on my shoulder, which I instinctively mashed with my finger. Upon removing the “tag”, I discovered it was in fact, a very large spider who was now dead and sticky and wasn’t a collar tag at all. A shriek would scare The Butterfly who was still asleep, so I manned it down and placed the spider on the side table for analysis. Apparently, my little dead friend had crawled into my shirt the previous evening as we sat in the woods by the fire, had slept comfortably against my neck, eaten breakfast with us and then ridden a few hundred miles on my neck, avoiding my fingers trying to readjust him through the day. Dinner went well for him, as did another good night's sleep on my neck, only being killed before a good breakfast. Best I can figure, he was in my collar at least 24 hours and maybe 36.
When Kim awoke and I shared my little spider story, there was appropriate shrieking from her, as well as general horror. When things settled down, I scooped him into a little plastic baggie to keep just in case I died, so that my murderer could be identified and possibly stuffed by a taxidermist for display in a menacing pose. But I digress.
When Kim finally woke up in the tent, I told her my “spider coming out of my ear story” and to her horror, realized that meant there had been at least one spider in the tent she’d just slept in. I received no pity and frantically no stone was left unturned, nor any square inch of the tent, tarp, sleeping bags, air pillows, clothing or any other gear went unsearched that morning.
After things settled down, the plan was made to head for Antelope Canyon. There was such a lack of information online about the actual canyons and features, including a complete lack of signage in the area for such a well-known world wonder that we weren’t really sure what to expect or even where it actually was. In fact, we weren’t positive we were even on the right road and finally stopped at a gas station where the attendant pointed and said it was about another mile or two ahead.
With some fear and trepidation at the prospect of waiting for hours to get into the canyon as we’d been told, we made the call to visit Upper Antelope based entirely on the lack of vehicles in the parking area versus the rows of buses in the parking lot of the Lower Antelope canyon to our left. There are actually two Antelope Canyons, the Upper and the Lower as we discovered. We paid our toll and the lady in the ticket booth suggested parking near the toilets for the bikes. We did so and by the time we’d gotten our gear off, an Asian armada of buses had pulled in and the people were pouring out like a broken bag of Asian white rice.
I hot-footed it to the waiting shack where about 12 pickup trucks with seats in the back sat and a horde of tourists were clumped around a couple of card tables. I squeezed in and waited, eventually making the card table where I paid for the tour and got a receipt. Of the couple hundred people there, I can honestly say Kim and I were the only non-Euro or non-Asian folks. It was tempting to set up an impromptu ESL class to make some cash and help our budget.
It wasn’t too long before our names were called and we were sent to a waiting pickup truck for the journey to the canyon. They squeezed 14 in each truck, and like a herd of lumbering somethings the trucks all surged forward into the huge sand wash leading to Antelope. In short order we were all engulfed in fine blowing sand made worse as each of the trucks vied for position like racers in the Dakar. I eyed the suffering tourists in back with us, all trying to bear with the grit and exhaust. Sand was pooled on shoulders and hats as I looked around squinty-eyed and observed the two cameras in my lap.
It was a long bumpy ride made more fun by being tossed into the air a few times by the driver hitting bumps and ruts at fairly high speed, but at least it took your mind off the sand and grit in your hair and teeth. We finally stopped at the parking area, where there were at least another 15 - 20 pickup trucks already there. Our guide gave orders to stay with her and told us not to pee or poop in the canyon, as apparently it happened frequently and there was now a $20,000 fine for doing so. I was disappointed, as pooping in Antelope Canyon had been one of my dreams since childhood.
As we walked up to the entrance to the narrow slot, the line of people within were almost single file and we knew that the entire canyon had to be full from end to end with people. If I pushed hard on the person in front of me, someone on the other end of the canyon would have popped out. Walking in was no less than stunning despite the jostling people. Wandering slowly through was really a breathtaking experience and well worth the BS involved to see it. Our guide stopped here and there to offer photo tips and such. My cameras were now sporting fine sand in all the wrong places and I could barely get the On/Off switches to move but ended up shooting so many pics the batteries died.
Despite the crowds and low grade lunacy of the whole shebang, Antelope Canyon was certainly worth seeing and Kim crossed it off her bucket list. I can only imagine what it must have been like to wander through it alone, before its popularity soared. Worth the hassle for sure!
From Antelope the next quest was the North Rim of the Grand Canyon which lay back west. The afternoon was winding down and we made time for the junction at Jacob Lake and the turn south to the Grand Canyon. It was tempting to take some of the forest service roads south to connect with the main road but the sun was getting very low and I realized it would take us much longer. I didn't want to be caught out in the dark if possible.
Highway 67 South for the North Rim was a nice ride but the temperatures were dropping and it was beginning to get quite chilly. When we showed the park pass at the gate, the Ranger told us that all the campgrounds were full but we could camp in the national forest outside the park. That was the plan as we continued on for the north rim, passing many mule deer and a large herd of bison on the way, arriving to a full parking lot very late in the day at the lodge.
We wandered out to Bright Angel point as the sun was setting. The winds were very high but the views were stunning, especially in the golden light of the setting sun. What a beautiful place to watch the sunset.
It had gotten very cold and darkness had come so I told Kim we should try our luck at the lodge. I knew the chance of getting a room was nil, but neither of us looked forward to the cold ride back, much less finding a spot in the forest and setting up camp in the dark.
As it turns out our timing was perfect. The girl working at check-in told us they had just had one cancellation for a cabin and the price wasn’t as bad as I expected. It felt like we had won the lottery! The girl told us that the ride back that evening would have been difficult anyway, since the bison herd tended to gather on the blacktop road for the remaining warmth stored in it. She said we most likely would have been caught there and unable to pass by the herd anyway. We were doubly thankful for that blessing!
That evening it was nice to just be a tourist, having an all-u-can-eat brisket dinner in the lodge and then retiring to an old log cabin to listen to the winds howling in the pines above.
