The 6-car tap dance

After leaving San Antonio, it was my turn to drive. In the sunset. Again.

We didn't make it all that far. After sitting in traffic out of San Antonio, and then hitting Austin traffic after that, the rest of the day was spent sitting in bumper-to-bumper.

As the traffic started going back to speed, I noticed that the cars in front of me had all slammed the brakes.

I managed to stop, and Ang and I held our breath watching the rear-view mirror as the guy behind us slowed, slammed brakes, and finally stopped. As we breath a sigh of relief and look back in front of us ---

SMASH SMASH SMASHSMASHSMASH

LOSS-DAMAGE-WAIVER FIVE! Yes, we actually high-fived eachother. I had managed to hold the brakes as the unknown number of cars hit eachother behind us, so we didn't add the guy in front of us to the line.

I got out (smashing the door into the jersey barrier, because at this point, fuck it) and looked behind us to see 5 other cars smashed into eachother. I called 911, and they sent ambulances and shut down the highway and the whole nine yards. I call it a 6-car pileup, but Ang calls it a 6-car tap dance. We can agree to disagree, but seeing as I was driving, I get to call it a 6-car pileup.

I had Ang go do information gathering since I was shakier than I thought I was and I'm lazy.

The people behind us were super nice, and we both agreed that we had definitely stopped on time, and he told us that the guy behind him didn't.

The guy behind him was a young kid, though I thought he was 17 or so and we found out later he was actually 22 or something. He was utterly clueless that he was at fault.

The car behind that kid was an asian looking dude who was a total dick to me. He asked for my information 3 times, and as the cops came up and told us we all needed to follow an ambulance to a gas station to get the whole mess sorted out so they could re-open the highway, he took my insurance card.

The car behind that was a nice man and a southern bitch lady.

The final car was a girl who apparently refused to give Ang her information until the officer on the case talked to her, and she eventually apologized and gave us the information.

This was my first accident, so I had no idea wtf I was supposed to do. I asked the mean asian dude when he came back to ask for my information AGAIN and to return my insurance card if I should be taking pictures, and he sneered, "Well, I would if I were you." and then demanded my license. I told him the address was wrong because I had moved to Maryland but I have a correction card. Then, I put the license on the hood of my car.

"UH. WHY does this information not match what you told me? Why did you give me wrong information? What is this?"
"...as I JUST SAID, this card does not have the correct address. HERE is the correction card."

Dick.

Anyway, we had finally wrapped all the picture taking and information gathering up, and the officer told all of us to get together for a huddle. He gave each of us a business card with the case number and the website for the police department. This is when Southern Bitch Lady lost it because she figured out they weren't going to give us a run down of who was at fault, who was not, etc. The cop assured her that the report would be available on the website in the next few days, and she continued to demand information.

When she figured out he wasn't going to talk, she yelled at him, "WELL! I am going to call my SON! Who. is. a. COP!" and threw her hand out to her husband and yelled at him to give her the phone. As she wandered off to call 1-800-USELESS or whatever, the officer tried to apologize to her husband. He waved it off, and said "oh, she's just...like that sometimes. Don't worry about it."

My mom told me that it doesn't count as my first accident because it was a rental and I wasn't at fault. :(

***

Ang took over driving and we continued on to the FIRST! motel stay of the trip, at Day's Inn or something that we booked because we wanted to get a good night's rest for the final long haul. It's a good thing that this place was pure luxury because we were so grateful just to have our OWN! beds, because otherwise this would have been a major disappointment.

It was kinda dirty, sketchy, smelled skanky, had crappy towels, various shit was falling off, the shower curtain rod was hanging by screw that was 90% ripped out, we probably contracted ghonnasyphaherpelaids, and THERE WERE NO PILLOW MINTS! I WANT MAH PILLOW MINTS!

But it was glorious. 

San Antonio: Really? The Alamo?

Once we realized that New Orleans was off the map due to hurricane/tropical depression Isaac, we had a choice. Do we cut straight across the panhandle of Texas and work Lake Arcadia in Oklahoma back in? Or do we continue south to San Antonio and wend our way through the upper part of Louisiana? Well, someone decided it would be fun to be able to say we drove from tip to tip across Texas, and San Antonio sounded way more fun than Kansas, so south we went.

We expected longhorns and cowboys, and while I didn't really think I'd find cowboys running alongside the highway, I did think there would at least be cattle. Wouldn't you? Noooope. I'm pretty sure we saw more cows in the Badlands. In fact, I know we did.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. We should have gotten off the highway if we really wanted to see anything at all. Bugger that. It was already going to be a 16-hour long drive through unrelenting heat. Damned if I was going to take us anywhere but straight to San Antonio and out again. So we drove and drove and drove and drove, making a game out of guessing what was over the next rise.

Suddenly, we were presented with nature's bosom. Each hill looked like a perfect boob, complete with nipples. It was impossible NOT to see it, so it's not just that we have dirty minds.

See? Tell me how that doesn't look like a giant tit sticking out of the ground.

Texas also apparently has a problem with hills. No, not mountains. Hills. They took the effort to cut a hole through all the hills they wanted the road to go through. It would have probably been much easier to just go AROUND the hills, or even OVER the hills, but no. This is Texas. The signs along the highway say, "Don't mess with Texas" so apparently even the landscape isn't safe.

 
At least the speed limit is 80 mph. It was great! At least until a state trooper going the opposite way used the turnabout to get onto our highway. He got behind us, and I was going 5 miles over the speed limit, so I slowed down. Then he slowed down. Then I thought he was going to pass me, but he didn't, and I had to go around another car going even slower. Then he got behind us, and slowed more, so we slowed more.

Then we freaked out and took an exit as soon as we turned a corner and he was out of sight. Only problem was that this was a side road that ran parallel to the highway, with a max speed limit of precisely the speed the cop was going. So, we were just driving next to him, after taking an exit we had no reason to be on with out of state plates, and B looking at a map to try and act lost.

We're idiots. He could have just crossed the grassy medians and pulled us over for god knows what, but, of course, he didn't. Which meant we were stuck on this side street and then a random gas station just waiting for him to get far enough ahead that we wouldn't have a repeat performance.

We made it to San Antonio and found a parking garage close to the riverwalk. By the way, everyone in Texas owns a giant pickup truck with ballsacks attached to the back, or a giant SUV. We screamed as the first massive vehicle turned the blind corner at the same time we did.

We got out and started walking down to the riverwalk. The riverwalk is actually sort of below the city, and we were stunned at how beautiful it was. Pristine walkways with an arrangement of tropical plants, various waterfalls, giant trees, and upscale restaurants surrounded the admittedly disgusting water with ducks swimming around in it.

We were walking along, and after passing a grassy set of steps leading up to La Villita, I realized that there was a stage set up across the water. Then I realized that the set of grassy steps was actually amphitheater seating. Coolest drama club set up ever!

 

I imagine it also makes it harder to throw rotten food.

The only problem with San Antonio was the heat. It was ridiculous. We haven't been drinking enough water, so both of us almost keeled over. We sat down inside the air-conditioned part of Casa Rio and ordered lunch. Delicious lemonade! Britt got an enchilada and tamales. Not sure what a tamale is, but it was like a cross of mashed potatoes and cardboard without the benefit of tasting like mashed potatoes. She liked them, but she was probably suffering from heat-stroke at the time. I got a combo plate of what ended up being fried stuff. Not the best idea on my part. My stomach took one look at it and flipped the hell out. "Seriously? You starve me, abuse me with convenience store cappuccino and taquitos, then tantalize me with the prospect of a real meal only to find out it's practically the same crap served on a plate instead of in a paper bag? No. This ends here. I've become a shrunken and pathetic shell of myself and I want a DIVORCE."

After lunch, I pulled out the city map a random tourist information person had handed to us. Huh. There's a place called the Alamo here. Even I know that's an important historic site, right? What's it doing in the middle of San Antonio? Can't be right. Maybe it's a dedication site or something, or... Shit. It's the goddamned Alamo. Two blocks away. We can't not go.

So we went to the Alamo. We got up to street level, pressed the button on for the crosswalk signal and jumped in surprise when it started talking to us. The cop across the street must have been laughing his ass off every time the thing said "WAIT". Whenever it spoke, Britt and I jumped, yelled at the crosswalk post that we were waiting, and erupted into a fit of giggles. Rinse and repeat, the entire time. Worse was when the buttons for both directions had both been pressed and the signals were competing with each other to give the pedestrians directions. Glad I'm not a blind person in San Antonio.

We walked down the block, turned the corner, and BAM! Have an Alamo. No lead up, it's just there. Thought there would be a park around it with an entrance to the protected historic site. Nope. It is the entrance. When I asked Britt what her thoughts on the Alamo were, she said:

Oh my God, it's so hot. Can we go now? Look, a rock. Did you take a picture of it? Good. Let's go. Ooo! A gift shop! A PRESSED PENNY MACHINE!!

After the Alamo -- I'm sorry, was that too quick for you? Didn't you read earlier that we are the WORST tourists ever? -- we went back through the Riverwalk to our cars. We wandered through a few gift shops, and I decided I wanted a T-shirt. At the Ripley's Believe It Or Not shop, I saw one that caught my eye and carried it around with me through the store. It just said "San Antonio, Est. 1691" in a fancy font, but then I realized that I must be more overheated than I thought, because it was bright pink with sparkly blue letters. So I picked up a different one, except it said that San Antonio was established in 1718. Confused, I brought them both to the girl at the counter and asked when the city was established. She didn't know. Can't blame her. I mean, who the hell actually knows that kind of thing off the top of their head? Except, because the second shirt also said Ripley's Believe It Or Not on it, she tried to tell me that maybe 1718 was went Ripley's was established.

Seriously?

We found a Five and Dime with a ton of T-shirts for sale, only to be more confused than ever. We found shirts saying 1691, 1718, 1824, 1845, 1846, and this foolishness:

I give up.

Then there were these:

 

Not sure why overt demonstrations of religion bother me, but they do. Is it because I always feel a little impure and guilty? Is it because they're all so very, very tacky? Or is it because they emanate a holy radiance of fanaticism that I find a little disturbing? I don't know. Chalk it up to the mystery of life, I suppose.

We sat under a bridge to get out of the sun and watch the numerous ducks paddle their way down the river. A nearby maintenance worker was singing to music coming from the restaurant, so Britt started bobbing her head to it too. He laughed and came over to chat. When we told him about the San Antonio date of establishment dilemma, he got on his radio and asked someone for us. Wikipedia states 1691, but there are a lot of historic moments that correspond to the dates we saw on the shirts. Radio-voice told us one number then gave another a little while later (neither being any that we saw), cementing the idea that nobody actually knows.

I'm not sure how we led into the next part of the conversation. Pretty sure there was no lead up, but my brain just wants to pretend people don't just jump into things like this. Kenneth, the maintenance worker, said that he had half a handlebar the night before and it was the best time of his life. Everything and everyone was funny and he was drooling, but he was happy. Britt and I nodded our heads at the appropriate times, thinking that maybe a handlebar is a mixed drink or something? Nope. It's a pill. I really think the DARE programs in schools need to explain more about the different street names for drugs. Or give us little wallet cards with synonyms on them or something. I think this might be important information somehow. There have been way too many times that people started talking and I have no idea what they're going on about, so I just smile and nod. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY NO TO DRUGS IF I DON'T EVEN KNOW WE'RE TALKING ABOUT THEM?!

Kenneth: I got home late and my girlfriend wanted sex, but I just passed out. So she's slapping me. Slap! Slap! SLAP! Just slapping me. But I took care of her later. Where are you girls from?
Britt: We're on a road trip from Massachusetts. Passing through here on out way home.
Kenneth: Shit, you guys must be rich to do that kind of thing.
Me: No, not so much. We've been camping or sleeping in rest areas mostly.
Kenneth: You could always sleep at my place.
Britt: Thanks anyway, but we're heading out soon.
Kenneth: I came here on vacation too, four years ago.
Me: Liked it so much you never left?
Kenneth: At the time, I thought it was paradise. Now all I want to do is shoot that duck. *finger-pistol motion towards nearest duck* They leave huge shit piles on the sidewalk and I have to get up early to clean them up for the tourists. But if I don't, the city doesn't make money and neither do I. So you're just going around the country fucking men in all the cities?
Britt: Uh, no.
Kenneth: You should stick around and get a drink. That place down there has magaritas to-go.
Me: I saw that! Pretty tempting. We haven't been able to drink on this trip. No time.
Kenneth: You could sleep at my place. My girlfriend might be pissed, but whatever.
Britt: No time. We have to be back to work on Tuesday.
Kenneth: Shit, you have a long way ahead of you, huh?
Us: Yuuuup.
Kenneth: And you can't even get a drink?
Us: Noooope.
Kenneth: That sucks.
Us: Yuuuup.
Kenneth: ... You guys twins?
Us: Noooope. (Really?)
Kenneth: ... You guys sisters?
Us: Noooope.
Kenneth: You guys are weird.
Us: Yuuuup.

As I'm writing this, I realize how awful it all sounds on paper, but it wasn't. He wasn't creepy, we weren't weirded out, no warning bells were sounding in our heads. He was just conversational. Granted it was a strange conversation, but he wasn't being all close and molesty. More like, eh, worth a shot, no? Oh, okay, have a nice trip girls, enjoy the city. Watch out for the duck shit.

He also mentioned that he had run into a group of people that had fled New Orleans. We'd been keeping tabs on Isaac, but that sealed the deal. New Orleans would be a definite no-go.

:(

Roswell: Where are all the aliens at?

We entered Roswell as the sun was beginning to set and immediately started looking for tacky tourist traps with UFO and alien paraphernalia. There weren't any. The only alien that greeted us was this guy:

But then I saw a Hobby Lobby!

Hobby Lobby! HobbyLobby!! ::flail:: I WANT HOBBY LOBBY! Britt jerked the car across three lanes of traffic to take an immediate left, pulled in the parking lot and just stared at me before ranting that we have a Hobby Lobby at home, and that I really just made her do that. Then it was pointed out that we needed containers for our illicit sand collection and a proper pot for George "Popcorn" Paddles, so we went it. We failed on both accounts, but we did walk away with that eerie feeling you get in a chain store, the one where you're pretty sure that if you pretend hard enough, you'll exit from the store you always go to instead of this one, miles and miles away from home.

We left and started Googling someplace interesting to eat at. NOTHING. Oh, there was Sonic, Church's Chicken and McDonald's, but nothing that seemed particularly extraterrestrial. In fact, this whole city seemed rather normal. Target, AutoZone, Ace Hardware, Home Depot... WTF, Roswell?

As we drove down the main road, eyes peeled for anything green and spacey looking, I realized that we were passing places we'd already seen before. There were two Dollar Trees, two Dollar Generals, two Sonics, Church's Chickens, McDonalds, AutoZones, and Best Western Inns, but STILL. NO. ALIENS. It was a little creepy. I mean, it's a big city for the middle of nowhere, but not so big that everything needed to be duplicated unless there really are aliens and there's some type of segregation happening here that no one is willing to advertise to out-of-towners.

Eventually we came upon some sad looking street lamps that had alien faces on them, and two (two) souvenir shops across the street from each other. We wandered in, bought some magnets, complained that their city was too perfect and not kitschy enough, and left.

 

We were pretty hungry by then, so we gave up hopes of finding anything interesting and headed back to the Applebee's we'd seen near the beginning of town. The waitress had a terrible headcut that made the back of her head look kinda like an alien. It's the closest we got. She couldn't figure out the layout of her own restaurant and parked us somewhere near the back. We took a while picking what we wanted, and sat there. And sat there. Eventually we realized that ten minutes had gone by without anyone taking out drink order and that, even though other waiters had passed us, we had no waiter of our own and were being ignored.

We left our menus at the table and rushed out. Britt tossed a sarcastic "So sorry, we have time constraints." over her shoulder, while I pointedly exclaimed "Are you apologizing?!" in whatever indignant voice I could. The waitress didn't even get it. She just said "Oh, it's okay!"

We left the car where is was and walked down to the Whataburger. I've decided that anyone with pencil thin eyebrows working at a fast food joint is probably not going to care about ANYTHING. Case in point, the lady who took our order. No biggie. I'd probably want to shoot myself if I heard "Whataburger" as many times a day as she did. The burger was actually pretty good. Not so much with the Whatachicken.

As we drove through town on our way out we passed another Sonic, and I went ballistic.

What the fuck! That's a third Sonic! Roswell has three! Three. THREE SONICS! You know how many I have? NONE. Why? Because ROSWELL STOLE ALL MY GODDAMNED SONICS. THEY HAVE THREE! (At this point, I'm practically leaning over Britt to yell at the people in the car next to us at the red light.) THERE ARE THREE SONICS IN THIS ONE CITY WHILE I CAN'T GET ONE FOR OVER THREE STATES. THOSE MOTHER-FUCKING ALIENS STOLE ALL THE GODDAMNED SONICS! ASSHOLES!

Roswell, New Mexico, ladies and gentlemen. All Sonics, no aliens. We're done here.

Santa Fe: Who knew?

Here, have a random New Mexico sunset.

We weren't able to go to Sedona after the Grand Canyon because it would be dark by the time we got there. The reason I wanted to go at was for a natural water slide they have, but it wasn't on the itinerary to begin with so I guess I'll get over it. Maybe. We have followed our itinerary fairly closely, which is surprising. Apparently we need to give ourselves more kudos for planning than we thought, but I won't hold my breath on it as I still need to be back to work on Tuesday and it's still Arizona.

We slept at a rest stop just inside Arizona, and when we woke up, New Mexico was only a few minutes away. We grabbed coffee, and decided we loved how tacky the state was. Everyone calls you "mum" instead of "ma'am" and the chili cheesy tots are EVEN BETTER and everyone is nice! Like Oregon! Too bad they're so far apart. Except New Mexico is HOT. So hot that we were stuck in traffic around Albuquerque screaming "I'M BURNING! I'M BURNNNNINGGGGGG!!" and wondering why the hell we decided we wanted to go to the desert. It was apparently only 86 or something but that was a lie because it was so damn hot and burny. Our AC can't keep up with the heat. We have a black car with a black interior, so it's fairly miserable, especially when you leave it for a while and burn yourself on the seats and all the bits of silvery trim.

We decided to check out Santa Fe since we saved time by not going to Sedona and we're going to skip Carlsbad because it will be night by the time we get there.

Santa Fe is filled with really short buildings. It didn't really look like a city, and we went to the center plaza, which is a nice-looking condensed shopping area that looks extra un-city like. We parked, and walked into a store that touted native american crafts and fetishes. We wondered if they had some headdresses and stone carvings next to whips and chains, but apparently fetishes ARE the stone carvings. Lesson learned. The lady in the store said that all the glass cabinets were unlocked because apparently we don't choose the figurines, they choose us. We must have failed to meet their standards because we left empty-handed.

We grabbed some chocolates from a chocolatier, and they were good, but not as good as the place in Napa. The whole plaza is filled with store after store of native american crafts, and after browsing for a bit, we realized that there is a closed-off street where some some 30 or more native american vendors who have their crafts laid out on the ground. We kicked ourselves for buying anything else besides their stuff, because it was all gorgeous. All of it. And native american crafts aren't even really my thing, but there's something there for everybody. And they're all SO nice! I purchased a gift for someone, and the man asked how far it was going. I told him Massachussetts, and he thanked me and shook my hand. They're insanely nice, and I doubt they're all nice just so you'll buy their crafts because it was EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON.

We bought way too many shiny things, and I looked up yelp reviews for a Mexican restaurant. Yelp failed me. It was terrible. My chili was just a can of beans, some over-cooked meat thrown in, and a can of tomato sauce dumped in with some hot sauce for some kind of "flavor". Ang's chicken quesadilla was runny, greasy, squishy, and tasted wrong. We haven't eaten at sit-down restaurants on this trip much, so it's extra disappointing to get shitty food when we do. But, again, people were nice so we didn't really care.

There's a small park in the center of the plaza, so Ang and I decided to sit down out of the sun and chill for a bit. A guy in a wheelchair was playing a really big harp, although we weren't quite sure how he managed to move that thing around on his own.

Next to him, some crazy person was doing some weird kind of inverted juggling which consisted of him bouncing three balls on the ground while listening to his headphones. Then he got lower and lower until he was picking them up off the ground and placing them down again. The next time we looked over, he had one larger ball that he was rolling around his hand and up and down his arm. It might have been worth watching if he was wearing a David Bowie outfit, but only then.

Behind us was what appeared to be the biggest, fattest pigeon either of us had ever seen, so we stopped paying attention to the weird man with the ball fetish, and watched the bird dance around instead. After a while it occurred to us that we were probably watching a mating ritual between him and a nearby female pigeon.

Male: Look! Look! I can turn in circles! Look at me! See my pretty circles! Ooh! I can go the other way too! Are you looking? CIRCLES!
Female: *peck, peck* I like grass. *peck*
Male: Yes, yes, I like grass too. *peck, peck* But did you see my circles? Here's another one. Wooooo!! CIRCLE TIME!
Female: Yeah... I still like the grass better. *peck*

He abandoned that fruitless endeavor and twirled himself over to the next nearest female.

Male: Hey! Hey! Did you just see that double twirl I did? It was all for you. Just for you. Not her, I swear.
Second Female: *peck, ignore, peck*
Male: I'M GETTING DIZZY OVER HERE! PAY ATTENTION TO MEEEEEE!!!
Second Female: *peck, ignore, peck*
Male: *sigh*

Eventually he gave up, smoothed his neck feathers, and wandered away looking like a normal pigeon again. Better luck next time, man-whore.

Fuck all y'all! ...Please?

Big Hole in the Ground: South Rim

The route to the south rim took us through part of the Navajo Nation. It was marked by a small, rusty yellow sign with the letters painted on. There are houses made of plywood with no windows, no plumbing, and no manner of modern facilities. Lots of them. Even the ones that weren't just plywood were haphazard rusty trailers or tiny little huts.

There are many, many tiny little stands on the side of the road where women sell their handmade jewelry. They specialize in gorgeous silver and stone work, and sit in the blazing sun for the occasional tourist that stops by.

The first one we stopped at had a woman selling cedar seed beaded necklaces and bracelets, and she told us that she hand-needles holes into them to string them on. They're TINY. We had to buy a couple of them. They are dirt cheap, and if you go to any of the Native American store they are easily 2x-3x the price. I don't know if everything she told us was true, but we didn't care. She was so nice, and in Arizona we found that a lot of people aren't.

We stopped at another strip of little plywood shops that sold beef jerky and a lot more jewelry. There was one little kid who was playing with a piece of wood on a string, and he looked ecstatic about it.

We looked up later why they Navajo are so poor, and apparently it is because they didn't really buy into the casino scene until 2004, and even then they don't have any big ones. They consider poverty as not measured in any material or monetary way, but in whether or not one has family.

They were awesome, and we kicked ourselves for buying anything in the stores. If you ever go through the Navajo Nation, don't buy the jewelry in stores. You can find all of the same stuff from their little stands, for cheaper, and I like to think all the money goes directly to them instead of some middleman.

***

We completely blew through the south rim. I mean, seriously, we entered the park and all of a sudden we were at the village at the end. I have no idea what happened. We were trying to go fast to make time to get to Sedona, but I think even if we weren't it would have happened anyway.

The first viewpoint was desert view. It has a tower, but they were working on repaving the road so it sort of ruined pictures.

The reason the south rim is more tourist-ridden is because the views are way better and there are more of them, but it just adds another level of I-don't-understand-what-I'm-looking-at.

We wandered off to find a rock to add to our contraband pile and found more cacti instead!

There was another viewpoint that had a rock wall where people had signed their name. Ang found Michelle Phan written on one of the stones, which is a girl that does youtube makeup instructions. We sat Pandarilla on Michelle.

PETA/DSS would probably take Pandarilla away if they knew how many times we forgot her in the car with the windows up.

This viewpoint was better lit or less hazy than the rest of them.

And, uh, this was another viewpoint. I think there were some ruins to the left at some point. They were lame. But the building was interesting, at least.

And then there was a moose.

Moose's ass, more like.

Can you tell yet that I have no idea what to say about the canyon? I've got nothing. Back when we were Heceta Head Lighthouse, the geologist that was at the breakfast table told us that the average time spent by people visiting the canyon was 20 minutes. At the time, we balked, "How can you only spend 20 minutes?!" but now I can understand. It's just...overwhelming. I believe it is one of the seven wonders of the world (depending on which version of the wonders), and it deserves the title. You need to see it at least once in your life, and you will probably agree with me, and also not be able to find words for it. It takes 4 hours to drive from one rim to the other. 4 hours. It is insanely massive. I'm tempted to google what other people have said about the canyon to pretend I'm a better wordsmith, but there you have it. The Grand Canyon.

Not sure what happened, but the sky wasn't actually purple.

It is also filled with tourists from all over the world. I wanted to ask someone to take our picture at Mathers Point, which is the big daddy of views. I couldn't find a single english speaking person in the sea of tourists, other than this guy:

But I was too afraid to ask.

At the entrance to Mathers Point, there is an engraving in the ground that indicates all of the Native American tribes that call the Grand Canyon home.

We started to walk back to the car, when I spotted an old man with his wife. He was wearing a Veterans hat, and he took our picture for us:

Derp. Derp.

Random quotes:

We mailed a couple of postcards to our boyfriends, and when we went to the dropbox, there was an old british man standing there looking confused.
"Excuse me, how do I send this pistcard?" (yes, he said pistcard, not postcard.)
"Oh, you just pull this part down and put it on top and then it will drop down when you close it."
"Oh, I am too stupid."
We didn't think to look at the time, but I hope they had stamps on them. International stamps.

Ang, reading park brochure: "One canyon, two rims? Of course there are two rims. Otherwise it would be a fucking cliff!"

Big Hole in the Ground: North Rim

The drive to the north rim of the Grand Canyon was surprising. It was a forest. We expected desert. Then again, nothing about the southwest was what we expected, so I suppose we shouldn't have been surprised. But, seriously, it's a forest. A pretty tall, lush forest at that. You totally expect it to be flat and deserty because all of the Grand Canyon pictures you see show a rocky hole in the ground. Nope.

We drove into the park and turned into the first campground we saw, which happened to be a mile from the rim. I think it may have been the only campground, actually. We chose to do the north rim because we know at this point we can't stand touristy parks, and the north rim is known to be far, far less touristy. We talked to the guy manning the registration booth and found out that their group sites did not sell, so they break them up into 3 parties per group site and sell them for $18. Score! Also, I'm pretty proud that we've managed to get campsites at places that are known to sell out months and months in advance totally on the fly.

We parked, chose our spot in the woods, flung up the tent, and then I demanded we go see the canyon NOW, even though we were going to have to go back in a couple of hours for the sunset. The north rim has one trail: Bright Angel.

We drove the mile to the canyon, and parked at the Grand Canyon Lodge, which is actually quite a nice setup. There are log cabins spread out on the rim, with fancy large main building overlooking the canyon. They even have an area where it's just a huge row of Adirondack chairs on the edge of the canyon for people to lounge around on. What isn't nice is that THE DAMN FRENCH FOLLOWED US. They must have had a caravan of caravans. I don't even know why we hated them so much. Is that racist or something? I don't know. I don't care. They're obnoxious. And loud. We eventually could pick them out by how they walked and dressed.

I don't really have words for the Grand Canyon itself. You look at it, but your brain can't really comprehend what it is looking at, so you don't find it as nice as, say, Bryce. At least with Bryce you can register distances and size, but not so with the Grand Canyon. You walk over, stare at the hole in the ground, and don't really know what to do. It is incredibly hazy, which is apparently because it sucks in the pollution from all the states (yes, states. Not towns.) around it. We walked the .4 miles to the end of the trail, and climbed up on the rocks to gaze out.

I told Ang I didn't really know what to say about the Grand Canyon, and she thought about it before responding, "It's big."

Look again, I'm in there!

We sat there for a while, then started heading back. Bright Angel was a downhill slope, so you have to walk uphill back to the lodge. It sucked. I'm way too out of shape for that crap, and since we just ran out there we didn't have water or anything and it's at 8,000+ feet in elevation and dry.

$50 fine? No problem. Where's my crowbar?

 We made it, and then went back to the campsite to grab my camera and pack a backpack with water, snacks, and wine. We wanted to try out the Angelica wine from Napa to see if all of our wine was actually toast. We were expecting it to at least still be drinkable. It was awful. Awful, awful, awful. And since I can't tell good wine from crappy wine, for me to say it was awful is saying something. We were beyond disappointed. It meant that not only was this wine bad, ALL the wine was bad. I know we keep talking about this, but it is easily the lowest point in the road trip, by far.

Near the general store we came across this guy:

A white tailed squirrel?! The lady nearby got all excited that it was this really rare breed that was only found here, on the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, and nowhere else in the world. He was moving too fast for Ang to get a good picture, but not fast enough apparently. He was roadkill later that night.

We went back to the rim, and settled in for the sunset. It had rained that day, so the clouds were low and the sunset wasn't as spectacular as I imagine it could have been. Still, it was, of course, gorgeous.

I was dreading the walk back. I was right to worry, however for different reasons, because we spent the whole thing dodging and screaming and running and ducking and covering. Why? The bats. What they don't tell you about the Grand Canyon is that the whole trail has bats, and they're out to get you. Immediately after climbing down, the first one swooped towards us. We weren't actually expecting it to swoop into our faces, so queue the screaming and ducking. After that, it was nonstop. And it may have even been the same bat. One brushed Ang's ear, and she grabbed my arm at one point when I leapt out of the way and nearly fell into the canyon (the trail is tiny and rocky and one person has to stand aside to let another pass).

We made it back to the campsite, bought some coffee from the grouchy, angry general store workers who were pissed to have to actually serve people, and sat on the deck to blog for a while. By the way, the reason we're so slow with the updates is because it takes waaaay longer than we thought to write these and prep pictures, nevermind sit at a random McDonalds (all of them have free wifi) for two hours that we don't have to get all the pictures uploaded.

The next morning, we woke up at 5:30, and refused to get out of the tent for 5 minutes. Then 5 more minutes. Wait, is it light out? No, it can't be...the manager said sunrise wasn't until past 6. Oh, duh, we should have asked when DAWN was. Fuck! GO, GO, GO.

We ran to the canyon still in pajamas to get our pictures of the sunrise. We made it just in time, before the sun made an appearance.

We made the third trek back out of Bright Angel, fearing bats the whole way. As we packed up, we noticed that one of our neighbors was from Massachusetts. Turns out they knew Norwell High, and mentioned one of their friends went there. It was after we graduated, but still, small world. They gave us the rest of their windshield wiper fluid, and we replenished our nearly dry stores from constantly wiping dead bug smears off. What is it with bugs instantly adhering to the windshield? Doesn't matter how fast you wipe it off, it's like cement.

Off to the south rim!

The Batmobile

We wanted to rent a little Nissan Versa because we figured a hatchback would be best, I'd rented one before and loved it, it's classified as an economy car, and neither Britt nor I thought we'd be comfortable driving anything much larger.

Renting cars is kind of a crapshoot, so we weren't all too surprised that it wasn't available (although it did break our hearts a little). Instead, the man offered us a Mazda 3. Everything was great until we all realized it didn't have cruise control. Oh, Hell-to-the-no. The Camry nearby had a crack in the windshield, so that was out. I hate Chevy Cruz. But what about...

We named him Alfred.

The car had less than 9000 miles on the odometer when we got it, but already said an oil change was required. As of Friday, 8/31, we've put another 7000ish miles on it, neglected to change the oil, and traveled up and down so many damned curvy mountain roads that the brakes are starting to squeal. We've eaten meals, spilt soda and stank up the inside of the car with dirty feet, beef jerky, Yellowstone-stank and the inevitable aftermath of two people surviving off of coffee and Taco Bell. We've got sand from the Badlands collected inside the gas tank door and along the wheel rims, sand and seashells from the Oregon coast ripening in the trunk, and so many bugs plastered on the front of the car, it looks like we're attempting a new form of art.

Mmmm... tasty...

In addition, we were in a six-car pile up leaving Austin, Texas a few hours ago. Suffice to say, we are (obviously) fine. It was more a tap dance than a pile up. But that gets whole post in its own right. Loss damage waiver high-five! ... We hope.

Making off with (presumably) illegal contraband

Sand Dunes?! I want sand! PINK sand dunes??

*screeching tires, u-turn on major highway*

We're on our way to grand canyon, taking our sweet ass time to do so and stopping at every little waystation and random turnoff we can. Ang saw something on the side of the road and started screaming, "STOP. THE. CAR. TURN AROUND! NOW! I HAVE TO GET OUT! I HAVE TO GO BACK!!"

She lept from the car, and ran to take a picture. She came back and showed me this gem:

"Home of the Ho-Made Pies"

We instantly agreed to get dinner/hoes/pie at this place, and stopped in for lunch. The food was decent, but their selection of souvenirs was lame. I got a magnet. The next place we tried was a zipline. We pulled in, decided it looked sketchy, and high-tailed it in time to see that the zipline just zipped from one side of the highway to the other.

But pink sand! We start driving down this tiny, broken, sandy road with cow crossing signs and cow gates across the road to flatten your tire when you fly over it not knowing it's there. I was sitting there looking out the window going,

"Cactus? cactus? cactus? caaaaaactus? cactus now? do do do cactus time. cactussss? CACTUS! CCCAAACCCTUUUSS TURN THE FUCK AROUND!!!"

We had not yet seen a cactus in the desert, and I was on a mission to find one and capture it and name it George.

CACTUSCACTUSCACTUS - ow! - CACTUS!

His name is George "Popcorn" Paddles. He's somewhere in the backseat now. I don't really know where. After driving and driving and driving on this road we eventually go, "what the fuck? Is this a state park or what? where are the signs and directions and PINK SAND."

As we say this, we see a sign indicating that in 7 miles, there will definitely be a park with pink sand. Really, we swear. 10 miles later, we pull into the entrance, look at the sign saying $6 entrance fee, and yell "oh, eff that," and pull a yewey. Uey? U-ee? WE TURNED AROUND.

On the way out, we ran up a pink sand dune, scooped up sand, and scampered off while Ang yelled "I'm making off with the contraband! I'm making off with the contraband!"

I shoved George "Popcorn" Paddles into a sand bag, pop some holes in it while struggling to get George upright, and threw him in the back of the car. Now I refuse to get anything from the back because there's a cactus in there somewhere.

We started to leave, saw a little dog run into the road, look at us, run off, and then met some, uh, friends:

Got grass? No, seriously, we could use some grass right about now.

And took some sweet pictures of the Utah skyline:

About a hundred pictures were taken as I sang, "Pictures! Picture taking! I am taking the pictures!" A lot of them contain only sky.