It is against my religion as well as my princicples to get up this early again, but a 7 am departure time has the not insignificant benefit of us riding off to Grand Canyon in cool weather. Both I and the MZ like it, and at our destination the temperature is 82 F/28 C, a breeze making it the perfect weather to watch this wonder of nature. And it is truly a wonder. Sorry Atlas Mountains, you were beautiful, but be glad I saw you before I saw this.
I walk for miles long the southern rim, again and again being drawn to the very edge, sometimes moved to tears as I just sit on a rock and take in the sight. I can somehow deal with the size of it, as I see the Colorado River a full mile below, but not the timescale of the two billion (milliarder) years it took to shape this. Part of the walking path has time markers of mere millions of years, yet they too remain in the very abstract.
Guess this place could only be better if I were a hiker, rather than a motorcyclist. Numerous trails lead down towards the river, and people do indeed spend weeks walking just part of the length of this valley. I ask a guide if he ever hears people claim there are places even more beautiful than this. "Oh yeah, all the time", he laughs. But why? Maybe the Mariner Valleys on The Red Planet can trump this, but it'll be a good while before we go check that out.
Lots of Chinese tourists come too; by bus, by cars and by motorhomes. Like Americans visiting Europe were once, and later the newly affluent Russians were, the Chinese are noisy as hell. But then the next batch or generation will probably have learned to behave like guests. (In all fairness, these two were quiet ones).
Riding off again towards Cameron, I notice a sign warning against cougars or mountain lions. Well ok, other signs said it was illegal to feed the animals, so I'll be careful. Later the desert landscape takes over, Navajos are selling their crafts and buffalo jerky alongside the road, and in due course I make it to The Painted Desert. Or rather, I skirt it, like I just skirted the Navaho reservation, but the formations and the colours are stunning all he same. In the evening there's a strong wind picking up, just like in the California desert, so I'm leaning up against it and struggling in 4th gear.
I never really got along with the GoPro thing that Dave Jensen lent me back in L.A., so today I tried my camera instead. You be the judge....
In Tuba City (love those town names....) I check into a Hopi-operated hotel, despite that their pricing policy contains an element of revenge for past & present injustices. I'm simply too worn out to try my luck another two hours up the road. This place is not the only game in town, but even at $150 for a room, it is still the cheapest.
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