Page

I’m frustrated by the lack of internet. Things are piling up.

But in the big picture – not even that much bigger – I know it doesn’t matter, especially after a day like today.

My alarm went off at 5.45. Ouch. But not that much ouch as I know what’s in wait, and it’s one of the highlights of my trip. After a quick but substantial breakfast in my ‘kitchenette’, I head to the meeting point. We are briefed, we are loaded on to what looks just like a prison bus, and we are transported to the Glen Dam. We have to have all our stuff in clear plastic bags as the area is under Homeland Security (it never used to be. The local kids used to use the tunnel we head down to get to the river). We head into (bracketed) said tunnel and we go down and down and down. It’s so dark the full beams have trouble penetrating. At last – light. We arrive at the base of Glen Dam. It looms up over us like some kind of monolith. It’s breathtaking. There’s enough concrete to build an 8 lane highway, 4 inches thick, from here to Chicago. That’s quite a lot. We are loaded on to rafts, and off we set. I should point out this isn’t rafting in the sense that most people think of it. This is flat water floating down the river. It was serene and beautiful, not rough and adrenaline pumping.

We glide gently down the river, getting sore necks from looking up.

Birds – eagles, herons and Ospreys – soar above and around us. The scale is absolutely impossible to grasp. We slip by sheer walls of up to over a kilometre high, but they look as if they’re just a few hundred metres. It’s impossible to imagine. A bit like when you first visit the Grand Canyon – it’s so big you can’t comprehend it. I still can’t.

We push on past fishermen and women, pulling rainbow trout like there’s no tomorrow. It’s really quite chilly in the shadows. There’s a cool wind as we come around corners, but as the sun peeks over the top, we’re warmed and as I gaze into the river I’m tempted to just roll overboard. We hit a beach, and check out some ancient carvings on the wall. No one knows what they mean but they’re lovely. The water is just 8 degrees centigrade, but someone jumps in and then gets back out. We load back up and head on to what I was looking forward to – Horseshoe Bend. I saw the bend from the top last year. It’s just incredibly beautiful. Just as much so from the river.

I speak to an English woman whose sister was here last year. She saw an Osprey swoop down and pluck a fish from the river, only to be attacked mid-air by a Bald Eagle. The fish fell to the river and the birds continued to fight. We didn’t see that.  

Due to a road collapse (that’s the 89) we can’t go the usual route down to Lee’s Ferry (the drive back back would take 4 hours instead of the 45 minutes on the 89), so just after the bend, we turn around and I get to see it all over again. Fine by me. We cruise past it and I stare and stare and stare. I ask our guide how many accidents happen – there are no fences at the top of the gigantic wall that looks down over the river. He’s been working on the river for 14 years and was born and raised in Page, but only recalls two. Not bad. Maybe people aren’t so daft.

The news is on in the background now, and there’s a warning of a dust storm in Prescott. That would have been pretty cool to see. There’s also some footage of a trial. That’s just weird.

Anyway. We arrive back, load back on to the prison bus, and head back. A quick lunch (all provided by Colorado River Discovery and really quite good!), and I find directions in my named lunch bag for the next part of the day. I hit home first to butter myself in factor 30 and then head out to Hidden Canyon Kayaks. Some total dudes welcome me and I sign, as I seem to be doing a lot, forms saying that if I die, it’s no one’s fault but my own.

We head out to Lake Powell and get in our canoes. Not kayaks. I’m terrified I’ll burn to death and continue to plaster factor 30 all over myself. We set out to Lone Rock. A big rock – I mean big, America big – in the middle of the lake. Then we move on to a small canyon where we get out. The boys jump off rocks, I climb them. The view is beyond belief. How is there so much space? How do places like this exist? I’m flabbergasted by nature.

We pile back in and set out for another canyon. The water makes amazingly odd holes in the wall. I can only think of the insides of bones. I chat to a guide about waves on the lake. They can get huge – 6 feet. He and the other guide have had to be rescued. Twice. The weather here is fickle.

We head back to the beach, it’s a long slog back, but thankfully there is cloud on the horizon. A man announces he’s renouncing his Atheism when the clouds finally cover the sun. I join him.

We hit the cars, I hit a food mart, I hit the beer section. I get home, I sit outside and realise that I was quite paranoid about burning but it’s nothing but a good thing. I crack a beer (Odell Brewing IPA, really very good) and sit outside, planning my next few days.

Tomorrow night is my last booked night. I’ve had to be in certain places at certain times but that ends after tomorrow. I’m looking forward to that – it’s when things really open up. I think I’ll head to the Four Corners and stand in Arizona, New Mexico, Utah and Colorado at the same time. I’ll head to New Mexico to revisit White Sands. I might get a bit lost.

Right now, I’m heading out to Slackers. I had the best burger of my life there last year, and I’m going back for another one. Here’s hoping I won’t be disappointed.

Here’s to redundancy. Cheers. 

Flagstaff to Page

It’s been another exhausting yet brilliant day. I’m in bed right now, and have no internet. I didn’t last night either, at least, not good enough to upload photos and a blog post. Gosh darn it, America.

Well, let’s see. The day started out with a walk to La Bellavia for breakfast. Eggs and bacon and a big mug of coffee. Then I walked up to the railroad tracks that traverse Flagstaff and sat and waited. I was determined to recreate a photo I took in 1999. See below.

I waited and waited then decided to go find some water. Needless to say, as I wandered off, I heard a train approaching. I literally ran back, only to discover it was coming from the other direction. So I wandered off again. And again, a train came – from the right direction – but this time I couldn’t make it back in time. Frustrated but determined, I plonked myself down and waited. I read my Lonely Planet. I looked at empty Flagstaff. I was just beginning to realise that what I was doing was a bit daft when bingo – along came the BNSF. Not nearly as good, but I'm pleased enough. 

For some reason this made me incredibly happy and I bounced off back to the hotel to pick up my bags and hit the road. Which I did. My plan was to hit Cameron Trading Post (there’s a lovely bridge), then Marble Canyon (lovely bridge), Grand Canyon North Rim (lovely br – view), then potter on to Page (best burgers in the world). I took my time today. I’m getting to the Arizona I really love. The red rocks, pink cliffs and skies so blue it’s hard to believe. Sometimes I look at the view and just can’t believe that what I’m looking at is completely natural. Sounds daft, but just look at the colours. How can you not fall in love with views like this?

 Marble Canyon proved to be rather good too. I’ve never been here before, so that was exciting. Saw some Californian Condors too.

I drove for hours along some of the most beautiful cliffs and rocks I’ve ever seen. It makes me so excited for Monument Valley.

This is a house built on to/under a rock. Cliff dwellers, they’re called. Not anymore, but they were. Big rocks rolled down the cliff face, and people just build their homes on to them. It was cool, robust and cheap. Not bad.

Then the climb started. The highest viewpoint (Imperial Point) of the Grand Canyon is at the North Rim. It’s over 2,742 metres up, so it’s quite a climb. Suddenly, the pine trees that cover, completely cover, the Kaibab Plateau, surround me and the air is thick with the smell of them. It’s almost delicious – lush even. I roll down the window and gulp it in.

A couple of hours later, and I’m there. It’s later than I had hoped, but so what. I walk, I stare, I look enviously at the log cabins perched on the edge. I’m struck by how empty it is. If you’ve ever been to the South Rim, you know how busy it is. Hundreds of people, all desperate to get a good look, all stopping at the same points – it’s enough to make you not want to go. It’s changed so much every time I’ve gone, and that’s partly the reason I decided to skip it and go north instead. There’s also the obvious fact that I’ve never done the north so it was about time. I’m glad I did. I’d say the views easily match, if not rival, those at the South Rim, and the solitude make it all the more striking.

Unfortunately, there’s never enough time (one day I will do a rim to rim hike), and I peel my eyes off the sheer drops and head back to the car. I realise that I’m going to be getting to Page much later than hoped, never mind the fact that the 89 is still closed, and the recently paved 89 T is only open in daylight hours. This means a loop around into Utah and coming into Page from the north. Another 45 minutes to the journey.

By the time I roll across the Glen Bridge, I’m virtually running on fumes, the sky is black, and I’m ready for bed. Check in, hit the supermarket, find out I was given the wrong code for the internet, but it’s too late – I’m in bed.

It’s been one hell of a day. Tomorrow, I hardly drive. If I’m unlucky, I’ll be in the car for an hour, max. In place of 4 wheels, I’ll be on a raft, and then a kayak. Colorado Rive and Lake Powell, here I come. 

The Humble Cheeseburger

I'm a burger fan, a big burger fan. I could, and have done, eat them every day for a week or two (I'd like to point out that this was while on a road trip in the US. I feel that excuses me). But to be more precise, I'm a simple food fan. I like the basics, the basics done well. You know what I mean; real food, hearty food, food that fills me up. I'm not too bothered by what it looks like as long as it tastes good. You'd think the cheeseburger should fit in here quite well, yet the problem today is that it so rarely does.

I've been trying to find a great burger place in the city I live in (Copenhagen, Denmark) but I'm yet to find it. Sure, I can find some decent restaurants, but nothing that has made me go back for seconds solely based on how good it was. The best cheeseburger I've ever had in my life (so far) was at Slackers, a burger place in Page, Arizona. I had a ½ pound cheeseburger and it was so good I could have cried. Succulent, simple and incredibly tasty. If you're anywhere remotely near Page, go. Here's a picture of it. It's a thing of beauty.

Of course you can find succulent burgers in every city, you can find tasty burgers, but simple? That's where it gets tricky. 

A good cheeseburger should be a good, juicy beef patty, a lightly toasted but still soft sesame bun, a slice of cheese (Swiss, American or Cheddar - nothing too powerful), a leaf or two of lettuce, pickles (you can put tomatoes in if you want, but I find they make it too wet) and finally, a dollop of ketchup (and maybe mustard). Simple and straightforward. So why is it that restaurants today seem to be more focused on what they can do with the burger rather than just making a good one?

You get cheeseburgers with fried eggs in them, or Applewood smoked cheddar and jalapenos, deep fried cheese, truffled liver parfait, caramelised onions, fois gras, and cheeseburgers that you can't eat with your hands - and what's the point of that? Is it even still a cheeseburger? A 'cheeseburger' that needs a wooden stick through the centre to keep it from falling over is not a cheeseburger. I don't want a cheeseburger than has so much filling that I have to dismantle it to eat it with a knife and fork. I don't want a cheeseburger that has mounds of various sauces inside it which dribble out all over me. I don't want a cheeseburger that has a name I can't pronounce, and I certainly don't want a cheeseburger that has a bun so crunchy I might as well suck on some razor blades. 

These are not cheeseburgers. They are some twisted form of beef...cake, created in the minds of people who think the humble cheeseburger is not good enough. Don't get me wrong, I understand the need to experiment, and all those fillings/toppings/etc probably taste great, but we're missing out on is, in the simplest terms, a cheeseburger. What happened to just making the simplest thing, really, really well?

If there is good burger to be had in Copenhagen, tell me. But don't say Halifax. Or Cocks and Cows.