Monument Valley to Canyon De Chelly

Interesting day today. Not quite what I had expected.

It started well with another beautiful sunrise over the valley.

I ate breakfast (bacon sandwich!) then sat online for a short while before heading out to fill the car up and make my way to Four Corners, a landmark in the Navajo nation that sits right on the junction of Arizona, New Mexico, Utah and Colorado. The idea was to leave the highways behind and hit the back roads once again. The route is mentioned in Lonely Planet and is described as, in dry weather, suitable for a two-wheel drive sedan.

It’s not.

I’ve got the route marked on my huge Arizona map book, which features all the unpaved roads, dirt roads and so on, and I’ve also got the very basic, quarter page description in Lonely Planet, although that doesn’t help at all.

I leave Monument Valley slowly, taking in as much of it as I can, and fill up with petrol. For some reason the flow doesn’t stop automatically and petrol flows over the outside of the car. I wonder if this is a problem but am fairly sure it’s not. I head out and leave the valley behind me. It’s the classic view. I consider myself lucky to have been there, but know I'll be back.

I’m looking for a road that isn’t marked, and take a guess. My GPS says I guessed right, I think. I see a road marker, and I’m on the right road. The soil is beautifully red and I’m the only car in sight. Monument Valley is stretched out beside me and I’m very happy. The road is flat and just the right amount of dusty to throw up a very picturesque cloud behind me. It’s easy going.

It gets worse. The sand gets deeper and there are some pretty big bumps. Thankfully no mud. I go slow and it’s OK.

But then I think I’m lost. My GPS keeps wanting me to go back to the highway and I keep ignoring it. I see wooden road markings and I’m sure (ish) that I’m on the right path. I seem to be driving for much longer than I expected. I start climbing up and up and realise that I’m driving up Comb Ridge, and Monument Valley is splayed out below. I’m still the only car and it feels so wonderfully private. The description in Lonely Planet mentions driving up the ridge, so I feel confident I’m on the right path. GPS catches up and yes – it’s all good. I’m feeling good and plough on. But then things get funny again. The GPS tells me to turn when there are no roads. I presume they’ve been washed away or even blown away for that matter. I push on. I get to the top of a large hill and after going over some very, very rocky ground, find myself on a huge flat expanse of rock. There’s no road. I back up. I think I saw another track a short while back. I turn down that road and after a minute end up in exactly the same place. This is the moment I start thinking I’ve made a mistake. I have reception on my phone, an apple, and about a litre of water. The GPS says I’m just 6km away from a highway, so why can’t I see it or hear it? There is absolutely nothing around me. I get out of the car and walk about. I walk forward about 50 metres and see what could be a track. I’ve got nothing to lose so move very, very slowly over the rock and down the track. After a few minutes and lots of ‘recalculating, recalculating’ the GPS catches up and yes, I’m on track. But it’s not an easy track. Deep, deep sand and huge rocks litter the way and I inch forward. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see something flash. It’s the sun reflecting off cars. My heart jumps and I am very, very relieved. I tell myself that there will be no more back roads.

What road?

As I hit the tarmac, I eat my apple and gulp down water in celebration. I know wife and mother won’t be impressed with latest adventure so feel guilty. The drive that I expected to take an hour or so, had taken three, but not too much longer. I look forward to getting out of the car and visiting Four Corners.

I visit Colorado. It’s my first time in the state and it’s quite nice. 

There’s not much at the monument, so I get back in the car and head towards Ship Rock, an almighty rock in the middle of nowhere that really doesn’t look like it belongs there. For some reason I don’t take a photo and just move towards Canyon de Chelly. My GPS has the hump with me and keeps trying to take me in odd directions so I turn her off. My map doesn’t help as I’ve only got Arizona and now I’m in New Mexico. I feel oddly uncomfortable not having a guide of any sorts.

I don’t feel better until I’m back in Arizona and can look at my map. Ah, paper maps.

I drive and drive and drive. I go up, and up and suddenly I’m surrounded by green and the sweet smell of flowers. The air cools and the road curves and curves almost back on itself until I reach the top. It’s a completely different place. Hard to believe it’s Arizona. It’s almost Swiss. Then I go down, and down and it starts to look more like the Arizona I know.

Finally, I see the first signs for Canyon de Chelly.

I take the north rim drive in, and pull over to look. It’s an incredible view. Like no other canyon. Huge, but small enough to grasp. I strike up conversation with a Navajo couple who are selling jewellery and composing flute music. We talk about the culture and the pride. I tell him how angry it made me to learn about the vote and citizenship issue, and he talks about his grandparents, and the history of his people. It’s passionate and sad, and I want to know more. He tells me I look like Macaulay Culkin and I make my exit.

I head on through winding roads and finally end up at the visitor centre, and a small hotel which thankfully has a room. I check in, then head back out to do the longer south rim drive. I start from the far end and work my way back.

What a stunning canyon it is. The floor is so green, almost European, it’s easy to imagine people farming and living there – although it doesn’t take a lot of imagination as Navajo families still do live there and work the land. It’s beautiful.

If you look closely at the middle of the photo you can see houses built directly in to the walls of the canyon. Remains of similar dwellings dot the canyon. They must have been so sure-footed.

I work my way down the rim drive, and am really quite entranced by the beauty and silence of the canyon. I only see about 6 other people the entire time. It’s so peaceful. Why more people don’t visit, I don’t know. I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. It’s a place you could spend a lot of time. The mouth of the canyon is just by the visitor centre, so it’s no problem to imagine the first people wandering in, past rock walls of just 30 feet, going deeper and deeper until walls 1000 foot high surround them and the valley floor. Water, grass, trees, animals and birds – it’s verging on tropical. Life must have been beautiful. You know, until the Spanish and US government. 

I’ve not eaten since breakfast and suddenly realise I’m about to die. I head back to the hotel and inhale some food. The waitress calls me ‘hon’ the whole time.

I’m in my room by 8pm and thrilled about this. I get to have a couple of hours doing nothing in bed. I feel like it’s been a long, long time.

Tomorrow I head to the Petrified Forest and on to Alpine. I hear they have excellent pie. 

Phoenix to Flagstaff

What a day it has been. But let’s start at the beginning – last night.

Unfortunately, the car I had reserved for this trip, a Wranger Jeep (the only car I saw fit to do this in – bar a Thunderbird), was no longer available. All of them had been recalled due to a safety issue. To be honest, I was already so tired I just didn’t care. I got a good deal on another car, also 4x4, so all was well.

The thunderstorms I was watching from the sky led me all the way to my first stop in Wickenburg, lighting up the sky in the most spectacular way. Booming claps and flashes that outlined the storm clouds – just glorious. I was in bed by midnight.

I slept.

I woke early. Predictable. A quick breakfast, a Skype with the missus, and out to the car it was. The journey to Prescott was just perfect – a clear blue sky, Natalie Maines on the stereo, and quiet, quiet roads; bliss.

With the car to myself, and a whole day to get to Flagstaff, I paid an unplanned visit to a pioneer graveyard in Congress. A perfect start. No information, just very old graves.

I arrive at Prescott to find an arts and craft fair going on. I ask a man with an anvil and hammer if he would help make my new bracelet fit and he was happy to oblige. Only cost me $5.

I buy a t-shirt to help support the families of the 19 firefighters who lost their lives in the recent fires around Yarnell. I passed through the small town on the way. Scorched rocks and charred stumps all around it make for some sobering thoughts. It’s only a small place, so easy to imagine that every family must have been affected in some way.  

A visit to The Palace, Prescott’s oldest saloon, fills me up with cherry pie and coffee, then it was on to Jerome.

I’ve only passed though Jerome once before – last year – and wished we had stopped. It’s the most peculiar town. Perched on the side of a hill, it was a copper mine made up of 15,000 people. In 1955, there were less then 50 people, and today, around 500 artists and building owners make up the population. The buildings are mostly protected, and have mostly gone unchanged (bar safety renovations and paint, etc.). I headed straight to the ghost town and mine, which cost all of $5. Worth every penny!

One thing I really wanted to do this trip was to see a bit more of backcountry Arizona. I knew there were many roads Google Maps didn’t cover, so bought a great big paper map of Arizona, and lo, there was a dirt road that would lead from Jerome to Williams, not far from Flagstaff. It’s name – Perkinsville Road.

I spoke to the girl in the gift shop about the road, how long it would take and what kind of trip it was, and she seemed to think it’d be no problem, which was good to hear (although I should have a full tank and plenty of water, you know, just in case). I headed back to town to eat at one of two restaurants I had marked out (thanks Arizona Highways) only to find one was closed and the other’s kitchen was closed. So I hit the next place I saw, which turned out to be very good (it also had a Foursquare special, which I found slightly amazing). With a full belly and some doubt about whether I was sticking to my agreement of not doing anything stupid, I headed out to hit the back roads. On the way back to the car, I asked some older women about the roads just to get a second opinion. They said that due to the torrential rain the area had been having, getting stuck in the mud was pretty likely. I decided that she was just a worried woman, and thought that if it got too bad – I’d turn back.

Onwards! The first 30 minutes was up a very dusty road, narrow and winding but relatively simple. The drop I could see just below my window was big enough to make me regret the decision already, but, soon it leveled out. Flat and beautiful open plains, and great big storm clouds gathering overhead, just as I passed the first warning sign. I decided the storms were moving away from me, I’m not sure why, and pushed on.

It was pretty hairy in some places, lots of mud, but nothing too crazy, until I rounded a corner and there it was – a washed out road. I had no idea about these roads or how the ground reacted to such amounts of water, so I really thought that was it. I got out. I was pretty annoyed. I poked the water with a stick, not sure why, and was about to get back in and turn around when family in their great big truck arrived behind me. They told me it’d be fine, and they just ploughed right through. It didn’t look that deep. I saw them wait at the bend ahead to see if I got through, I backed up, hit the gas, and boom – through. I wish I had taken a picture of it, but really I was so excited I forgot to. From then on I felt I could do anything. I hit another two or three washed out roads and just went right on through. Mud and water everywhere, but still going strong. The storms that I thought were moving away from me, weren’t, and it wasn’t long before I moved into the rain. Hills started to be rather worrying, sliding all over the place, and I thanked God for four-wheel drive. I really, really needed it. I didn’t manage to take photos as, to be perfectly honest, I was worried that if I stopped, I might not be able to get moving again.

I was just beginning to wish I’d stuck to paved roads, when up ahead, I saw tarmac. Ah, sweet, wonderful tarmac. As soon as my wheels hit asphalt I stopped, got out, and looked back. The car was muddy, the view spectacular, and my mood elated.

Doesn't look as bad as it is. Honest.

30 (flat and paved) minutes later, I arrive in Flagstaff, check into the Hotel Monte Vista (Esther Williams room), and have a cold, well-deserved beer.

As I walked home under a star filled sky from having one of the best pizzas I’ve ever had (check out Pizzicletta if you’re ever in the area), I could feel my eyelids beginning to close. 

Now, I can feel I can’t stay awake much longer. It must be at least 10 

Oh, it turns out Labor Day is America’s May Day. So there you go. 

New York City to Arizona

As is often the case – in fact it may always be so – opportunity presents itself at the most unexpected times. In this case, 5 days into my holiday, I was made redundant. Admittedly, it wasn’t completely unexpected (we knew changes were afoot, and in total, 30 of us got the boot), but it still requires some thought. As said, it wasn’t a surprise, but what I was surprised at was how much thought I had to give it. It was a weird thing to happen while I was on holiday, and as it was immediate, it meant that I had – in effect – nothing to go home for. Ah ha. Opportunity.

I’m on a flight to Phoenix, Arizona right now. That was always meant to be the case. 8 days in New York City, and then a week – for me alone – in Arizona (if you’re wondering why Arizona, I’ll get to that in a bit). The 8 days in New York were spectacular. Thilde had never been before, and although I’ve been twice before, the last time was in 1999. A lot has changed, and not just the city. I’m a completely different person than I was at 21, and as such, my wants for the city had changed radically. I really did consider this a second first time for myself. We stayed in the Lower East Side, and covered a huge amount of the city. Every day started early, and finished pretty early too, thanks to the double-digits of kilometers we covered on foot every day. I’ll admit that 8 days was just enough for me. Sure I could have stayed longer, but while I loved the city and its diversity, its beat and its life, it reminded me of why I moved out of London. Sprawling cities just drain me. So as we moved our way back to our flat to pick up our bags, I was elated to know that I had a week in the beautiful state of Arizona to look forward to. Although, now, it wasn’t just a week, it was two.

When I received the email letting me know that I was one of the 30 to go, Thilde, the wonder she is, said that I should stay in the US for longer. At first I dismissed the idea, but then, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. When would I get a chance like this again? I’m already here – or there – so why not? Delta wanted over $4000 to change my flight, but booking an entirely new journey (with a different airline) – return from Copenhagen to Phoenix – proved to be vastly cheaper. So I did it. Two weeks. Just me and the road.

So why Arizona? Most people asked why when I told them about our summer holiday plans, and I understand. I’ve no idea about exact numbers, but I’m willing to bet the majority of visitors to Arizona pop in to see The Grand Canyon and then pop back out again, and what a shame that is. I’ve not covered all of the state, and I won’t do this time either, but I’ve seen enough each time I’ve been to leave me wanting more. I first visited when I was around 13, again when I was 14, once more at 21, and again last year, at 34. The trip that made the biggest impression on me was when I was 14. I don’t know why, but something about it just hooked me. The colours, the vastness, the heat, the feel of the air and the sounds of the desert – all so very foreign to a girl born and bred in the English countryside, but all so oddly comforting at the same time. 

The later trips, while deserving of pages themselves, only cemented the want to return. So here I am. On my way back, but this time alone. It’ll give me time to see the things I want to see, to stop and stare at the things I want to stare at, when I want to stare at them. It’ll help me get it out of my system, and help me get some perspective on things.

We’re currently flying over and between two storm cells. If I wasn’t the nervous flyer that I am, I’d be thrilled. I’m sure in hindsight I’ll think it was brilliant, and it is brilliantly beautiful, I have to admit. If only I was at the window seat I’d take some photos.

It’s hot in Arizona. I’ve got about 2000 miles, or 3000 km, to cover. I’ve gone through all my back issues of Arizona Highways (yes, I'm a subscriber) and made lists of things I want to see and do. I’ve noted down the ghost towns and old mines along my route. I’ve been waiting for this trip for a really long time, and I’m just about to get started.

I’ll admit I’m a bit nervous, but the excitement far, far outweighs it. Thank God for redundancy. 

Entering Arizona in 1999Oh, a side note is that it's Labor Day Weekend here. I have no idea what that is, but I'm sure I'll find out. Something tells me I can't wear white after it. I might rebel. I am, after all, British.