Holbrook to Flagstaff

I've just got home after watching some American football. How anyone manages to stay awake for that is beyond me. I mean, it stops every minute while they...discuss something. I watched the same play (?) 8 - eight - times while they discussed stuff (and by they I mean...I'm not sure what I mean. I only know nothing was going on on the pitch (?)). I feel like I've watched slow-mo, fully-clothed, gay soft-porn. There was a lot of fumbling. My God. I have no idea what the rules are but it appears they can do anything. Is that dude jumping to catch the ball? Wait until he's in the air then shove him out the way. From what I gather, every time they drop the ball the game stops. As there's a lot of dropping the ball, the game stops and starts a lot. A lot. What's that about? Why not just pick it up and keep going? I've no idea. Anyway, it was Arizona against San Diego tonight, so it was everywhere. It's probably not over yet. It might not be over until tomorrow they way they were carrying on. Anyway. I'm way ahead of myself...

Holbrook. I should add that Holbrook is on a stretch of Route 66, hence me thinking it's very Route 66. In fact, Arizona has the longest stretch of Route 66. Most of it is now a 6-lane interstate, but there are parts that are still single-lane, and flanked by motels and diners, such as Holbrook. It's really very charming. Anyway, I only woke up once last night, at 3...ish. I managed to fall asleep after a while and didn't wake up until 6.18am! Goodness me. 

I went for breakfast in the motel, and had a boiled egg and the biggest bagel I've ever seen. I also had lots of good coffee. The Americans know coffee, I'll give them that. 

It's rained during the night, and the sky is heavy and grey. I don't mind so much as it's still very warm, and rain always clears the air. I head out at 8.15am towards Winslow. Now, if you're an Eagles fan, you'll know where I'm headed. If you're not, listen to this song. There, on the corner, is a flatbed Ford. It's perfectly kitsch. I'm incredibly aware of myself as I take a photo. Oh well. I'm just a tourist, who am I kidding. I head to a shop and buy something for my unborn son. I know the wife will hate it, but tough. I'm caught up in the Americana of it all. 

I walk down the street and again, find myself pulled towards a diner even though I only ate breakfast an hour or so ago. I really only want coffee, but end up having bacon and eggs. And coffee. It's lovely. From there I hit La Posada hotel. This, I'm told, is considered the pinnacle of southern architecture. It's really very nice, but I'm afraid I'm not the right audience. What is interesting though is it's history; it's a Harvey hotel, run by Harvey girls. You see, back in the 1920s, the railroads ruled America. Fred Harvey, an Englishman no less, realised that there weren't any decent food and sleep stops at the many stations across the country, so set about changing that. He opened up restaurants and hotels in 12 states (I think), that to begin with were staffed by men, as was the norm back then. However, the men soon proved to be too drunk/rude/messy, so he took the incredibly drastic decision to hire women. This turned out to be a very good idea, and the women, a really rather unique group back then, became known as Harvey Girls. La Posada was said to be the finest of Harvey's hotels, and one of the most popular. Winslow was a real hub back then. Everything Arizona had to offer was (is) relatively close by, and both rail and road (66) passed through. It was a completely different place. Although it was only open for 27 years, everyone who was anyone stayed there, like Shirley Temple, Charles Lindbergh (who also designed Winslow's airport), Bob Hope, Howard Hughes, John Wayne, President Franklin Roosevelt, President Harry Truman, Albert Einstein, Amelia Earhart, and The Crown Prince of Japan. Phew. It's all pretty cool, and yeah, it's not hard on the eyes either. I feel like I should also mention the architect, Mary Elizabeth Jane Colter, who was also pretty revolutionary at the time, given that she was an architect and a woman to boot. All these women. 

A room of sorts

So after a bit of wandering, I hit the road. I'd spent about two hours at Winslow, far more than I originally intended, so I wasn't really sure where I was going or what I should do. I ended up heading towards Second Mesa in the Hopi (an American Indian tribe) Reservation.

I've not been here before and it's very beautiful. Long roads. Really, really long, straight roads. Not much going on at all, but all the more lovely for it. 

By the time I hit the T-junction that gives me the possibility of heading straight to Flagstaff, my ultimate destination for today, or Page in the other direction, I've decided to head to Page. After all, there's burgers and Horseshoe Bend, and who doesn't want to see Horseshoe Bend? First though, I pay Slackers my annual visit. It’s a nondescript place and you really wouldn’t expect much out of it, but aren’t the best places often like that? For three years now this place has served me the best burger I’ve had. It’s big, it’s juicy, it’s simple, and by God, is it tasty. I had a twist on my usual half-pound cheeseburger with fries, and went for the half-pound cheeseburger with bacon – no fries. It was delicious, and over too quickly.

I head on to Horseshoe Bend, which is every bit as wonderful as ever, and after a walk and some photos, I find a nook and sit for a while. It's very peaceful, and while still overcast, very warm. I love it here. It's got to be one of my favourite places on earth. I find it very similar to - this will sound weird - some places on the west coast of Scotland. I think it has to do with the emptiness of it all. The aloneness. One might be hot, dry and in the American desert, the other, cold, mostly wet, and on the coast of Scotland, but ultimately, the feeling is the same. They give you space to think, which is always a good thing. I think lots of things, mostly about up and coming son, and how life will be afterwards. 

Strata, dude

But, there's only so much thought in me and I soon realise that if I want to get to Flagstaff at a decent time, I should get going. So I do. Through flat plains, red rock and green forests, and all the way to lovely Flagstaff.

It's great here, it really is. It's so damn chilled. The beer scene is outstanding. I bought 6 craft beers for $10. That's 57 DKK, or £6.21. You can barely get a bottle or a pint for that much back home. I had to get six because of the price. You know how it is. Anyway, people are friendly, the buildings are great, and beer is cheap. Did I say that already?

I eat, watch some NFL, have a wander, and here I am. I'm staying up a bit later tonight as I can have a lie in tomorrow. I'm going to explore Flagstaff tomorrow, something I've been wanting to do for years. Lots to see and do. 

Until then. 

Arizona won, by one point. 

Page to Monument Valley

Today, today, today. Where to start. Last night, that’s where. You’ll be thrilled to hear that Slackers holds on to its number one spot for best burger in the world. It’s a long way to go for the best burger in the world, but it’s worth it. Trust me.

I also think I saw God in a sunset – or the bit of sunset that I saw from behind Slackers. No wonder people get all religious.

Sitting outside the motel office to use the net, I bump into the owners, Pamela and Brady (of Red Rock Motel). Brady greets me with a ‘howdy’ and I like him instantly. He tells me how this district is the historic district of Page, and the many motels that line the streets are the original buildings that housed the workers who built the dam. I think this is extremely cool. In fact, if you look at old photos of Page, you can see the buildings that are now the motels. Pamela and Brady have a nice dog too. We chat about England and he shows me a photo of him doing muddy motorbike things in the UK somewhere. It looks very cool. I recommend the motel if you’re ever in the area. You know, for or a burger or whatever.

On to today. Up at 6.30, breakfast in bed (why not) and a Skype with the missus in blazing sunshine at 8.30. I then go off to see the John Wesley Powell Museum in Page, which is full of information about Glen Dam and John Wesley Powell, a professor, a soldier, and an explorer of the American West. He was the first man to navigate a passage through the Grand Canyon. He also only had one arm when he did this. He certainly was an interesting chap. There was also bits about lots of other people who have braved the rough waters of the river, long before the dam tamed the flow. Impressive stuff.

Clever guy, Buzz

I look at some dinosaur footprints and realise it’s the first time I’ve ever seen some. I don’t take a photo and I’m not sure why. I hit Walmart for a towel, then head out to Horseshoe Bend as it’s close by. It’s every bit as beautiful as I remember. My stomach flips as I get close to the edge, and think about how it’s only sandstone I’m standing on, the very same sandstone you can break and crush with your fingers. I move back. I’ve put on weight.

The walk, while not long, is tiring. Although only 10.30, the sun is going for it and I develop a lovely sweat patch on my vest. The good thing is I'm far from the only one. Back in the car, I amp up the AC. Time to swim.

I head out to Lake Powell. There’s a small dirt road just before the dam which leads to a car park. Climb down rocks and you’ll probably find a stretch of red sand or white rock you can call your own private beach. I jump and swim, but get scared easily by the blackness so kick around in the shallows. It’s bloody lovely. I stare up at the dam and wonder if anyone is staring back.

I was here last year with Thilde and Nikolaj, and had hoped to find the same spot but of course, with the water level changing constantly, it’s nigh on impossible. I must be around the same area but just can’t recognise it.

After an hour, I’ve dried off, and I head back to the car. My flip-flops break. I buy new ones, then hit the road. I haven’t got an address for the hotel I’m staying at but know what roads I need and it’s only 2 hours away so go old skool and leave the GPS in the glove box. 

I drive and drive through nothingness. I hit a short but intense rain storm which thankfully helps clear the sticky mess of dead insects from my windscreen. I hit something huge the other day and while the rain helps get rid of most of the other gunk, my wipers just smear big dead bug all over the place.

Suddenly, I see what must be the start - if you can call it that - of Monument Valley.

I keep thinking this for the next hour, until we round a corner and there it is, no mistake. I’m so excited I actually whoop out loud. I can’t believe I’m finally here.

The hotel is superb. I check in, head to my room, head back out and ask about another night. All booked up, she says. I was expecting it. I booked this room about 4 months ago. I go back to my room, but 10 minutes later the phone rings. The man behind me in the queue at reception wanted to check out early – would I like to take his room? She says she’s never had that happen before, I take it as a sign and take the room. I’m blissfully happy.

I do a wander around the hotel, sit on the wall, and look out over the valley. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful in my whole life. I didn’t realise how important it was for me to get here, although I'm not sure why exactly. It’s so indescribably peaceful and majestic, it’s almost too much. Although the view remains the same as it has done for centuries, it changes every second with the light. I look out and wish my wife was with me.

I wander some more, and wonder how on earth I’ll ever get a photo that conveys even in the slightest how incredible it is here.

Tomorrow I have the whole day to explore. I’ll do the drive, and maybe get on a horse.

Tonight, if I open the doors to my balcony and look up, I can see nothing but stars. I’m instantly jealous of the families that still call the valley home. How wonderful.

I knew it’d be beautiful, I knew I’d love it, I just didn’t expect it to be quite so powerful. 

Tomorrow, I’ll watch the sun rise. I should go to bed.