(Events of Saturday April 18th, blogged Wednesday April 22nd)

The morning dawned sunny and blissful. From my first whiff of the ocean air last night I wondered why I had bothered with anywhere else. The whole time I’ve been traveling, I’ve seen many gorgeous and interesting and inviting locales, but nowhere I really felt like I could call home. And the sight of the sea was a light bulb flash in my brain-I need to be near the water. I love the smells and the sights and the feel of the breeze and just everything about it. So this campground at Carpeneteria Beach may have been the second least rustic I’ve visited (behind that KOA), and Marigold may have been crammed cheek to jowl with dozens of giant hulking RVs (one of which even had a flat screen TV built into the OUTSIDE), but there was a view of the waves, and a short walk to dip my toes in the water, and it was heaven.

And then. I was propped awkwardly in the front seat working on a blog (the glare was too strong to do it outside), when a woman knocked on my window. I rolled it down, and she smiled and handed me this…

A total stranger, with whom I had not previously so much as made eye contact, painted me a rock with a Marigold flower on it! I was (and am) speechless. Blown away. I had noticed her earlier with her head bent over some paints, and thought that was a pleasant way to pass the time on a pretty morning. Pam explained that they came to the beach a lot, so to pass the time she started painting rocks. And eventually she had more than she could ever want, so she started giving them away. And that my crazy campervannie had inspired her. And now I have only the most perfect souvenir ever. It’s a portable decorative reminder of Marigold and the beach and all the amazing people I’ve met or learned of. Plus, every time I show it to someone, I can say “That trip ROCKED!”

And in a blink she was gone, and Annie and I pulled up stakes (wheels?) and drove a bit north to  the dog friendly Arroyo Burro Beach. Where we enbcountered a huge line of cars snaking through the parking lot, and I realized how foolish I was to attempt parking at a beach on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon. And then fate smiled for like the 500th time, and just as all the cars in front of me drove past like the best non handicapped space in the lot, a man pulled out of it and in we zipped!

Now while this may have been a dog friendly beach, I don’t exactly have a beach friendly dog. Annie resisted dipping her paws in the Pacific as strongly as she does the Atlantic.

But she did enjoy sniffing odd things…

Sand woogling…

And hiding under my chair while I read in the sun…

But wait.. what’s that-do you see someone heading toward us Annie?

IT’S MY OLDEST BESTEST FRIEND MARY WHO I’VE KNOW SINCE WE WERE ELEVEN YEAR OLD GOOFBALLS!

Mary lives outside of San Diego now, so we don’t get to see each other that often, but she is one of the greatest women I know, and our friendship always picks up right where it left off-she is my role model!

So-we take a little walk along the beach, and I try to demonstrate Annie’s aversion to the waves, but in true Annie fashion she makes me look foolish by walking right in…

And then, Mary decides to put her purse in my van. And as we walk over, this guy stops and says to Mary “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” (oldest line in the book) They chat a bit, turns out he’s a waiter at the restaurant on the dog friendly beach which… doesn’t allow dogs (???) , and Mary asks him to take this picture of us…

Which is the first time in five minutes he’s even remotely acknowledged there was another human being in the vicinity. He gives me a passing grunt and then carries on with “Do you go out socially?” “How long are you in the area?” “What are your plans while you’re here?” I mean he is GAGA and Mary is CLUELESS and I could have immolated on the spot and he’d not have noticed.

So we finally manage to shake him, and spend an hour or so chatting and laughing and being silly and strolling the beach and watching all of the other dogs frolic happily. And then we get a bit peckish, and it’s growing late and we decide we’d really like to see the sunset, so it really makes sense to have dinner here at the beach restaurant. Where Eli works.

And of COURSE he’s our waiter, and of COURSE we (or one of us at least) gets the most attentive service ever. And he gushes about what a great evening this is and how glad he is to be a part of it and how thrilled he is that we came in. And the food and drinks really are exceptional. Shout out for pork belly and scallops which I never would have thought to combine.

By the end of the meal I need to use the ladies room. Which has a line. Which allows me a perfect vantage point to see Eli SWOOP in and start chatting animatedly with Mary. Before too long I see him scribble something on a piece of paper and hand it to her (as I had long ago predicted would happen, despite Mary’s strong denials.) I pop into the loo, come out, begin to head back to our table when I see him return. I immediately hop back to the front of the bathroom line without thinking. Then the guy, who had been behind me in the coed line earlier jokes “You’re BACK in the bathroom line… and you’re CUTTING??” So I explain about Eli and Mary and how he has been all over her and hasn’t so much as glanced at me all night.  And then the woman who had entered the ladies room after me comes out and says “You’re in the bathroom line AGAIN?!” And by now everyone thinks I have digestive issues or poor bladder control, but it is SO worth it, because Eli goes in for a HUG!

I finally go back and Mary is FURIOUS (not really) that I’ve left her alone to Eli’s advances, bur sacrifices need to be made for the cause of a good blog post. So yes, he asked for her number, and instead of saying she was involved with someone, she asked for his, and then he just said “I’m going to hug you.” and DID it! And did I mention Eli is a good ten years younger than us, and the beach was overflowing with twenty somethings in micro bikinis? But Eli knows quality when he sees it. And despite the best efforts of Allyson and Toni and others, everyone on this trip is getting action but me.

And then as we are crossing the parking lot and headed to Marigold, someone taps me on the shoulder and calls “Hey cutie!” and Mary is all excited until I explain it’s just the (probably gay) guy from the bathroom line being silly. (And quite clever.)

So we head off to the Motel 6, where my ultimate bed mate is waiting.

(Events of Friday April 17th blogged from an overlook on Highway 1 overlooking waves crashing on to rocks on Tuesday April 21st)

So my plan had been to spend another day in the desert just kind of chilling. But you can’t exactly “chill” in the desert.  Which became apparent not long after we woke up. Today was going to be hot. In fact, it’s kind of a fluke that we’d had warm but not oppressive weather thus far in Death Valley. The temps had been much higher last week, but remember that dust storm I got caught in? Those winds brought the levels down to perfect (and also killed a dude on a motorcycle). Unlike most of the National Parks and tourist spots I’ve visited thus far, which are just beginning their popular seasons, Death Valley’s is winding down. When I rented Marigold I had to agree not to take her into  Death Valley between May and September as it’s so rough. SO we spent the first part of the morning doing a lot of this…

And a bit of this…

And even a touch of this…

And as the morning wore on it became clear that it wasn’t going to be fun to spend the day here. There’s no shade anywhere, we’d seen all the main vistas on our agenda, I couldn’t go inside anywhere without leaving Annie to fry, and the lovely evening and majestic stars wouldn’t return for hours. If I was going to fall another day behind, why wasn’t I doing it at the beach?

So we gave a quick glance around the campsite to make sure we were all packed up…

Popped an audio book into Marigold’s yapper, and settled in for a few solid hours of this…

Almost immediately, the audio book and I were at odds. I literally almost tossed the CDs into the sagebrush when the beloved family dog was abruptly struck by a car while trying to save a little girl. I did shout at it quite profanely, giving Annie a startle. It took 20 minutes for them to confirm he would live (sans an eye). After awhile I started getting hungry. And the craving for Chipotle I’d had since back in New Mexico (where it’s not sold in the entire state!) started gnawing away at my brain. As luck would have it, my handy dandy iExit app indicated there was one just off the interstate! And there was. And it had a tiny crowded parking lot, zero shade for the blistering sun, a ginormous line at 2 in the afternoon, filthy restrooms, and possibly the most mediocre steak burrito bowl I’d ever had. I was sitting in the car, eating this disappointing repast, when something caught my eye…

Which seemed to look an awful lot like the weird Ford pickup I’d seen in Bryce about a five days prior…

And it was!! And out popped Nicholas and Hansel, two super cool fellas from Atlanta and Korea respectively who are road tripping to LA in Big Bessy. We swapped stories of life on the road, the crazy dust storm, and the challenges of maintaining any sort of blog or social media in the National Parks. It was great to touch base with folks going through something similar, and if you want to learn more about their journey, they are on Instagram, at BigBessy or you can friend Nicholas Michael Buck on FaceBook where he has a GoFundMe account for their trip which gives his whole fascinating back story. He is going to LA to follow his dream of being a filmmaker. And Hansel came over from Korea just to take part in this wild adventure.

I can’t believe the randomness of us both stopping at this particular restaurant in the same 15 minute window. Once again, fate had smiled on me, and handed me a crappy burrito for a reason. My good mood restored, and the remainder of the burrito bowl chucked, it was off in search of a place that had been intriguing me for months… Elmer’s Bottle Tree Ranch…

It’s basically just what it sounds like, a small patch of land in the middle of the desert where someone, I presume Elmer, has erected dozens of metal poles and decorated them with hundreds of colored glass bottles, and placed them to somewhat resemble a forest.

Apparently Elmer hangs out there sometimes, but when we stopped by the place was deserted. It had an almost spiritual quality as the different colors and lights and all the random other bits of flotsam and jetsam fought for the eye’s attention. It reminded me a bit of a play I saw a few years ago with my friend Jen, The Road to Mecca, in which a woman in South Africa fills her home and garden with sculptures she creates out of ground glass, and mirrors and lanterns, totally creating her own unique haven, even as most of her neighbors turned against her. I love glass, and I love personal artistic statements like this, so the Bottle Ranch gets Two Tongues Out from Annie and me.

Of course, a place as cool as this was located on part of the original Route 66 which I had meant to include more of along my route (and had in the initial version), but parts got cut out when I was trying to make up for my Texas layover and still make my Grand Canyon reservations.

I did take a quick minute to stop off at one little antique/junk store (where I found an amateur painting that I identified as the church as Taos Pueblo for the bargain price of $15) and chatted with the proprietress who had just returned from her OWN whirlwind road trip that was like 10 states in nine days or something insane.

Speaking of insanity. Insanity is me thinking for even a minute that I would be able to outwit my dog. So, it had been a long, hot day. We were headed for the ocean and we still had about 100 miles to go. So I stopped to top off the tank. And while I was doing that, I thought I’d take another futile stab at trying to squeegee the dead bug carcasses off my windshield. In my bare feet. And since Annie was snoozing soundly in the back of Marigold, I didn’t think anything of leaving the driver’s side door open.

Until I turned around to put the squeegee back and there was a little black dog darting across the pavement. I pursued her as far as I could in bare feet (not very), and then had to frantically dash back to the van for my shoes, and to stop the pump, and oh god where is the leash, or never mind I have to goooo! By now I’ve lost sight of her, and did I mention there is a very busy four lane highway immediately adjacent to the station. Well there was. And she very well could be on it. I saw a woman running across the highway towards me lugging a propane tank (?) and asked if she had seen the fugitive. She pointed down a nearby driveway. I ran and called and ran and called and nothing. Behind the houses was a large scrubby field in which I finally spotted that sweet little face. Just standing there, not a care in the world. Until I approached, whereupon off she dashed again, this time towards a lane of houses. I spotted some people outside and started flailing and shrieking STOP THAT DOG!!! in all my haven’t showered for two days, panicked out of my gourd, glory. And this wonderful man disappears around a corner, and comes back with a captive! As I sink to the ground in relief and thank him profusely he holds aloft his half eaten snack and declares: “I think she smelled my tamale.”

Yet again, I am overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity of strangers. He even gave me an old red leash of his to walk her back with. As much as I was warned against and worried about crazies and weirdos and nogoodniks on this trip (and I know they are out there also) it is the warmth and openness and helpfulness of folks that is surrounding me every day, in ways small and large, that is really defining this trip for me.

Once my heart rate returned to semi-normal, we put the pedal to the metal and made it to the coast just as the sun was dropping out of the sky. The stars aligned for me once again and I snagged the very last spot in the campground which just happened to be right on ocean.

So one of us dipped our toes in the Pacific and enjoyed the sunset, while the other…

was confined to quarters.

(Events of Thursday April 16th, blogged on Monday April 20th)

The morning rose gorgeous and I wasn’t freezing when I took Annie for her AM constitutional for a change. Heaven. I had a leisurely (healthy) breakfast, chatted with the folks in the RV next door who were traveling with an adorable Mini Australian Shepard named Chaco after a nearby park, and even rearranged my “pantry” area. Word on the street was that the shower facilities were FIVE dollars and a big pain in the butt to access, so I decided to hold off on any grooming rituals for the time being. This would turn out to be a regrettable decision.

Annie and Marigold and I set off exploring, and the first thing we discovered is that everything in Death Valley is an exceedingly long ass ways away from everything else. Like, you think you have a handle on how far it is, but then double that.

Our first stop was the Harmony Borax Works. Borax, as you may or may not know, is a mineral found in dry salt lake beds and used in detergents and in fiberglass, and in making things fire-retardant, and a whole host of other stuff. It was discovered here in 1881 and the resultant efforts to mine and process it is sort of what put Death Valley on the map, and brought in the first non Native settlers.

Getting it out of the desert was a pain and a half (I’ve mentioned the long-ass distances, yes?) and was best done using a Twenty Mule Team Wagon (which would be more accurately called a Twentyish Mule Team Wagon due to fuzzy math, and was really more like plus or minus 5 from that number, and even if the number did land at twenty, that figure included two horses as well). The wagon wheels were seven feet high, they cold carry up to ten tons, and they traveled 165 miles across the baking desert (temperatures at Death Valley can reach 139 F or 59C in the summers). Good times.

The labor was primarily performed by Chinese immigrants and local Native Americans who lived in tents or basic structures here. They made like $1.60 a day and had to pay for room and board out of that. Good times.

My next stop (35 miles down the road) was Scotty’s Castle. I don’t even know where to begin with this one. So Scotty was actually William Scott, a dude who used to perform in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, and a bonafide original flim flam man. He got ahold of some gold nuggets from a mine in Colorado, and high tailed it off to New York City where he started telling investors he had struck gold in a new mine in Death Valley and just needed some grubstaking to get it out. He suckered many a wealthy man with this line, one of whom was named Albert Johnson. At one point, Albert came to California from his home in Chicago to see the operation for himself. Now Albert had previously broken his back in three different places after he was one of only two survivors of a gruesome trainwreck. So Scotty (as he was known) told Albert the mine was a 60 mile mule ride away. Albert was game. Scotty then arranged for some “bandits” to attack them en route but his brother ended up getting shot instead. Albert finally learned that the whole thing was a massive con, but was so enchanted with Scotty and his wild adventures that the two became best buds. He ended up building a Two Million Dollar (In 1930s money) castle in the middle of godforsaken nowhere which he lived in for exactly one month of the year, and let Scotty pass off as his own the rest of the time.

So I learned most of this fascinating history from my time period appropriate tour guide/ranger, Keith. Keith hails from a little town I like to call… ROUND FRICKING HILL VIRGINIA!! Yeah, he grew up about a mile from my house. Keith was an amazingly knowledgeable guide and funny and entertaining, and before Toni gets any ideas he called me Ma’am pretty much incessantly, so I think that’s a no go.

The castle is a marvel, from the intricately carved redwood beams in the celling to the Spanish tiles hand laid in the kitchen.

The legend over Scotty’s personal nook in the dining room (and by the way, the custom plates had both SCotty and Albert’s initials) reads ‘Oh what a story!”

Even the weathervane has an image of Scotty and his mining mule on it!

The music room had this ENORMOUS organ speaker thing (that whole wall on the right photo is the speakers) which sent anything that was played resounding through the desert.

Albert’s 1914 Packard survived the scarp metal drives of both world wars, and is one of only four left in the world!

I could go on about Scotty and Albert all day, but there’s a lot more to get to!

After stropping by the Ubehebe Volcanic Crater (which the local Shoshone believed was Coyote’s Basket from which all the people of the world emerged)…

we drove and drove and drove through the sands…

… until we got to Twenty Mule Canyon Road, where Annie and I enjoyed a three mile hike at the hottest time of day!

We took plenty of rest breaks… and then walked some more…

The last mile was along the highway which was less fun, and it took forever to see Marigold in the distance.

After some recovery time, we drove (and drove and drove) to Zabriskie Point which is a great lookout spot… if you don’t go late in the afternioon when the sun is low in the sky…

And along Artist’s Drive which is known for it’s gorgeous rock colors… which do not photograph well at all late in the afternoon…

Next on the Must Visit list was Badwater Basin- at 282 feet BELOW Sea Level the lowest spot in the Western Hemisphere. The area is named for a small pool of salty water, that an early settler, upon noticing that his mule refused to drink from it, deemed “bad water” in his journal. The pool is surrounded by glowing white salt flats that you can walk along, and yes, lick if ye be so bold. (This was another “No Dogs” area, but sometimes you just gotta say what the “heck”.

If you can enlarge this picture, about halfway up the cliff is a little sign marking sea level.

The place was gorgeous in the evening light, and I would have loved to linger, but I was already exhausted from overdoing it and still had one more item to check off the to do list.

Having been so enthralled by the stars the previous night, I had seen a Star Walk on the salt flats (not these, no, on some about 50 miles away from these) led by a ranger which I thought would allow me to see even more. And it did. Except that approximately 857 children showed up for this walk, and they enjoyed waving their flashlights around to screw up everyone’s night vision and constantly interrupting the ranger and talking over him. I don’t know how he kept his patience. But Ranger Jonathan was an earnest young man, not a tired and cranky old woman. He was the kind of lad who once drove all the way from Auburn Alabama to Jacksonville Florida because it was the closest place he could get a Slurpee. The stars were brilliant and I did learn some stuff, but it was a long 20 mile slog back to a collapse in the campground.

(Events of Wednesday, April 15th, transcribed Sunday, April 19th)

We slept well at the North Shore Inn, and were able to use the morning to take care of chores: blogging (not really a chore), laundry, and recharging all the electricals. The wind had died down a fair bit, and (this second part of the sentence is entirely unrelated to the first part) upon spotting an auto repair shop next door, I decided to stop in and see if the mystery of the blown refrigerator fuse could be solved. It was Cal’s Repair Center, and I was lucky enough to be assisted by the man himself. Eagle-eyed Cal immediately spotted that the two repair dudes who had helped me at Zion had not only left their wrench under my hood, but they had also left off the cover to my fuse box and set it in an area where it got mangled. Cal was not amused. Cal located the blown fuse and shook his head, this was not going to be easy. He was going to have to head down to the parts store a mile away. While he was gone, his twenty-something assistant (whose name, if I knew it, I’ve forgotten) started chatting me up (not like that). He was well impressed with the looks of Marigold, and more so when I told him what Annie and I were up to. He immediately invited me to come to his place for a hot meal (along with his girlfriend and 3 year old daughter, and a random assortment of other hangers on.) It was exceedingly nice seeing as I’d known him all of four minutes, and I wasn’t surprised to learn he was originally from Kentucky, as the gas station attendant I met in Kentucky was one of the nicest, most genuine folks I’ve come across in a month filled with surprising generosity and acts of kindness. Cal returned and. alas, the fuse was too obscure for the likes of NAPA, so off he went to do some online research, and  finally offered to order one from Camping World, but I’d need to stay in town a day or two. As time was not permitting of that, he gave me directions to another location as I headed west (I never found it and the refrigerator continues to be an overpriced drawer). THEN, all on his own, he goes to get a hairdryer to help reshape my fuse box lid into its proper shape. While he’s doing that, a crusty old timer (a category Cal falls into as well) ambles over to regale me with stories of flying his prop plane into the Grand Canyon, and a B52 that supposedly lays at the bottom of Lake Mead. Enjoying the company of these fine gentlemen, and having a rare moment of automotive responsibility, I ask Cal if he can check my oil while he’s at it. And of course he does, and it turns out I’m only a quart low, so he tops me off, and I ask what I owe him for the good thirty minutes he and his “team” have spent helping me, and the only charge I receive is $4.94 for the oil. That’s it! That’s the list! I don’t think he even added on tax! So if you’re ever in the Overton Nevada area I cannot recommend more highly Cal’s Repair Station. The most honest mechanics since Click and the late lamented Clack.

Caught up in this fever of industriousness I even got another futile car wash in an attempt to fight the onslaught of bug corpses on my front windshield. All our tasks completed, it was back into Marigold for yet more miles across the barren desert.

But wait, what’s this rising up out of the vast wasteland?

Las Vegas! Sin City! The Gambling Capital of the World! But seeing as Annie doesn’t gamble, and I’m not in the mood for sinning, we drive right on by without stopping.

I could tell you that the main reason we’re not stopping is that I’ve made a pledge to myself that this trip be entirely new experiences, and no revisits to places I’ve already been. And this would be true. And it would explain why I’ve not stopped at beautiful and enchanting towns like New Orleans, or Asheville NC, or Charleston, or the Natchez Trace. But I’m also only  about twenty minutes from throwing that pledge out the window. Because soon Marigold is driving past a sign I drove past  fourteen months, almost to the day, prior.

Red Rock Canyon. Which I visited in February of 2014 with my best friend from high school, Mary V, who has admitted she barely reads the blog and thus may never see this shout out 😉 In any event, it was there that I had perhaps the latest, and one of the most significant, moments that was the genesis of this grand adventure. When we went out to hike the canyon that day, it was a gorgeous sunshiny spring afternoon. And at the first stop we came to, I saw several people walking with their dogs. And their dogs happily clambering over the rock formations and sniffing all the desert flowers. And I thought how much Annie would enjoy it there, and how cool it would be for her to see other landscapes and smell other smells, and experience walks that were totally different than the walks she is so accustomed to at home. And I missed her and felt a little sad that I was having such a fun experience without her. And I think the wheels first started turning then about all the places she might enjoy exploring, and how I could make that happen. So I wanted to stop by and make that old dream a reality and commemorate the (somewhat) start of it all. But as Thomas Wolfe said… “You can’t go home again.”

It started with an abrupt traffic slow down thanks to a caravan of whatever the hell these are stretching along the road. Yes, they look cool, but you don’t want to be behind a fleet of them.

Red Rock Canyon is a one direction loop road, with stops at various trail heads and overlooks. So if you’re an idiot and don’t realize Stop One is where the magic happened until you’re halfway to Stop Two, you have to drive alllllll the way around the thirteen mile drive at 35 mph if you’re lucky because you’re still behind the clown cars, before you can try again. And if you decide to stop somewhere else along the way it will be REALLY cold and REALLY windy and turn out to be a REALLY long walk along boring stuff before you can get the cute dog photo that truth be told is probably the only reason you’re still carrying on with it at this point.

And FINALLY you make it back to the cool rock formations, but it’s lateish and you’re tired, and the weather is REALLY unpleasant, and so after all the time and effort and romanticizing it took to get here, you’re back in the car within 15 minutes, and as soon as you drive the loop AGAIN, will be out of here.

And after some more hours of driving, and finally starting to see some palm trees, we roll through a little town with the unfortunate name of Pahrump, Nevada and make a pit stop at a mini-mart that sells canned Bud Light & Clamato which MAY be the vilest sounding thing I have espied today, but may get you in the right frame of mind to plop down at a slot machine in a convenience store. Who needs Vegas?

Side Note: Pretty much every town with more than four streets that I’ve been through since hitting the desert has an Anasazi Road. The dirt mountains get taller for a bit, then flatten out again into dusty flat scrub as we cross over into California with little fanfare. The sun gets low and hazy. Suddenly, the ground between the grass clumps turns white. It’s kind of eerie even once I realize it’s probably salt flats, which must mean we are almost in Death Valley.

And soon we are in our campground, and it is warm and lovely, and I can see but not photograph the sun setting over distant mountains, and once the sun sets more stars than I may have ever seen in life come out and twinkle in a jet black sky and I fall a little bit in love with this place.

(Events of Tuesday, April 14th recorded Saturday, April 17th)

So we wake up to a glorious sunshiney day in Zion. All rested and recovered from our debacle last evening. And ther first thing I see is a mule deer just ambling through the campsite like he owns the joint.

Seeing the deer reminds me of my horseback ride yesterday, and that I forgot to mention that halfway down the canyon I totally dropped my driver’s license out onto the desert floor as I was pulling my iPhone out of my jacket. Classic Eden move. Luckily, one of the eagle eyed Swiss spotted it and it was a place where the guide could rescue it fairly easily.

In any event, after a refreshing shower and some minor housekeeping, I decided to take Annie on a longer exploration of the dog friendly trail we had wandered on briefly the night before.

Apparently I was REALLY out of it yesterday, because this trail is AMAZEBALLS! Gorgeous rock formations rising up on every side. Beautiful cottonwood trees blowing in the breeze, and the clear cool Virgin River babbling beside us. There was a light breeze, but the sun was shining and the more we walked the prettier it got.

The whole thing was so energizing, that apparently Annie decided to break all of her personal rules and VOLUNTARILY go for a swim! I led her over to the river’s edge at first thinking she might have worked up a thirst. The next thing I knew she was wading about and then quick as a flash she was actually swimming!!! I had to pull her back in because she was getting a bit too close to the faster moving water.

We walked about three miles and the view never disappointed for a second.

The wind was picking up a notch when we returned to the car and I called the Zion Adventure Company, who were featured in my handy Ruff Guide to North America as offering 4×4 tours of the canyon area that welcomed dogs as well. I called and was told there was still room on the tour for that afternoon. I said “Great, that will be one person and one dog.” The guy seemed confused when I said that and replied that he would need to check the charge for dogs.I pointed out that both his website and this book they had probably paid to be included in said dogs rode free. Then he cxame back and said the dog would be free, but they had three other people signed up already.  OK, so? Before he could finish, ANOTHER dude got on and said that in deference to the others they would have to call them all and see if they objected to Annie and get back to me. Which seemed… needlessly complicated. I said: “This book told me you were a very dog-friendly company, that’s the only reason I called you.” And he responded: “We are dog friendly, we have dogs around the shop!” OK, but if you have a half page ad that shows 6 dogs sitting in one of your vehicles waiting for a tour, and then you give me static about bringing my ONE dog, you’re not that dog friendly. I really can’t see how allergies can come in to play in an open air vehicle, that would apparently be 1/3 full so we could easily sit away from the others. And if that SI a concern, then don’t advertise that you welcome dogs!! He said he would call me back once he investigated, and then he never did. Which may have ended up for the best.

With that bad taste in my mouth, I decided to end my Zion experience and head to our next stop- Valley of Fire State Park in Nevada. The GPS directed me out of the park and to an impossible to pass up lunch spot:

So first off, the Thunderberry Pie was excellent. And second off, this place has a really cool history, including our…. drum roll please…. BAWOTD! IOn 1931, just one year after the tunnel pass into Zion was completed, Jack and Fern Morrison opened up a small service station, with Fern serving homemade pies to the truckers. In 1940, they expanded with a small cafe. It was during WWII that Jack made the first sign, and because wood was scarce in those days, he only had enough room to spell out Ho-Made Pies, rather than the full words. The folksy spelling caught on, and it wasn’t until recently that it’s raised an eyebrow.  More to the point, Jack passed away in 1961, leaving Fern with a business to run in a time and place when this was something of a scandal. She also found her water rights threatened and decided to build a nine hole golf course in order to protect them. Fern never quit expanding and improving the business and providing service with a smile right up to her death in 1998. It’s due to the courage and determination of this BAWOTD that the business still survives and thrives. Respect Fern!

Upon leaving the Thunderbird, the GPS then curiously directed me BACK through Zion, so I can only surmise I was meant to eat there (it also had great WiFi, superb service, and a mighty tasty burger).

We drove through Utah, and then Arizona, and by the time we hit Nevada the wind was gusting so hard I could barely keep Marigold on the road, much less in our lane! The wind was blowing up dozens of tumbleweeds and stray debris and so much dirt and dust that everything was seen through a dim haze. It was more than a little scary. I was on a road with no signs of habitation in sight for miles and miles when this popped up on my phone.

I made an executive decision that perhaps this was NOT the ideal night for camping, and started searching for a hotel. There didn’t seem to be much available and it was getting darker and windier. Finally, in the tiny town of Overton, I stumbled upon the North Shore Inn. I literally had to struggle to get my door open and basically blew across the parking lot. To my great relief they would welcome Annie on to their beds and chairs for a modest $10 fee. We were saved! AND we stumbled across a rebroadcast of the Game of Thrones premiere! Winner winner chicken dinner! We drifted to sleep listening to news reports of planes diverted and highway truck rollovers all due to the 50mph winds and were very grateful there was room at the inn.

(Experiences of Monday, April 13th, recorded Wednesday April 15th)

So my plan had been to get up and go see the sun rise over the hoodoos. Because sunrise over the hoodoos is supposed to be the bomb. But, as I may have already mentioned, getting up in the mornings when it’s chilly and I’m cozy and snuggly with a cuddly furball is a bit of a challenge. Bounding out of bed is never easy in the best of circumstances, and the hassles of going to the bathroom, having breakfast, and getting dressed are magnified in a campground, so I’m never that eager to face them. Suffice to say-the sun did indeed rise, but I was not there to witness it. BUT, I didn’t linger overlong with the cuddles as I had a very important appointment to make!

Yup! I was going to ride a horse down to the bottom of Bryce Canyon (and better, back up!) So it turned out there were only 3 other riders signed up-an early twenty something girl from France (sporting an American flag scarf-a dead giveaway she was a foreigner), and a couple from Switzerland. It was a little annoying that we were told in no uncertain terms to be at the corral by 9:30, and although a chaps-bedecked man was galumphing about down there, he didn’t even acknowledge us until 9:45. But no matter, our trail guide was to be a perky blonde named Nikki whose parents live in… Sterling VA! It’s a mad mad mad mad world. We bonded over cherry blossom nostalgia. And then we were off! (and also leaving) (Step Doug may be the only one to get that joke.)

The morning was glorious, sunny and not to cold or windy. The air smelled like fresh pine (except when Stingray in front of me there had some digestive issues). And the views grew even more stunning as we descended.

Me, astride my noble steed Dandy:

Our guide pointed out some of the lesser known formations… can you make out the ‘Naked Lady of Bryce Canyon” silhouetted here to the right? (It takes a bit of zooming in, and a lot of imagination.)

Perhaps due to a lack of total comfort with the language, no one else on the ride seemed to want to chat, despite Nikki’s best efforts to get us gabbing. I was usually the only one to laugh at her canned patter. When she asked if anyone had seen ET, referencing the likeness below, I was the only one who assented. Later on, when she asked if anyone had seen Mrs Doubtfire, I lied and said I had as I was starting to feel badly for her.

At one point a lonely little mule deer scampered into view and posed for a pic!

This tree may be even more Bad Ass than the one from yesterday. It’s a Bristlecone Pine, and is one of the oldest tree species around, and one of the few that can live in the harshest desert conditions. Just an inch in diameter of its trunk can represent a hundred years. The oldest one in Bryce has been estimated to be 1,700 years old.

EEEEKK! It’s Skull Mountain!

This formation is known as Falling Rock, and as our guide painfully worked her way through her canned patter, she told us that she and “the boys” had been out earlier and propped it up with a stick so that it wouldn’t fall over and block the trail during our ride. As we rounded the bend, after only I had chuckled in acknowledgement, we could see a tiny twig propped under the overhang, which she said has actually been there for 30 years.

Nikki also clued us in to the fact that, due to the unusually high iron content of all the red sandstone surrounding us, the canyon is actually a literal magnet for lightening strikes. They actually have at least one fatality every year. Which explains the prevalence of these signs at every trail head. (Side Note: Make up your mind rule makers! If I can’t have my pet on the trail, then I’m going to be leaving my most valuable possession in the car, you can’t have it both ways!)

I could have ridden all day… well.. parts of me could, my backside was well relieved to say Adios to Dandy and crew. But after one last peek around, Annie and I were on our way out of Bryce.

Just outside of the park proper is a conglomerate known quaintly as Ruby’s which is a hotel/RV Park/grocer store/gift shop/snack bar/post office/gas station/bordello (maybe not-I don’t really know for sure on that last one.) I stopped in to mail some cards and was confronted with this. Is this really a thing?! Please say it isn’t so.

Next on the rotating agenda of National Parks: ZION! (Yeah-I’m not digging the new pink sunglasses from the Bryce General Store either-the original too big sunglasses got misplaced in the Grand Canyon.)

Zion is unique in that you’re observing and exploring primarily from the bottom of the canyon, rather than the top. It’s also just insanely beautiful and everyone should visit here. But first, you need to drive through a mile long tunnel. Make sure you have your lights on!

Mule Deer Crossing!

Soooo.. by the time we got to a campsite, which may well have been the last available campsite in the park, I initially had been told they were all full, I was kinda tired from the driving and the horsing around and such. And there was cell service at the campsite! So we lounged about for a couple hours and then decided to check out the Visitor Center and take a short hike. So I cranked up Marigold and then noticed I still had the lights on from going through the tunnel. I turned them off and drive five minutes to the Visitor Center. I was out of the car ten minutes finding the darn place and determining it closed at 5pm (FIVE PM? That’s ridiculously early). Got back in Marigold, and she wouldn’t start. The lights came on and the annoying seat belt bonger bonged, but not so much as a grumble out of the engine. Crapballs.  Luckily, I had brought along my portable battery jumpstarter for just such a situation. I lugged it out, hooked it up, and gave it a go. Nada. I started asking passerby if they had jumper cables. Of course not, everyone is in a rental car. I finally encountered one nice couple, Adam and Theresa. They were on their way somewhere, but promised to fetch cables from their car if I still needed help when they returned. I keep trying the jumper battery to no avail and meanwhile Annie is getting hot in the van and BARKBARK at all the confusion, and I’m hot too and still accosting randoms, and FINALLY two nice couples probably my ageish stop and they don’t have cables, but one of the dudes, we’ll call him Blue Shirt, is a real fixer kinda guy and after several suggestions go nowhere he scampers off to the nearby RV campsite to see if anyone there has some. In short order he is back with the cables. Annnndddd… the campervannie still won’t start. Crapballs redux. Blue Shirt now surmises the problem is the starter and his pal offers me a ride into town to look for a mechanic. Annie and I join the wives in their nice cool car as we wait for Blue Shirt to return the cables. But wait!! Blue Shirt returns with the owner of the cables, a real handy type we’ll call Shorty. (Because he was also in a blue shirt.) Shorty starts tapping on the starter and tightening cables and climbing all under and in and around the engine. Shorty is stumped as well. But before he will declare it the starter, he wants to run off and fetch a test light. OK-sure. Only now Blue Shirt’s compatriots have realized they got places to be.  Understandable. It takes all of my strength to forcibly pry Annie off the floor of their car where she has pancaked herself directly under the cooling vent. I am left with Shorty. But wait! All of a sudden Adam and Theresa return! I explain that I don’t need their cables as the problem is not the battery. Adam is also a problem solver and he and Shorty immediately fall into high level auto mechanic talk that goes way over my head. Discussing theories and eliminating variables, and continuing to poke and prod poor Marigold. We are about to give up, when Shorty decides he will hop in and take over my duty of cranking the engine. AND IMMEDIATELY THE VAN STARTS RIGHT UP! Whaatttt?!?!?! So, and I don’t fully understand this, but apparently it was NEVER the battery-the whole lights left on bit was a total red herring. Somehow I had inadvertently done something which caused the car to go into “Shift Safety Mode”? And it could only be started from neutral, not from park? Some sort of voodoo magic I will never understand, but we were as good as new!

Additionally, while they were turning Marigold inside out, Adam discovered that the likely cause of my non-functioning refrigerator was a blown fuse just off the battery. Excellent! That won’t possibly be a pain and a half to resolve! (spoiler alert).

The whole debacle left Annie and me tired and stressed and cranky. We took an abbreviated walk, had our dinner, and conked out.

(Events of Sunday April 12th recorded Wednesday April 15th)

We rolled in to Bryce Canyon in the waning hours of the previous night, snagged an open campsite, and I attempted to relax by the fire while Annie attempted to BARKBARK enough to get us kicked out. It was a slightly less frigid, but still pretty chilly evening and we awoke to cold and wind. I hadn’t yet ascertained where the showers were, so decided to get right to the gawking at natural wonders. Bryce Canyon is known for its hoodoos-fanciful spires carved out of the red sandstone canyon to resemble animals, faces, castles, and whatever else your imagination can dream up. Hoodoo is a Paiute Indian word meaning “People and animals turned to stone,” and they refused to even approach the canyons believing they too would suffer the same fate upon entering.

We reached the first overlook just as a giant busload of foreign tourists was disgorging which was NOT ideal to say the least. The wind was pretty fierce as well, so it wasn’t like you wanted to linger waiting for them to jog on. But wait we did, and in waiting ambled down the path a bit, and enjoyed some glorious views in the solitude. Next I decided to take the advice of my invaluable National Geographic Guide to the National Parks and head to the end of the loop drive and work our way back through the stops. So off we went to Rainbow Point.

Oh, did I mention it’s another freaking high elevation  area AND there’s still SNOW everywhere?! Where the hell is my spring?! I am so sick of my winter coat and hats!!

No one as happy about the arctic temps…

Mostly the morning was spent driving around looking at cool rock formations.

This one is called Natural Bridge, and I was already pointing out that it’s actually an arch before I discovered the sign correcting the misnomer. #learning

Then some of us snoozed in the car while others finally took a shower. (Which only took payment in gold coins!)

Then we went and had lunch on the porch of the General Store which I was told had WiFi but all it had was lies!!! (And yet more friends for Annie.) And some woman from Montgomery County who told me her whole life story, then remarked on how she used to have a black and white dog like Annie, then started speculating about how lovely it would be if we all woke up one morning as a blend of black and white?!?! Look lady, I’m just trying to write some postcards here, can you move it along??

Annie and I had a nice afternoon hike along the rim of the canyon, then I spent about two and a half hours moving from the Lodge (which had TERRIBLE WiFi) to the Visitor’s Center, (which had decent WiFi but no good place to sit and use it, and also closed at 6pm), BACK to the lodge all in an attempt to get a much delayed blog post out. Readers of that post will already be familiar with my irritation towards small children and rug cleaning devices.

Upon a “tip” from the desk clerk at the Lodge, we went to the poorly named Sunrise Point in an attempt to see the sunset. It was kind of a nonevent as far as I could tell. But I did see this cool tree, which was originally growing several feet back from the rim, but as time has eroded away it’s surrounding dirt, it is barely hanging on by it’s toenails. (Yes, trees have toenails.) It is FOR SURE the Bad Ass Tree of the Day! BATOTD

And with that it was time to bed down in Marigold and drift off to dream once again.

OH! Almost forgot-a couple of follow ups to yesterday’s post about Antelope Canyon. 1.) There were baby Great Horned owls nesting in a nook there! So adorable, but in a spot impossible to photograph. 2.) This Britney Spears video was partially filmed there.. https://youtu.be/IlV7RhT6zHs

Also: as some of you appear to think all I eat is Spaghettios and pizza, let the record show that on this date I ate a bowl of Cheerios, a Kind nut and granola bar, some hummus and crackers, some tunafish on crackers, a blueberry yogurt, and a can of kidney beans. Yes, I write down what I eat everyday.

(Events of Saturday April 11th, blogged Tuesday evening April 14th)

Woke up cold and in a foul mood. Had bad dreams that lingered and left me homesick, grumpy, and over the Grand Canyon. We had stayed an extra night and it was time to move on. Maybe the drive would clear my head. It sure seemed to clear out Annie’s. We passed red sandstone mesas and flat scrubby deserts and… what’s this?? BOAT STORAGE?? Where the heck have we gotten to now??

We were in Page, Arizona, very near Lake Powell I came to learn, and the site of an amazing looking place I’d stumbled upon on one of those “25 Places You Have to Visit Before You Die” lists that are always circulating on FaceBook: Antelope Canyon. Antelope Canyon (so named because hundreds of years ago antelope actually used to roam these parts) is what is known as a slot canyon- a canyon formed by the pressure of water rushing through rock which causes it to become very narrow and deep. Like a slot! This canyon is located on Navajo land, and so can only be visited on a guided tour.

Traveling with Annie brings many rewards, but it also brings many complications. Balancing her needs/safety/comfort against mine can sometimes be a challenge. For instance, when I’m driving all day, she’s resting. So when I’m done driving and want to rest, I often need to exercise her instead. Also, there are a lot of places I want to go that she can’t, and I have to decide if the issues caused by leaving her alone are worth what I will potentially get out of the activity. Most of the National Parks we’ve visited have had fun looking hikes I would have enjoyed, but knowing how much Annie also enjoys hikes, it doesn’t seem fair to go on one without her. Leaving her briefly for shopping or restaurants is easier to justify. I digress, because Annie wasn’t going to be allowed to come into the canyon with me. And the weather was just a touch warmer than I like it to be to leave her in the van. The canyon guide offered me some local kennel options, but honestly, she would be so distraught if I plonked her down in a strange cage and left her somewhere totally foreign that the emotional damage would likely outweigh any discomfort she might encounter in a warm van, with windows halfway down and a huge water bowl. This canyon was a once in a lifetime thing, so I found the biggest, shadiest tree I could and bit the bullet.

And it was mind blowing! Seriously-you NEED to visit this place! It doesn’t look like much from the outside…

But inside…. whoooaaahhhh. It’s a twisty, turny, crazy maze with light shining through at funky angles and illuminating all the striations and colors on the walls.

And then we had this brilliant Navajo guide who knew all the best camera angles and settings to get the coolest shots. In this one, if you focus on the brightest light patches at the center, it resembles a twisting candlestick with a flame shooting off to the right at the top of it.

In this one, the shadow outlines the form of an illuminated bear.

Here we have a heart. Seriously, it started to get to the point where I was like “could we just focus on how cool the canyon is and enough with making sure all 14 of us get a wacky shot around every corner?”

My attempt at a personal photo alongside of his. I look even more stoned in his.

This one did kinda blow my mind though. It looks like I’m holding a lit torch!

It was so magical in there and so unlike anywhere I’ve ever been and just stunning. There were also spots with fabulous acoustics that could make your voice do crazy things and markings where whirlpools had formed and odd tree limbs stuck in crevices that he could date to the month and year, but none of those make good photos.

And, spoiler alert, Annie was just fine and none the worse for wear after two hours on her own.

Just around the corner from Antelope Canyon is another amazing spot that the interwebs alerted me to – Horseshoe Bend. It’s basically just a bend in the, say it with me now, Colorado River (previously spotted by my campsite in Moab and forming the Grand Canyon), but it’s carved out this huge lump in the middle that is just stunning to look at. Of course, first there’s a mile long walk in the hot sun to reach it (Was I really freezing under layers of blankets just this morning?)

Phenomenally breathtaking. The water is an insane greenish blue, it’s just beyond. You also have to get super close to the really uneven rocky ledge to get anything close to a proper photograph, so it’s a bit unnerving. If the weather had been cooler and I had been less tired from the day it would have been a perfect spot for a picnic.

Did I mention that the mile walk in the hot sun to get there was DOWNhill? Which means UPhill alllll the way back. Ugh.

On the road again, and here’s a familiar sign… where could we possibly be headed next?

(Events of Friday April 10th blogged Tuesday April 14th) Another super chilly morning up on the South Rim. It’s really hard to drag one’s self out of… van when you’re all cuddled up with a snoring bundle of furry warmth. In fact, I would likely sleep the day away if the snoring bundle didn’t quickly stop snoozing and start grumbling to empty her bladder and fill her belly.

I did, however, take a few minutes to get the van organized so I could show off my sleeping and eating compartments for the curious.That drawer on the bottom right is my “refrigerator”.

After waiting in line behind a pack of giggly teenage girls at the $2 shower (which allegedly lasts eight minutes, but seemed much longer), Annie and I decided to hike a four mile section of the rim trail which involved turning right at the main observation point, when most of the tourists were turning left. We quickly left the bulk of them behind, but Annie still found a few admirers.

In fact, at one point we were waiting behind an Asian family to use the facilities, and the small boy and girl took quite an interest, asking loads of questions about Annie and petting her and complimenting her. They seemed so taken with her, that I asked the little girl if she would like to hold the leash while I went in the loo. Up until this point, Annie had been calm, cool, and collected. The moment I stepped two feet away, she lurched toward me BARKING up a storm and nearly pulling the girl off her feet. I offered to take the leash back, but the mom stepped in to hold it. Annie then proceeded to BARKBARK like the world was on fire the entire 3 minutes I was out of her vision, despite seeing exactly where I went and receiving plenty of reassurances. She can’t let me out of her sight, but she’s more than willing to tiptoe up to the very edge of danger when she’s exploring.

Of course, most of the time she’d rather have her snout snuffling down a much smaller hole.

We hiked all the way to one of the main trailheads for folks who actually have the lung power to hike DOWN into the canyon (and more importantly, back UP). As per usual, loads of folks who seemed far less fit than I,, and frequently in inappropriate clothing and footwear, chugged up and down with no problem. At one point I started to take Annie down just a tiny bit of the trail (which she wasn’t technically allowed on), when we saw mules coming back up! Discretion seemed to prove the better part of valor, and we beat a hasty retreat.

And that wasn’t the only animal meandering about. We also encountered a small herd of elk on our hike. (Trying to keep Annie from noticing while simultaneously trying to snap a photo was a feat in itself.)

After all that excitement, one of us was so tuckered out she fell asleep on her water bowl.

I was fairly worn out as well, but decided to take advantage of  her snooze to ride the free shuttle to points of interest to the westward side of the park that weren’t accessible via car. Every time you hop on and off the shuttle to view different overlooks, you get a different driver when you get back on. And they were a mixed bag for sure. Some were fonts of fascinating information about what lie ahead at the next stop, and some just played their pre-recorded tapes about proper exit etiquette. Lacking info from the drivers, these “cell phone guides” would have been a great help. Provided there was working cell service at any point on the rim. Ah well.

Same canyon, different day. You can tell because I’m in a different shirt. Also it was warm and sunny and lovely. I only remember this because I’m wearing my short sleeved Bluebird Cafe T I got in Nashville.

I did see a California Condor perched on a rock which I thought was super cool until I learned later this was most likely because he had a broken wing or some other malady.

These two were doing synchronized selfie stick shots. They were embarrassed when they caught me watching until I explained I was a proud member of the club as well.

This is just a cool pic of one of the trails going down into the canyon. It’s just so freaking vast!

I had planned to travel all the way to Hermit’s Rest at the end of the line, but I was rapidly growing cold, tired, and worried about leaving Annie alone for so long. What I had anticipated to be a ninety minute jaunt was turning in to closer to three hours. Even though I knew she was safe in Marigold, and she had water and pillows, and it wasn’t near warm enough to be concerned about overheating, I was nearly frantic by the time I got back to the parking lot. I don’t know if it was having my ability to get back to her basically out of my hands, or the fact that I was at the point of exhaustion, but I was convinced I was going to find her in a terrible state. Of course, she was contentedly snoozing away.

I was running on fumes, so we swung by the Grand Canyon grocery for some grub and were soon back at our campsite, nestled in our bed, awaiting another freezing night ahead.

(Thursday April 9th, written Tuesday April 14th)

We finally made it to the Grand Canyon! We snuck in under cover of darkness, and it’s about a 30 mile road from the turnoff to the entrance, and then another 30 miles to get to where the campgrounds are. All in pitch black, unable to see one of the most jaw dropping sites in the world. We were in the park a good twelve hours before we ever actually saw the darn thing! First we had a filling breakfast in the forested campsite. Much needed as it had been literally below freezing the previous night and I we both spent it buried in all the blankets and sleeping bags we could find …

Then I got pulled over by a cop. Yeah, that’s right, I managed to commit a traffic violation in the middle of the Grand Canyon, with only one other car around! And the guy was a total asshole! So I’m driving along, trying to find the Visitor’s Center, because even just the complex of the Grand Canyon is massive and overwhelming before you even get to the actual hole in the ground. And I’m following behind another car, and not going very fast, and all of a sudden there are flashing lights behind me and the Ranger Fuzz are on my tail! Whaatttt?!?! So he immediately demands my license and registration. OK. Then he says I “blew through” two stop signs. Well, I was going about 25mph, so I HIGHLY doubt I blew through anything, AND I was following another car which means he “blew through” them too, AND there’s not another car on these roads. But OK. So I apologize. Then he orders me to take my keys out of the ignition. Like Marigold and I are gonna go all Bo and Luke Duke (or mayber Thelma and Louise considering the location) on him! I have NEVER been asked that by a cop before in all my (multitudinous) traffic stops. THEN he demands to know if I have guns, or drugs, or illegal items in the vehicle! I actually chuckled. And thanked my lucky stars I had ignored friends who suggested I bring a weapon for protection, or pick up some pot in Colorado. Or smuggle jewels (OK not that one.) He was just mean and rude all out of proportion to the offense, he could have just said-hey you missed some stop signs-pay attention out there. He did, smugly, let me off with a warning, so I guess there’s that, but it put me on guard for him the rest of the visit.

But once we finally arrived, what a sight it was to behold…

For some reason The Grand Canyon has always been sort of the lynchpin of this trip for me. Yes, I’ve always wanted to see it, but more for the fact of it being a bucket list item, a must do, a classic piece of Americana, than any real desire or curiosity. It’s just so iconic. Whenever I would talk about the trip, I would use it as a reference: “I don’t want to be worrying about an Air B&B guest losing the key when I’m standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon.” “I’m not going to pick up that phone call when I’m standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon.” “The worst time for Annie to pull a runner would be standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon.” That sort of thing.

And it IS cool. And HUGE. So huge you can’t really take it all in. It’s more than the mind can comprehend. And more than even a Selfie Stick photo can properly capture.

It was also cold. And CROWDED! Oh my goodness, so crowded! An estimated five million visitors pass through each year, and even though it isn’t yet prime tourist season, they were ALL at the main Visitor Center and overlook area. I guess that’s why there had been none on the roads. It was a mob scene, and claustrophobic (On the edge of a gaping chasm) and I constantly felt like we were in the way of someone’s photograph. Annie, on the other hand, was making friends left and right. It was funny how so many people would rather take a moment to scratch her ears or tell her how cute she was than look at one of the Wonders of the World.

But who can really blame them-I’m just as smitten.

In an attempt to get as far from the madding crowds as possible, we drove Desert View Drive (which is basically the 30 mile road we took to get into the park, just with the added bonus of daylight, stopping at many lovely overlooks, enjoying a picnic in some pines, and finally ending up at The Watchtower. I had never heard of The Watchtower before, and at first glance it appeared to be another cool “Anasazi” dwelling like the ones at Hoven WEEEEEEP (as I like to say it). Alas, it was built in the 1930s a sort of a tribute to all of the different Native American groups that used to populate this area, and it was nice and all, but kind of inauthentic after seeing all the real things.

The other problem, which I really had to work not to show in these pictures, is it was MEGA crowded. Take all those folks spread out along the rim, and condense them into one rather narrow space and I just wanted to run screaming. And many of them were kids. Bored kids. Noisy kids. Always in my way kids. The problem with tourist attractions is there are just too darn many tourists!

So we went back to the campground and took a nap, and did some laundry, and tried to avoid the weird hiccuping dude who wanted to stand over me the whole time I was folding my underwear incessantly apologizing for his hiccups when what he really needed to apologize for was HOVERING OVER MY UNDERWEAR!

Another freezing cold night lay ahead of us…