The first thing we did this morning was head off in the wrong direction. Not once. Not twice. But THREE times!!! (Well, now that I think about it. I think it might have even been more than three times. I couldn’t keep track. *hoping that wasn’t an illegal u-turn or at least that a cop was not in the vicinity*) I know we kept circling around for almost half an hour. There goes our early start! *cries* Then at one point we stopped and asked for directions and I was astounded to see that even the gas stations in Vegas had slot machines! *jaw dropping open* 
Finally, we were headed in the right direction. Eventually, we came upon Boulder City and found ourselves about to go over the Hoover Dam. Wait. We weren’t going OVER it as in the image of a car accidentally shooting off the edge of a waterfall type of thing. We were driving over the bridgey part. *bonus points for technical terms…* It was pretty cool! Matt finally confiscated the camera from me when he realized I was trying to take pictures and drive at the same time. I think he was having that aforementioned vision. *laughs* As we were going across the dam, we stumbled across the answer to another dilemma we had been having earlier this morning: the time zone change.
We had been trying to figure out if we needed to adjust the clock in the car since we were heading into Mountain Time. But Arizona does not honor Daylight Savings. So what in the world were we supposed to do? *ARGH! brain cramp!!* But then there it was. The answer to our question in the form of two clocks, one placed on either side of the dam. One was in Nevada and therefore had Nevada time. The other was in Arizona with the time we needed. GENIUS! (Let’s just bypass the fact that the time was exactly the SAME. *sigh*)
Arizona was a whole lot of nothing for the first bit after we left Nevada. We were surprised to find that it was even more nothing looking that Death Valley. *bored* So we listened to our book on CD and found ourselves slipping into fake British and French accents with an alarming frequency. (Even in public! *embarrassed*) We drove through Kingman and encountered the famous Route 66. We decided not to take it in favor of a more direct course but it did have the annoying effect of getting that song stuck in my head. *flashbacks to high school choir with Mr. H*
It was getting to be that time of day again and we were in search of a perfect place for lunch. Well, we WERE until we got too hungry so we just pulled over in a gas station parking lot, hauled out our cooler and rapidly assembled sandwiched much to the bemusement of the public that may or may not have been watching us. I think we were past the point of caring. *stomach growling ominously* And then were back in the audio world of espionage and fake accents yet again. *content*
We arrived at the Grand Canyon at 4pm and did manage to get a campsite although it was surprisingly full for being a Monday. I think the lady that checked us in said it was already 75% full and that the entire place would be teaming with people by the end of the week. *shock* And then it hit us. DUH! Memorial weekend!! (It’s too easy to lose track of days and events when you’re on the road.) Not that it explained why the campground was so full NOW. The only big bummer was we were assigned a campsite instead of being allowed to pick one out. All in all, ours wasn’t bad and I didn’t have to make a 2-day hike just to make it to the bathroom. *sigh of relief*
We set up camp and were happily assembling our possessions around the picnic table when…SPLAT! Matt had been hit!! Some bird had perfect aim. (Ew. EW! GROSS!! I’m SO glad it wasn’t me. *barf*) I have to admire his ability to wipe it off his shirt with remarkable composure after a moment or two of shocked expletives that didn’t speak well of the bird or it’s family. I guess I shouldn’t have started the hysterical laughter at that point because he tried to hug me WITH THE SHIRT STILL ON. *running away in haste*
(Ok. So not quite as bad as this but I didn't have the foresight to take a picture and Google image search can only take me so far...)
Our thought had been to relax for an hour or two, eat dinner and head out to the canyon to try and catch sunset. What I hadn’t been expecting was to accidentally catch a blinding glimpse of French butt! The campsite across the way was inhabited by three French (possibly French-Canadian?) men and one decided to shed his pants in favor of another pair just as I was walking by to go the bathroom. Red speedo-ish underwear should be BANNED! *attempting to claw my eyes out* What can I say? Our neighbors are an interesting lot.
The weirdness was not about to end. As I was walking back, I spotted three cars pulling into the campsite next to the underwear-flaunters. (Ok, it was really only the one guy that did it but all three of them were forever tagged in my mind.) It was a Miata convoy! Three couple ensconced in vehicles of various colors: black, orange and cream. And they were all from Texas. Was there some sort of convention going on?!? *confused* I had to tell Matt. We were literally making up excuses to walk by so we could keep checking them out without being too obvious. (As if walking by ten times in the space of 30 minutes was inconspicuous. *rolls eyes*)
Matt was really excited to get going since he had never been to the Grand Canyon before so we ate our dinner and were soon on our way. We weren’t quite sure where the best place to catch sunset would be but figured we could just walk along the trail and just about anywhere would be fine. The canyons were incredible. Just the vast expanse of rock and the depth of the canyon, it was awe-inspiring. The earth tones melded in layers down the sides and the North Rim was barely visible on the other side. A strong wind whipped us merrily along as we traversed from Parking Lot D to a little past Maricopa Point.
Gnarled and twisted trees tenaciously rooted themselves along the path. By no stretch of the imagination were they pretty but they held within themselves a stark beauty of pure determination and strength. Their shape, size and even the very texture of the bark seemed to be shaped by an eccentric bonsai artist, namely the wind that beat and swirled around their misshapen limbs. As it turns out, we couldn’t see the sunset from where we were. It was just barely visible over a line of trees but it had still been amazing.
We were hoping to see the sunrise in the morning. Even I was willing to wake up at 4am for that. The only problem was the dark clouds that seemed to be converging in our direction…
Mileage: 277
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