Travel-Blog, Day 7
Waking up in a nice, comfy king-size bed in a not-so nice, dingy part of town, I found myself wishing that we could sleep the day away and forego traveling for a bit. I was not to find any such solice.
We adventured out into the Phoenix sunshine, wondering at how we might fill our empty stomachs. JLowe mentioned that he and his lady had seen a Waffle House yesterday, so we made our way there.
True to their name, there were no pancakes there. I don’t recall seeing French toast, even, on the menu. Just waffles, omellettes, other fried goodies, and (of course) grits on the side.
I opted for my usual breakfast-shop fare, an omellette. The ladies had waffles with fruit on them. JLowe had an omellette as well, but his lacked the enjoyable goodies mine contained and had only eggs, cheese, and the requisite fine film of grease over all of it.
Having learned our lesson in Santa Barbara, where we first were exposed to the Southern American Grit Epidemic, JLowe and I made quickly for the hot sauce on the table, turning our grits from a pasty yellow-white pus-like goo into a fiery reddish flavor explosion. I slurped them down, still wondering in my mind what a grit was, let alone who got the bright idea of cooking them up the first time.
I’ve had that question a lot. Take artichokes. Who the hell ever thought “hey, that might be yummy if I steamed it and stripped the leaves. And, I bet under the thistle-like innards, there’s a really tasty stalk just waiting to be dipped in mayo!” When you consider some of the stuff we eat, you have to wonder at who the culinary pioneers were that bravely steered us down some of the paths we take for granted. I would suspect that, like in so many fields, necessity was the mother of invention.
Anyhoo, after breakfast JLowe assumed control of the Element all the way from Phoenix to the Grand Canyon. Much fun was had at his expense, especially when we decided to go shopping for more camp food and we all took turns trying to tell JLowe where to go, none of us, of course, having any clue where we were. The wrath in JLowe’s eyes was priceless.
This time, we were smart enough to get fire wood. We almost forgot. Almost, but for the brilliance of your intrepid reporter, who realized at one of the last stops into the park that we’d better get some wood soon, because we might have no options once there. It was a wise consideration, and we were rewarded by reasonably-priced logs at the mini-mart.
We hit our second 1,000 mile mark driving into the Grand Canyon. This was truly and epic moment.
After arriving, we made our way to our spot in the Mather Campground near Grand Canyon Village. Here, there was no sign of the giant chasm in the Earth that we suspected would be visible from practically everywhere nearby. Having only ever seen the Grand Canyon in photos and, once, while flying over on a trip to Phoenix, I had no clue that, until at the lip, there wasn’t much to tell you that you were on the brink of an amazing find.
We set up camp, stretched for a few minutes, and then started out in search of our prize. We drove into the central area of the village, translated a few signs, and started walking. About a half-mile away, we discovered what all the fuss is about.
The Grand Canyon is amazing (note, a different picture for each word there…)
We walked east along the southern rim, making our way to the “Observation Station,” a store disguised as a lookout point, where The Missus and I each bought our family some nice coffee table books. On the way there, I confronted my wife on her stubborn refusal to take (non-digital) pictures every two or three feet.
I won’t comment on the merits of our argument. The key points were my contention that film was cheap and should be spent on such a sight, and her’s was that I always take multiple pictures of very similar things, which end up littering our home because I don’t put them in albums. My only comment is that we were both right. She ceded the camera to me for a bit, which made me happy because of its superiority to the digital camera we were borrowing, and I took some pictures. Then, realizing I’d jeopardized our marital harmony for nothing more than the advancement of my supposed art, I quickly made nice with The Missus and, happily, the night was saved.
After making good on our intention to view the Grand Canyon, we went back to the car and headed to camp for a bit. It was getting cool out, and we wanted to be prepared for the cold that we knew was about to strike. I also needed Kleenex, as I had steadily developed my cold/allergy/general-malaise-infested sneezing and snotting and was now a human faucet. JLowe’s wife had lent me some Claritin, which offered a degree of relief, but which couldn’t solve my problems.
After dressing for the weather, we climbed back into the Element and drove east, again along the south rim, looking for good viewpoints. Especially good viewpoints for sun-down photography. We drove and drove, got bored, turned around, and drove back. We eventually came to a much-used outcropping, where we took some more nice shots and then, at sunset, got a perfect shot of the occasion.
Then, back to camp.
The Missus, who’d avoided morning sickness for the last couple of weeks, was now uncontrollably queasy for no apparent reason. She headed to our tent, where I occasionally popped in to make sure she was alright. JLowe’s wife, realizing that JLowe and I intended to make good on our mutual vow to smoke stogies by a campfire at the Grand Canyon, made her way to bed quickly after dinner. Which left JLowe and I to soak in wood smoke, and cigar smoke, and to stare at the stars overhead.
Of all the experiences on the road trip, the Grand Canyon would be the greatest. The sheer spectacle of it all, the astounding beauty, and the day’s-end campfire to ice the cake, made this one of those times you won’t ever forget.
After choking down most of my stogie, and a couple of tasty Corona beers, I made efforts to not be so disgusting (by double-brushing my teeth and washing my face) before turning in.
If for no other reason, the Grand Canyon made this trip entirely worth whatever hassle was involved. If you can, by all means, go.
We adventured out into the Phoenix sunshine, wondering at how we might fill our empty stomachs. JLowe mentioned that he and his lady had seen a Waffle House yesterday, so we made our way there.
True to their name, there were no pancakes there. I don’t recall seeing French toast, even, on the menu. Just waffles, omellettes, other fried goodies, and (of course) grits on the side.
I opted for my usual breakfast-shop fare, an omellette. The ladies had waffles with fruit on them. JLowe had an omellette as well, but his lacked the enjoyable goodies mine contained and had only eggs, cheese, and the requisite fine film of grease over all of it.
Having learned our lesson in Santa Barbara, where we first were exposed to the Southern American Grit Epidemic, JLowe and I made quickly for the hot sauce on the table, turning our grits from a pasty yellow-white pus-like goo into a fiery reddish flavor explosion. I slurped them down, still wondering in my mind what a grit was, let alone who got the bright idea of cooking them up the first time.
I’ve had that question a lot. Take artichokes. Who the hell ever thought “hey, that might be yummy if I steamed it and stripped the leaves. And, I bet under the thistle-like innards, there’s a really tasty stalk just waiting to be dipped in mayo!” When you consider some of the stuff we eat, you have to wonder at who the culinary pioneers were that bravely steered us down some of the paths we take for granted. I would suspect that, like in so many fields, necessity was the mother of invention.
Anyhoo, after breakfast JLowe assumed control of the Element all the way from Phoenix to the Grand Canyon. Much fun was had at his expense, especially when we decided to go shopping for more camp food and we all took turns trying to tell JLowe where to go, none of us, of course, having any clue where we were. The wrath in JLowe’s eyes was priceless.
This time, we were smart enough to get fire wood. We almost forgot. Almost, but for the brilliance of your intrepid reporter, who realized at one of the last stops into the park that we’d better get some wood soon, because we might have no options once there. It was a wise consideration, and we were rewarded by reasonably-priced logs at the mini-mart.
We hit our second 1,000 mile mark driving into the Grand Canyon. This was truly and epic moment.
After arriving, we made our way to our spot in the Mather Campground near Grand Canyon Village. Here, there was no sign of the giant chasm in the Earth that we suspected would be visible from practically everywhere nearby. Having only ever seen the Grand Canyon in photos and, once, while flying over on a trip to Phoenix, I had no clue that, until at the lip, there wasn’t much to tell you that you were on the brink of an amazing find.
We set up camp, stretched for a few minutes, and then started out in search of our prize. We drove into the central area of the village, translated a few signs, and started walking. About a half-mile away, we discovered what all the fuss is about.
The Grand Canyon is amazing (note, a different picture for each word there…)
We walked east along the southern rim, making our way to the “Observation Station,” a store disguised as a lookout point, where The Missus and I each bought our family some nice coffee table books. On the way there, I confronted my wife on her stubborn refusal to take (non-digital) pictures every two or three feet.
I won’t comment on the merits of our argument. The key points were my contention that film was cheap and should be spent on such a sight, and her’s was that I always take multiple pictures of very similar things, which end up littering our home because I don’t put them in albums. My only comment is that we were both right. She ceded the camera to me for a bit, which made me happy because of its superiority to the digital camera we were borrowing, and I took some pictures. Then, realizing I’d jeopardized our marital harmony for nothing more than the advancement of my supposed art, I quickly made nice with The Missus and, happily, the night was saved.
After making good on our intention to view the Grand Canyon, we went back to the car and headed to camp for a bit. It was getting cool out, and we wanted to be prepared for the cold that we knew was about to strike. I also needed Kleenex, as I had steadily developed my cold/allergy/general-malaise-infested sneezing and snotting and was now a human faucet. JLowe’s wife had lent me some Claritin, which offered a degree of relief, but which couldn’t solve my problems.
After dressing for the weather, we climbed back into the Element and drove east, again along the south rim, looking for good viewpoints. Especially good viewpoints for sun-down photography. We drove and drove, got bored, turned around, and drove back. We eventually came to a much-used outcropping, where we took some more nice shots and then, at sunset, got a perfect shot of the occasion.
Then, back to camp.
The Missus, who’d avoided morning sickness for the last couple of weeks, was now uncontrollably queasy for no apparent reason. She headed to our tent, where I occasionally popped in to make sure she was alright. JLowe’s wife, realizing that JLowe and I intended to make good on our mutual vow to smoke stogies by a campfire at the Grand Canyon, made her way to bed quickly after dinner. Which left JLowe and I to soak in wood smoke, and cigar smoke, and to stare at the stars overhead.
Of all the experiences on the road trip, the Grand Canyon would be the greatest. The sheer spectacle of it all, the astounding beauty, and the day’s-end campfire to ice the cake, made this one of those times you won’t ever forget.
After choking down most of my stogie, and a couple of tasty Corona beers, I made efforts to not be so disgusting (by double-brushing my teeth and washing my face) before turning in.
If for no other reason, the Grand Canyon made this trip entirely worth whatever hassle was involved. If you can, by all means, go.
posted by Rusty at 11:59 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home