Matt and I went to stay with his parents in Scottsdale for almost a week, since for the second year in a row they’d been renting their friends’ condo for the month of January. It’s a good excuse to go from the ocean to the desert, and we were able to work for a couple days while we were there.

I’ve already covered our previous trip to Arizona and we did much of the same stuff in Scottsdale, so I won’t bother writing it up again. We did actually make it into downtown Phoenix on this visit, and were very pleasantly surprised by how modern the city is. Also, The Breadfruit was fantastic.

On Saturday morning, we got up early and piled in the car to head north to Sedona. On the way there, we encountered a bunch of hot air balloons drifting over I-17.

It had been fairly warm in Scottsdale (low 70s during the day), but once we got near Sedona it was a lot colder. I had to change from flipflops into regular shoes and socks, which is something I’m definitely not used to anymore.

We stopped at the visitors’ center just south of Sedona to pick up maps and get our first view of the red rocks.

We headed toward town, stopping at overlooks along the way. All of these formations have names, but I’ll rely on someone else to label them for me.

From there, we drove up to the turnoff for the Chapel of the Holy Cross.

The chapel is at the top of an overlook in the hills, just a short drive off the main road. It has pretty amazing views on the way up.

Cactus flowers!

Here’s the family ascending the ramp to the chapel. There are some Chinese buddhist monks coming up behind them, which we loved a lot.

The chapel itself is fairly small, though of course they have a sizeable gift shop downstairs.

The inside has a few pews and a huge rack of novena candles. They don’t use it actively for mass.

Here’s the gigantic mansion you see from the chapel. Kind of incongruous.

For lunch, we decided to stop and see what was at Tlaquepaque Arts & Crafts Village. Plus, who doesn’t love arts and crafts like my mother-in-law and I do? Conveniently, we found Oak Creek Brewery‘s brewpub there waiting for us.

After lunch, we went to wander around the shops there, after we rescued Bally from this guy.

There were a bunch of excellent shops there; Judy found a purse, and I bought a silver ring, some flipflops on clearance, and some other souvenirs. (I’d have bought more, but we’d already done well in Old Town Scottsdale.) When we were done there, we decided to go see the airport overlook before checking into the hotel. It’s a couple miles west of the “Y” (which seems to be the main point of navigation in town – a little confusing since it’s not a Y but a roundabout now).

Here’s a panorama from the airport overlook.

We found the Amara Resort at the bottom of a steep hill along Oak Creek. It was right in the middle of the little village in Sedona, and convenient to everything (except for the climb). Also, the views were pretty spectacular.

We were early for check-in, so we hung out having a cocktail on the patio while they prepared the rooms. One of the servers came out and pointed out Snoopy Rock – Snoopy is laying on his back on the right. (Lucy is up there, too, but hard to see in this photo.) Matt and I walked down to the creek, which you can get to past the infinity pool that overlooks the valley. It’s too bad we only had one night there.

Our rooms were ready shortly, so we went to drop our bags off. The in-laws wanted to hang out and have a pre-dinner drink in the room, and Matt and I wanted to go up into town to do more sightseeing. They said they would take the shuttle up the hill when they were ready for dinner. We headed out, making the poor decision to climb the hill. It was only 2 blocks, but that incline at almost 5,000 feet altitude was rough for two people who live 12 feet above sea level.

We did some looking around the shops, including a crazy trading post store that probably hasn’t changed all that much in the past couple hundred years. The shops in town were a lot more touristy and less artsy than Tlaquepaque, so we didn’t find much of interest there. We checked out menus and scoped out a dinner restaurant, then headed down the hill to check out the series of plaques they had set up detailing Sedona history. What we learned is that a lot of Westerns were filmed there, and that the settlers were awful to Native Americans. Obviously.

We went all the way down to the Y and crossed the road to check out a weird mall on a hill that appeared to have some restaurants and shops. It seemed to be a Hilton timeshare setup with a Hard Rock-style restaurant that charged $20 admission, a Starbucks, and some overpriced shops. We climbed the hill back into town and went into the Cowboy Club to have a beer. As we’d learned from the history plaques, it’s where John Wayne and the other oldtimey Western stars all hung out after movie shoots.

It wasn’t as saloon-like as we wanted, but it was great nonetheless. We both had a crush on the bartender, and there was basketball on TV. Matt’s parents called to say they were ready for dinner, so we told them to meet us there. They grabbed seats at the bar with us, and we ended up staying there for a couple more rounds. By that time the place was insanely packed, and people were hovering over our seats to grab them when we left.

We crossed the street to 89Agave for dinner and had a really good dinner and margaritas. (The veggie enchiladas were delicious.) Then it was time to head back to the hotel, so we climbed back down the hill – his parents made it! – and went to grab seats around one of the fireplaces outside. We had drinks there, and a lady brought us blankets to wrap up in. I really wished we were staying longer.

The in-laws went up to their room before 9, and Matt and I went to get a drink at the bar in the lobby, which was still pretty busy. We read an art book about modern architecture and then went back to the bar to get a to-go drink before bedtime. (It was before 10pm – that’s even late for a lot of places in Arizona.) We met some people at the bar who wanted to talk about life in Key West, which is a conversation we’ve had a lot at this point.

In the morning, we checked out and headed west out of town in a different direction than we’d arrived. The park ranger had pointed out another overlook loop, so we wanted to do that before leaving. We stopped at Circle K for more coffee, and I discovered they had this in their rack of condiments: it’s more coffee to add to your coffee. Of course I did.

Red Rock Loop Road was quite scenic indeed. It’s about a 5-mile loop that starts and ends at 89A. This reminded me of the Grand Canyon in the morning:

Bally is quite the outdoorsman, as you know.

Back on the highway, we headed west again. Our original plan was to take 89A back in the direction of I-17 to Phoenix, but then we realized it wasn’t very far out of the way to go to Prescott. Since Matt and I really wanted his parents to see it (as it was a truly old-West kind of town), we decided to head that way before going home.

What Google Maps neglects to tell you sometimes is that your route involves an almost 8,000-foot mountain pass. The weather was fine, though, so it was a good adventure.

We found the town of Jerome at 5,000 feet in the Black Hills of Yavapai County. I’d never heard of it before, but we learned from an informative plaque (what can’t you learn from plaques, really?) that it’s home to what was once the richest copper mine in history.

It’s hard to see in the photos, but there’s more than one really fancy hotel up there. Here’s a bit of the mine:

We climbed up and up toward Jerome, thinking we wouldn’t possibly go through town because it was so high up there. But we did, and were greeted by cairns near the town entrance.

The highway becomes tiny going through town, as a series of narrow switchbacks. All the buildings hang off the mountain. It was really amazing to see.

We figured Jerome was near the pass, but after half an hour of still going uphill realized it wasn’t til around 8,000 feet. There was snow all over the mountain near the top. (This is looking back toward Sedona.)

The descent into the Prescott Valley is a lot quicker, with far fewer switchbacks. We got into Prescott around lunchtime, and were glad to get to show them the town before heading back to Scottsdale.

Matt and I had our first adventure on Spirit Airlines heading to Phoenix on a Friday morning. While they don’t have Precheck, they charge for carry-on bags (we checked a shared bag for cheaper), and there is indeed no leg room, we decided it was worth it for a really cheap flight. I just wouldn’t use them for anything over three hours or so.

We landed in Phoenix around noon, picked up our bags, and Matt’s parents arrived to pick us up shortly thereafter.

The in-laws had been there for a while, having rented their friend’s condo in Scottsdale for the entire month of January. Neither Matt nor I had spent any time in Arizona – we’d both only crossed the border at the Hoover Dam – so we were looking forward to seeing more of the state. Also, Minnesota was horrendous and cold, and this was the weather in Scottsdale:

We went to the condo, unpacked, and hung out. My mother-in-law mentioned that the condo had fruit trees, where we could pick our own grapefruit, lemons, and oranges. I love that.

There were a ton of shops and restaurants near the condo, so we walked over to a place called Blanco’s to get some food and beers. (The in-laws kept calling it Blank-ohs, so we didn’t get it til we arrived.) We sat outside in the glorious weather, and were joined by a couple of Matt’s parents friends from South Dakota. (All the snowbirds tend to congregate in one place, after all.) We had guacamole and tacos, and were pretty impressed with the food there.

We hung out at the condo for a while, discussing our plans for the next day. We were headed to the Grand Canyon, and Matt’s dad wanted us to book the hotel we’d picked out in Tusayan, so we didn’t have to make the drive there and back in one day. We looked it up on Hotels.com and saw that it was totally booked, which seemed strange in January. I expanded the search, and found that that was the case with almost everything there – Tusayan was almost full. We finally decided on a hotel that looked pretty motel-ish but had good reviews and was cheap, so I booked two rooms and we were set.

Around dinner time, we headed down to Old Town Scottsdale. It was about three miles down the road from where they were staying. It was 6pm, and they wanted us to see a legitimate cowboy bar, the Rusty Spur.

‘Legitimate’ was no joke… there was a guy on stage playing country music, and people wearing unironic cowboy hats hanging out. The in-laws did some dancing, and we had a beer.

Then it was dinner time, so Matt and I did some quick online research about which places might have vegetarian food. A few blocks away, we found Tommy V’s Urban Kitchen and Bar. Matt’s dad had been paired with one of their servers when he was out golfing earlier in the week, so we were seated in his section.

The food was really good, though the place was busy and super-slow. After dinner, we decided to walk over to The Mission for a cocktail before heading back. On the way, Matt’s mom stopped into a shop for souvenirs, and I took crappy pictures of Old Town at night. It’s really cute!

The Mission was insanely crowded, but they managed to find us a table out on the heated patio. We had a margarita there before heading back to the condo.

Back home, the in-laws headed to bed and Matt and I went to sit in the hot tub for a hour or so before heading to bed. I’ve mentioned before that a hot tub in the desert is the greatest thing ever, and I stand by that assertion.

I got up Saturday morning and went downstairs, where Matt’s parents informed me they weren’t going to the Grand Canyon after all. His dad had come down with a cold, and really didn’t feel like making a long roadtrip.

I figured we had no chance of getting a refund from the hotel for the reservation within 24 hours, but I gave it a try anyway. The hotel said I had to call Hotels.com. The lady at Hotels.com was super-friendly, and said since I was a high-level member, she would give me a refund for one of the rooms. That made me an even bigger fan of their service.

Matt and I packed and got on the road around 10:30 and headed north. The second we got on I-17, Google started warning me that there was an accident ahead. I did some research, and discovered that we didn’t really have any options. There’s one big interstate through the desert mountains, and that’s it.

We reached the traffic jam about 20 miles ahead, and sat. Then we sat some more. I spent my time laughing at and imitating every single saguaro I saw. Seriously, look at them. They’re awesome.

There’s not much to look at besides the cactus until you get up into the mountains. An hour later, we’d made it about 10 miles and the accident had cleared. There was rest area near the peak, so we pulled off to use the restroom. So did everyone else who’d been stuck on the highway for an hour, so we ended up waiting in line at the bathrooms, too. The parking lot also contained the smashed remains of the car that was the cause of the slowdown, piled on top of a tow truck.

Finally we were on our way at normal speed. We exited shortly afterward at Hwy 69, heading toward Prescott. I hadn’t really known much about it until we arrived in Arizona and read all the tourist magazines, but what we learned is that it was an old west town where Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday used to hang out, and therefore Matt had to see it.

Also, there’s a street called Whiskey Row.

Prescott was an adorable little town centered around the old courthouse plaza. Whiskey Row had a line of awesome oldtimey saloons and touristy shops. Before we visited those, though, we needed some lunch.

We walked a couple blocks up the hill to Prescott Station, which had an extensive menu and good beer list. My chile relleno came with soba noodles for some strange reason, but it was delicious.

After lunch, we walked down to Prescott Brewing Company, which faced courthouse square. The place was packed at midday, but we found a couple spots at the bar. We didn’t have much time to hang out, but there was enough time for a sampler.

Then it was time to visit Whiskey Row. We’d researched the bars there, and picked one that was particularly history. Matt had to get his picture outside his namesake bar first, though.

Then we headed into The Palace, which still had the swinging doors that Wyatt Earp used to walk through.

The place was mostly empty, but all the seats at the bar except one were full. The three stools next to that were occupied by some Confederate soldiers in full uniform, drinking Coors. No, really. Union soldiers. And one of them got up and offered me his chair.

See, here’s surreptitious proof of the soldiers. The staff were dressed in period costumes, too. It was great. We ordered beers, and hung out in the Old West for a while.

Then it was time to head out. We’d tried to time it so that we’d make it to our hotel near the Grand Canyon before dark, but we’d have to hurry to get there.

We headed back north on Highway 69, and saw a lot of the middle of nowhere in the desert. We reached I-40 (back on Route 66 again!) and headed east. We stopped to pay a million dollars for gas in Williams, and then exited I-40 to go north toward the Grand Canyon. The sun was starting to set.

Our hotel was in Tusayan, a little town a mile south of the entrance to Grand Canyon National Park. As far as we could tell, it existed solely for that reason, since it was all hotels and restaurants. Since the park passes are good for a week, we decided to drive up to the ranger station and buy a pass so we didn’t have to deal with it in the morning. Then we made a u-turn and went back to Tusayan.

We found the Canyon Plaza Resort right away because it was gigantic. I was nervous because it was one of those old motel-style buildings, but our room was actually very clean and the bathroom had been recently redone. In addition to the outside door, we had another door facing in on the atrium, which led directly to this magical place: the Wintergarten.

(No, I have no idea why there’s a bar called The Wintergarten at a hotel by the Grand Canyon.)

We had a beer in the room, and then went over to the Wintergarten for another one. I asked our server how late they’d be open that night – it was a little after 7:00 and strangely quiet for a Saturday – and he said, “Oh, pretty late, depending on how long people are here. Probably 8:30 or so.” That kind of set the tone for the evening.

I noticed even walking around our room that I was kind of off-balance, and realized that it was due to the altitude. The South Rim of the Grand Canyon is at about 7,000 feet, which did not cooperate well with my inner-ear-related vertigo. It wasn’t too bad, just strange.

While it had been very pleasantly in the 70s during the day in Scottsdale (and a slightly-chilly 50s at night), such was not the case at the Grand Canyon. It was in the 30s, but we were prepared with winter coats and mittens. We walked a couple blocks over to a place called Sophie’s Mexican Kitchen, because it had the word “vegetarian” on the sign.

There were a few people in there, and a couple that came in directly behind us, but it was definitely quiet. We had prickly pear margaritas (delicious) and dinner (acceptable), and by the time we were ready for our check, they were flipping chairs up onto tables. It wasn’t even 9pm yet.

So then it became a contest to see if we could find another place open for a drink in Tusayan. As we walked down the street, three guys came out of the steakhouse nearby and set off, obviously on the same mission. They crossed the street to another mexican restaurant, but we decided to head for the fancy resort (The Grand Hotel) at the end of the “strip” (it’s about three blocks long). We figured they had to have a cocktail bar there, or at least something at the restaurant. I was semi-teetering along the way, not due to drunkenness but altitude-based vertigo. What a strange sensation.

They did indeed have a bar. It was western-themed. I sat on a saddle.

The bartender was really funny, and had moved from Portland. We had a drink there and hung out talking, and were glad there were still other people sitting at the bar. The massive restaurant closed, and a few people came in for very complicated nightcaps (there was a lot of Baileys involved). Matt ordered another drink, and then suddenly it was last call. Their last call was no joke, either… around 9:45 the register basically shut off and wouldn’t let our bartender enter orders or do anything but print checks. It was kind of amazing.

We headed back to the hotel for a beer in bed, where we discovered the many Japanese channels on our hotel TV. We ended up watching Cat TV, which was an entire show following house cats around a farm in France, narrated in Japanese. Amazing.

We got up bright and early the next morning, to get to the Grand Canyon before “the rush”. (We didn’t really expect a rush that time of year, but you never know.) We checked out of the hotel, grabbed a drive-through breakfast, and headed into the park. The sun was just coming up.

I parked the car in the gigantic parking lot near the main visitor center. There were very few cars there, so that was a good sign. We grabbed our cameras and headed toward a nearby overlook for our first-ever view of the Grand Canyon.

It was not disappointing. I got choked up when I saw it.

We walked along the trail by the visitor center, taking pictures at each stop. There were very few people around. It was cold, but not terrible… when the sun came up, it was around freezing.

The biggest crowds we saw were at this overlook by the entrance. There were a bunch of people with selfie sticks taking photos of themselves. And by ‘a bunch’, I mean 30 at most. It was kind of amazing.

Bally was impressed, too.

Here are a couple panoramas!

What we’d learned about the Grand Canyon is that January is a pretty questionable month there, weather-wise. It’s very likely that the roads to some of the more remote overlooks are closed in January, so you can pretty much only stick around the visitor centers and Grand Canyon Village. We got incredibly lucky, because all the roads were open.

The other huge plus to going that time of year is that during the high season (March to November), you can’t take those roads to the overlooks. You park at the visitor center, board a bus, and ride to each of the stops along the way. But in the off-season, you’re on your own. I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have been able to get to half the things we saw if we’d have had to wait for buses all day.

From the visitor center, we drove on through Grand Canyon Village and onto the road to Hermit’s Rest, which heads westward along the south rim of the canyon. We stopped at most of the overlooks along the way.

From the first overlook, you can see Bright Angel Trail. There were plenty of people walking it already, and I did not envy their climb back up.

It didn’t take long for us to notice the effects of altitude: we just had to try to climb back up the stairs from the overlook. We were gasping by the time we got to the top.

God, it was gorgeous there. Especially in the morning light.

There’s no good way to get the appropriate perspective in your photos, either. It’s so gigantic. (I still have trouble believing that the Colorado River was actually a mile below us.)

We drove to Hopi Point, then took the trail back to Powell Point. (All over the overlooks are connected by a walking trail, most of it paved.)

There’s a monument to John Wesley Powell there, commemorating the first (white guy) explorer to boat the length of the Colorado River.

From those two stops, we decided to drive all the way to Hermit’s Rest. I didn’t really know what to expect there, but it was awesome. Also, there were two other cars in the parking lot. It felt almost like we had the park to ourselves.

We went into the building there, and saw the fireplace that people had been warming themselves at for a hundred years. There’s a shop in there, too, so we picked up the requisite souvenirs of our visit.

Matt plugged a quarter into the telescope so we could check out the view.

He’d read that you could use those telescopes as a telephoto lens for your camera, so I tried it out. Um…. nope.

We walked down the trail behind the building, which led to the trailhead parking lot, where there were a couple campers parked. There was also this array of bones, which wasn’t at all creepy.

I wanted to steal the walking sticks there. (I have a fetish for those little medallions you can buy at any national or state park as souvenirs, which you’re supposed to attach to your walking stick. I have zero need for them, but I really want them.) Matt said I couldn’t, lest we get murdered by the campers or the people who left the bones there.

Then we filled our bottles with Grand Canyon spring water. It was deliciously mineraly.

We went back to the car, and went to see the stops we’d passed along the way. First was Pima Point, which we had to ourselves.

Those railings are there to protect you, but they’re kind of beat to hell:

We found our initials carved in a tree!

Then there was The Abyss, the best-named overlook.

Once we’d seen all the stops along the Hermit’s Rest road, we went back to Grand Canyon Village and parked the car. We walked down across the railroad tracks to visit the mules. The guy in front nickered ‘hi’ to us, which was adorable.

Then we crossed back along the tracks (which were still somewhat ice-covered, due to being in the shade) and went to see a train parked there, and the station.

We realized that the buses parked there with a bunch of bus drivers hanging out meant that the train was arriving, so we stayed to watch it pull into the station. I really want to take the train sometime.

Then we walked up the hill to see the hotels. Climbing two flights of stairs at altitude is not a fun adventure, and makes you feel hella old.

El Tovar is the fancy old lodge-style hotel with rocking chairs on the front porch. We sat in one, and then went inside to take a look.

It’s chock full of dead animals, as expected. Apparently the cocktail lounge there is really cool, but it was closed for renovation. We decided to move on.

Next door is Bright Angel Lodge, which also has a very outdoorsy appeal. I liked their lobby better, because it reminded me of all the up-north cabins in Minnesota.

We decided to go have a beer in their lounge instead. It was the opposite of fancy, but it was oldtimey and comfortable.

Then it was time to make our way onward so that we weren’t driving the whole way back to Scottsdale in the dark. We first went to the visitor center, used the restroom, and got coffee for the road. Then we took the park road heading east toward Desert View. We’d seen a sign at the entrance saying the road going that way might be closed, but that was not the case.

I was glad we’d taken the other route first… there’s not as much to see along the way, at least until you get to the end.

The tower was really cool. It was built by the same people who built Hermit’s Rest.

There was more snow at this end, too. Unfortunately it had started to get overcast in the late afternoon.

From there, we continued on the highway out of the park. The exit leads to a very large Navajo reservation with awesome views of the mountains. I learned later that there’s fossil evidence of dinosaurs all over the place there, too.

We descended very slowly along the route back south. There’s not as much to see going that direction, and the desert is very scrubby. We stopped in Flagstaff to get a burrito, and then headed onward. We had considered stopping to see Sedona, too, but realized we’d be pretty late getting back to Scottsdale.

On the way, we were listening to the NFC championship game on Sirius, and heard the Packers get knocked out of the playoffs. That was satisfying.

We got back to the condo in Scottsdale around sunset, where Matt’s parents were anxiously waiting for us. We had pizza for dinner, showed them all the photos we’d taken at the Grand Canyon, and hung out playing cards, followed by another visit to the awesome hot tub.

The next morning, I got up and Matt’s mom and I took a walk around the condos to pick fruit. I took pictures of cacti, because I seriously love cacti.

They had orange, grapefruit and lemon trees.

Seriously, how nice is it to be able to pick your own citru? I can’t wait to live somewhere warm.

I hung out on the patio soaking up the sun, and then we piled in the car and drove to Talking Stick casino. The in-laws said they had amazing bloody marys. We had beers, since that’s not really our thing.

The casino and resort were really nice, and obviously fairly new. I was excited to read that they had craps there, but couldn’t find the actual table. I realized it was actually one of those craps machines with the giant Boggle-style dice popper in the center of the table, but that was alright since it seemed to work exactly the same as the normal game. Matt, his dad, and I sat down to play for a long time, and we all did pretty well.

Afterward, we headed into Old Town to do some more shopping. We covered a lot of ground, and I had to resist buying everything at the shop that had everything southwestern-and-Mexican that you could ever want. (Especially since we were sharing one checked bag.)

Since we were right by the Rusty Spur, we decided to stop in for a beer again.

Matt’s parents were tired of walking, so they took the car and headed back while Matt and I did more shopping. And by ‘shopping’, I mean we mostly went to the tiki bar. Hula’s was great.

Since we had dinner reservations that evening, we decided to take the bus back to the condo so we could change into nicer clothes. It dropped us off right across the street from the condo, and we went in to hang out for a while before leaving again.

Our dinner plans were at Culinary Dropout, which was halfway back to Old Town in the Scottsdale Fashion Square Mall. (It was this gigantic hulking fake-downtown looking thing, the kind that always makes me uncomfortable. We’d ridden through there a couple times, since the trolley stops there.)

It was colder outside than previous nights, and I was wearing my winter jacket. It was funny to see people in a vast array of covered-up; there were ladies in clubwear, and people wearing full-on winter gear. It’s basically exactly how Minnesota is when it starts getting into the 40s in spring.

The restaurant was great. It was noisy and the in-laws didn’t entirely get the menu concept, but their food and cocktails were excellent.

Matt and I had considered going out again after dinner, but decided to just ride back and hang out with his parents instead, since it was our last night. We played some cards again, and then hit up the hot tub for one last time after they went to bed.

I got up Tuesday morning and went out to the patio to knit. It was a little bit chilly in the 50s, but I was determined to soak up as much sun as possible.

When Matt got up, we went to say bye to our good pal, the hot tub.

Then we packed up our stuff and headed to lunch. We’d seen Diego Pops on the way there from the airport, and knew we had to stop in for a visit sometime. Especially since they had vegetarian tacos, which were great. (Not to mention prickly pear margaritas.)

Then we drove down to another spot I’d wanted to visit since I learned of it on the first day of our trip: Sphinx Date Ranch. They sold locally-grown dates, and a bunch of other food gifts. We bought a bunch of awesome things there, and had to figure out how to get it into our luggage. (I ate a date a day for two weeks after that.)

And then it was time to head to the airport. Matt’s parents dropped us off, and we headed to our flight. We took off right around sunset, and the view over the mountains was great.

It was so insanely cold when we got back to Minneapolis that we opted to take a cab to our parking spot rather than have to walk the two blocks from the train. Living in the frozen northland isn’t that great, in case you were wondering. That’s why we’re so glad to escape!

I tried to sleep in, really. I woke at 6 and forced myself to go back to sleep, but I was up again by 7am. I got coffee and went to my car, which, surprisingly, had not melted into a pool of metal and rubber after sitting in the heat all day. I got on the freeway and headed towards the Hoover Dam. Apparently, Boulder City has some kind of scam going with the state highway department, in which all the tourist traffic is routed right through the center of town.

I got to the dam at 8:45, and it was already 95 degrees. I had to wait in line outside the visitors’ center, which didn’t open until 9, thinking, this is not what i want to be doing. Finally, they let us in, passed us through a metal detector, and sold us tickets. I wanted to go right to the observation deck, but they made me go down and sit through the presentation first. I was cranky. All I wanted was to take some dam pictures and be on my way. I didn’t want to take the dam tour. I sat there, squirming, surrounded by tourist families, thinking, this is not what i want to be doing, either. I did learn a couple fun facts from the presentation, however: first of all, there’s no way a body could be buried in the dam, because of how they poured the concrete (although I choose to adhere to the theory that the mob can do anything it wants, and if it wants a body in the dam, it gets a body in the dam); second, Las Vegas gets none of its power from the Hoover Dam. So there. Some learnin’.

After they herded us cattle out of the presentation corral, I busted out of line and ran up the stairs to the observation deck. Some security guards peered at me suspiciously, but didn’t seem to have the ambition to taser me, so I got to take my photos in peace. After that, I made my way to the gift shop, the most important part of any stupid tourist attraction. I got my dam souvenirs* and was back on my way.

*I’m sorry, dam jokes make my mom laugh every single time I tell them, so I feel obligated.

Also, you may wonder at my bitterness over the Hoover Dam. I don’t know, I guess I’m not that much for public works. I didn’t like having to spend so much time and money to see something that’s basically a punchline.

I got in my car and drove across the dam into Arizona, because I wasn’t positive that I’d be driving through there on the way back, and I’d be mightily pissed if I missed a western state on my road trip. I was there long enough to make a u-turn and go back. I liked that there were clocks on either side of the dam telling us what time it was in the respective states, since Arizona has some sort of conscientious objection to daylight savings. Troublemakers.

I pointed Chico back towards Vegas and marveled at the double layer of haze over the city. There was the normal, white haziness from the heat, and below that, a thick layer of brown smog. Nice. I drove around to the north end of town and exited at Las Vegas Boulevard, so I could drive through downtown. It was all tattoo parlors, bail bonds, and wedding chapels (‘Your wedding broadcast live over the internet FREE!’). The crappy little motels had the best signs I’d ever seen, way better than anything the strip had to offer. I parked at the Stratosphere, and went in and bought a ticket for the tower. I wanted to see Las Vegas from above.

The view was impressive – not as hazy as the pictures seem – but it was painfully hot. I could only stand it for ten minutes, then went inside and down a level to the indoor observation deck. I sat and wrote for a while, then went back downstairs to the casino. The girl running the elevator told me how much it sucked to be a teenager in Las Vegas, because of the strictly-enforced 9pm curfew. She only had 2 months to go to 18, though. Then she could get to topless dancing or waitressing or prostituting or whatever it is that 18-year-old girls do for work in Vegas. I wouldn’t know, but I wished her the best anyway.

I walked from one end of the casino to the other twice. I stopped at the deli and asked about the veggie sandwich. It was cheese with whatever vegetables I wanted, as long as my selection was limited to lettuce, tomato, or onion. I couldn’t get a salad without meat because they were all pre-made. As I pondered the anemic-looking fruit salad, the woman behind the counter pointed out the veggie sandwich again and said, “Well, that’s how we do it when they want it vegetarian!” She seemed angry. I left and headed back to Roxy’s Diner, the 50s-style restaurant, because they at least had grilled cheese. I was so frustrated I wanted to cry (the combination of impatience and low blood sugar is such a bad state for me). I explained my issue to the server, and she said, “Awww, honey. Let me hook you up!” She went back to the kitchen and had them construct a very impressive grilled vegetable sandwich for me. And I loved her for it.

After lunch, I went back to my car and drove down the Strip. I saw a couple drops of water on my windshield and thought it was from a sprayer at a casino. Then I realized it was raining. 110 degrees in the middle of the desert, and it was raining. Also, it was the first time I’d really encountered any adverse weather on my entire trip. I’m lucky that way.

I found my destination about a mile from the strip on Tropicana, near the airport. As I got out of my car, I realized that the rain was doing nothing to affect the heat, it was just making it humid. The drops were drying as quickly as they hit the ground; I was surprised they weren’t hissing. The backs of my pants legs were soaked again, and I got instant chills the second I walked into the Liberace Museum.

The enthusiastic old lady in the black-sequined vest gave me a long speech about my tour options. I decided to forego the audio tour, even though it was a mere $3 extra to hear Liberace speak to me. You see, I’m the high-impact tourist. I try to see as much as possible in as little time. Tours slow me down, informational signs are a distraction. I could be halfway to Salt Lake City and Liberace would still be talking to me. So no audio tour.

The Liberace Museum was kind of great. No, really great. The first building housed his pianos and cars. The cars were incredible. Now, I was lucky enough to have experienced the platinum tour of Graceland, and I can say with absolute authority that The King’s cars had nothing on Liberace’s. They were all either covered à la mirror ball, or decked out in rhinestones. One was red, white, and blue. They were fabulous, and they must have had some kind of souped-up suspension to handle the weight of all that glitz.

[This space reserved for the photos I’d have taken if they’d have let me. You’ll just have to visit, I guess.]

The geriatric crew and I meandered through the museum, then exited and followed the Liberace Walk of Fame through the Liberace Strip Mall (gay bar, produce market, Asian grocery, and spaces for rent), to the other end of the Liberace Complex and the rest of the museum. I wasn’t sure why the place was divided in half, but maybe they just didn’t realize how much Liberace they had to show off. I went into the second museum without even having to show my Liberace Hand Stamp, which cleverly concealed my Mt. Rainier bruise. This part of the museum was a roomful of his famous outfits. Yet again, Liberace put Elvis to shame. They were so great. My favorite was the patriotic hotpants ensemble. Also, I saw the world’s largest, purest rhinestone, donated by Swarovski (it’s the store that glows blue at the Mall of America, FYI) especially for the Liberace Museum. It did them proud.

The Liberace Gift Shop didn’t disappoint, either. I bought myself an awesome book about 50s Vegas, and talked to the lady at the counter for almost 20 minutes about the museum and its similarities to Graceland. She hadn’t been, but she wished that the Elvis folks would be as philanthropic as the Liberace Trust, which donates some millions of dollars a year to charity. (Sorry, Heather, I know you love Fat Elvis, but Liberace had a fat stage, too. Give him a chance.)

I called Heather on my way back towards the strip and complained about my food situation. She looked up the address of a vegetarian restaurant that turned out to be a grocery, but that was fine. I was happy. I bought some snacks for the car and protein bars, and chatted with the guy behind the register about the crappy casino dining options. He agreed that it was bad, and asked where I was from. He said that the woman who owns the French Meadow Bakery in Minneapolis (one of my current favorite restaurants) stops in every time she’s in Vegas. Awesome.

I got back to my room at 2:30 and passed out on the bed. I was awakened at 3:30 by a phone call about a job. I looked at my AAA guides for Utah and Colorado, and couldn’t get excited about anything. I wrote in my journal: i think i’m done.

The storm was in full swing at that point, so I sat in the window in tshirt and underwear and watched, waiting for it to let up enough for me to go out again. The wind had picked up, and it was a full-fledged dust storm for about fifteen minutes. I watched dirt-and-trash tornadoes spiraling around the parking lot. It started raining hard. I saw a big metal garbage can (minus the contortionist, thankfully) blow over and slam against a beater car. My car was so far unscathed, but I was keeping an eye on it. I was happy that the humidity dust was getting washed off.

After it stopped raining, I got dressed and headed to Circus Circus. I went up and watched some of the performance. It was kind of a cool setup, and I liked that they put on the show for free, considering some of the crap that people paid to see in that town. I walked around the shops and checked the restaurants, as usual. The one place that looked promising was closed; I was mistaken in my assumption that everything in Vegas was open 24 hours a day. I walked back to the Stardust, and found a long line outside the one cafe I had chosen the night before. Sigh. I waited anyway, and it only took about 10 minutes. They got me in fast because I was willing to sit in the smoking section. I mean, the entire city is like one big smoking section. So why not?

The people behind me in line were from West Virginia. I knew this not because we were chatting, but because they were those kind of people. Questions/statements I overheard, many of them repeated multiple times:

– It’s 7 here, right? Or is that the time in West Virginia?
– Is this the place with the steak and lobster? I don’t want the steak and lobster.
– Is this place open?
– Is this the buffet?
– I don’t want steak and lobster. I would eat it, though.
– That girl is all lit up! Look at that! (Referring to the girl in the lobby selling flashing stuff with LED lights, à la vintage cigarette girl)
– That girl couldn’t go to school like that, though! They’d send her home for distracting other kids. (The ‘girl’ looks to be about 40. Yes, the flashing lights are distracting. Not to mention the mini-tux and fishnets.)
– If I have to eat that steak, it better be done.

I hated them.

The menu was huge. Sandwiches, entrees, a page of Chinese food, appetizers, all-day breakfast. About four viable options for me, none of them great. I decided on nachos and fruit. I rule.

– – – – –

random notes from my travel journal:

casinos at 7am are only slightly less depressing than casinos that are empty at 11pm.

i have suspicions about the bureau of land management. is their only job to sneak onto indian reservations in the middle of the night and steal the land back bit by bit?

i know i’ve said it before, but being vegetarian in las vegas is a fucking nightmare. i was better off in montana.

i got sammich juice all over my face and hands. i am classy to the end.

this is the kind of place where the servers walk around singing 50s tunes. don’t make eye contact. also, it seems to be the seat of some casino rockabilly scene. jay would hate it here.

seeing this weather here is kind of great. i know it’s a pretty rare thing.

even ‘home’ is a disorienting concept at this point. it’ll be weird to not be alone all the time. i wonder if that will feel funny. more disorientation. cool.

i’m starting to suspect that meat is some kind of religion out here.

on the way home, i’ll stop and see some sights if i feel like it, but right now, i don’t feel like it. the grand canyon doesn’t seem like such a big deal at the moment. i’ve had an overdose of natural beauty. and too many crazy cities and crazier people. so awesome, but enough to last me for a while. i kind of want to get back to my routine. it’s funny when you start craving doing dishes and laundry, right?

i feel like i’m calling home too often just for human contact. like i told heather today, i have to remind myself that there are people somewhere who care about me. also, heather is the siegfried to my roy. ha.

i think these nachos have velveeta on them. for christ’s sake.

i hurt all over. the hips aren’t great. my feet are shot, i think. they have blisters and sore spots all over them. i’m surprised it took this long, actually. i’m going to blame the insane heat for that.

i hate when i get cheese on my notebook. how am i going to live without this thing? it’s comforting to me. plus it’s my dining companion. i’ll have the fruit salad, my journal will have the nachos. extra velveeta, please.

you can play keno at the tables here. why, god, why don’t i know how to play keno?

i have to stop hunching my shoulders. i need a massage. i really just want to be in bed with someone. anyone. ha.

– – – – –

I left Vegas at 7am, iced coffee in hand. As I drove out, I noticed that the trip odometer was at exactly 5000 miles. It was in the 80s and the change was a huge relief. By the time I reached Mesquite, I had to pee. I drove by a billboard with the magic symbol on it: Starbucks. So, yes, I stopped at the Casablanca Casino to use the bathroom and get coffee. You do what you have to do.

The landscape the whole way was incredible. It was all desert scrub and mountains with red and white rock, studies in plate tectonics (see, I learned something in school). The Virgin River Gorge was beautiful, so I didn’t even mind more steep, winding grade and the 55mph speed limit. I crossed into Arizona and cursed losing an hour. I hit I-70 and was excited by the sign reading ‘Richfield’; I wanted that to mean Richfield, Minnesota, where I live. I stopped a few times to go to the bathroom. Then I stopped in Richfield to try and find coffee, but couldn’t. I was zoning out again, eating sunflower seeds to stay awake, and taking off my sunglasses so the glare would keep me alert. When I saw a sign telling me there was going to be a big stretch of nothing for 110 miles, I took that as my cue to stop.

The town I pulled off at had a couple trucker bars and a Denny’s. Beyond caring, I chose Denny’s. I got out of the car, shaking, with the cold sweats. I staggered in, got a table, and almost cried with relief when I saw that they had a gardenburger. I ordered coffee and sat and wrote. I sat there for a long time after I finished eating, too, because I was afraid I’d stand up again and realize that I was still in bad shape, and wouldn’t be able to drive. But, no, when I got up, I was fine, and I had confirmed that my problem was definitely low blood sugar. I vowed to be more careful about that in the future.

I got back on the road and make the 110-mile drive through the middle of nowhere easily. Utah is beautiful, and the landscape is really diverse. Anywhere else, it would all be national park, but there’s just so much of it, they probably couldn’t do that to the entire state. Although maybe the Mormons could get in on some of that action and convert all the visitors. It’s a win-win, really.

I crossed the Colorado border and the scenery continued. It was somewhere close to a million degrees outside, and I was dying. My pants were soaking wet again, so I devised a method in which to dry them: I cranked up the air and aimed all the blowers down towards my seat. I braced my knees against the dashboard and pushed back against the seat, to lift my ass up and allow for air circulation underneath it. Thanks to my thighs of steel, I could hold that position for miles, and it worked.

I stopped in Grand Junction to get coffee. Heather told me that both Safeway and Albertson’s had Starbucks, so I was on the lookout. I got gas, and asked the woman at the next pump where I could find one of those stores. She was really nice, gave me directions, and said her mom was born in Minnesota. I found Albertson’s, walked in, and asked the odd-looking bagboy where the restrooms were. I bought pop and fruit. At the checkout, the bagboy (who was one of a matched set, prompting the mental debate: twins or clones? Clones.) asked if I had found the bathroom OK. Ha! I went over to the Starbucks counter, and the kid there was super-nice, too, if painfully dumb. It took him three minutes to enter my order in the computer, and he kept apologizing over and over. I asked him if he knew how to get back to I-70 from there. He said no, he had just moved there recently, and he honestly didn’t even know what I-70 was. I laughed and said, “It’s the huge highway that goes to Denver!” Another guy showed up, and I asked him. He gave me really elaborate, detailed directions, even though the answer was essentially, “Drive down this road and you’ll run into it.” I was a little weirded out when I realized that everyone I had encountered in that town was really, really nice. I had to get out quick.

Before reaching the Rockies, I crossed the Colorado River. There’s this area where the interstate runs through a gigantic gorge alongside the river, and I was almost positive it was running uphill most of the way. Anyway, this section of road is a marvel of modern engineering, and I’m not even joking about that. It actually looks like it belongs there, rather than having been carved out with a lot of destruction. There are two lanes going either direction, and they’re often at different levels, one above the other. There are perfect, smooth curves, so you can set the cruise and go. There are walking and bike paths down along the river. There are cool tunnels. And the scenery is great. Also, these were the very important things I thought about while driving insane distances alone.

I saw Vail and all those big ski areas I’m sure someone cares about. I was surprised to see hardly any snow in the Rockies, considering there were elevations over 10,000 feet, whereas I had hiked in snow in Glacier at only 7000 feet. As I got into the mountains, it started raining a little, and the temperature dropped from 105 to 60. I finally got to turn off the air conditioning. I went through the Eisenhower Tunnel, although I didn’t realize it at the time. Going down the east side of the Rockies, there are a million signs for truckers, warning them about the grade, and they get funnier as you go: “Truckers, don’t be fooled! Steep downward grades ahead! Check brakes!” and “Truckers, you’re not down yet! Are your brakes cool?”

I got into Denver around 8:30. 5,700 miles. I wanted to stop for dinner, but the switch to I-76 skirted town, which was actually kind of nice. I decided to keep going to whatever exit had something promising. That ended up being around 9pm, when I saw a sign that listed a few chain restaurants and Starbucks. I pulled into Starbucks, afraid it would be closed after dinner. I went to the bathroom, and as I went up to the counter, the guy had the cash drawers out, and the woman was washing dishes. I asked him, “Are you closed?” He looked at me like I was stupid, said, “We close at 10,” and walked away. I stood there, stunned. Was it 10pm? Was I in mountain or central time? I had no idea. I asked the woman, “Are you closed? I don’t even know what time zone this is.” I must have seemed really flustered, because she looked concerned. She said no, they were open. I told her what the guy had said. I was exhausted and confused, and she probably thought I was really pissed. She very slowly and deliberately made me coffee, then put it on the counter next to my Starbucks card. I slid the card towards her, and she just looked at me and said, “Have a good night.” I told her she was very nice, and thanked her for the coffee.

I had dinner at Applebee’s, the only sit-down place in town. The food sucked, but it was food. The server sat at my table for a long time and talked about being vegetarian. She was great. In fact, everyone in Colorado was really friendly. I couldn’t figure out whether that should scare me or not.

I got back on the road, hoping to get a couple more hours of driving in. The farther I could make it, the fewer miles I’d have to drive to reach home the next day. Since I was once again in the middle of nowhere with no cell signal, I stopped at a gas station to call Heather on the payphone. While I was standing there talking, bugs were swarming around me. I had to keep stamping my feet to knock off the beetles that were climbing on my shoes.

By 11:30, I couldn’t drive anymore. About 20 minutes outside of Sterling, I saw a mouse run across the highway, and had a bizarre flashback: the last time we were driving through that area about 3 in the morning, while I was dozing in the passenger seat, Heather told me she was seeing mice running across the highway. Then she saw mice flying across the highway. Then we blew a tire. I decided to stop. So I exited and pulled into the first motel I saw, which happened to be the Travelodge. I parked in front of my room, went in, and did the first thing I usually do, strip the bed. I flipped over the pillow, and there was a big black beetle sitting happily underneath. I froze. Now, I have bug paranoia, so that wasn’t great. Our first apartment had roaches, and I will never, ever get over the emotional scars. I was pretty sure this wasn’t a roach, but my head wanted me to believe it was. It was probably one of the million beetle-y bugs from outside. Still, it was big, and it was just sitting there looking at me. I got some kleenex and tried to kill it, but it ran away. I chased it, yelling, “No no no no no!” It disappeared under the bed.

I unmade the other bed and checked all over for bugs. Then I went to get ready for a shower. While I was undressing, another smaller bug ran across the floor. I smashed it with my shoe. In the bathroom, I discovered another black beetle writhing around on its back behind the door. Sufficiently grossed out, I took a shower but didn’t wash my hair – I didn’t want to stick around long enough in the morning to redo it.

I brushed my teeth and re-checked the second bed. I left the bathroom light on because I was freaked, and wanted to be able to see the bugs before they got to me. I laid there for about 20 minutes, having visions of beetles crawling in my bed, in my shoes, into my bag. Also, I still wasn’t convinced they weren’t roaches. I thought about going out to sleep in my car, but then was pissed that I would have to pay for the room. So I got dressed, grabbed my stuff, threw my sleeping bag, pillow, and blankets in the back seat of the car, and went back to the office.

There was another woman at the front desk, checking in. I said, “I can’t stay here, there are bugs all over my room.” The woman signing in stopped writing and stared for a minute, thought about it, and went back to writing. The front desk woman said, “Do you want to try a room upstairs?” I said no, I was just going to go. She printed up my refund and handed it to me without a word.

I thought about trying a different motel, but my other option was the Super 8, and I didn’t hold out much hope for that, either. I already had the creeps. Plus it was 1am and I had showered and brushed my teeth, so why pay $50 for a bed? I decided to drive on to the rest area, which I knew was within 50 miles.

I got back on the interstate, set the cruise at 80, and blasted music. I passed a town every 10 miles. It was pitch black, and reminded me of driving late at night in Montana. I kept the brights on even with oncoming traffic, because I was scared of hitting something. But I did anyway – one of those huge strips of semi tire laying on its side in the middle of the road. I didn’t even see it. It slammed loudly against the bottom of my car, and I thought I was going to be sick. I was sure I would at least have a flat tire. I shut off the stereo and listened, and everything seemed fine. No bumping, no weird noises, no alarms. After ten minutes, I reassured myself that the car was OK.

20 miles later, I found the rest area, right on the Colorado-Nebraska border. There were about ten cars and campers already parked there. I settled in and was comfortable, starting to doze off right away. I closed the screen on the sunroof to block the light and the sound of the rain that was just starting. I woke up a little later, cramped and drenched in sweat. I spent the next few hours flopping around, having delirious dreams. I was in California. I was in Las Vegas. I was sleeping in the desert. I’d wake up confused, remind myself where I was, and go back to the dreams again. At 5am, I had had enough; I probably got an hour of sleep. It was getting light, and the wind was blowing really, really hard. I sat up and saw tons of lightning to the southwest, heading my direction. That decided it; I was getting out of there. I ran to the bathroom, fixed my hair, and got back on the road.

– – – – –

random notes from my travel journal:

it’s 500 miles to denver, through mountains and nothing. i want to cry.

you know you’re tired when you’re thinking picking up a hitchhiker might be a good idea, so you can share driving.

why do all old ladies have the same hairstyle?

i just heard ‘never surrender’ by corey hart. wow.

i so want to be a trucker. i really, really want to make use of the runaway truck ramp, too.

‘no name, colorado.’ joke towns. ha.

– – – – –