After the Expo at Mormon Lake, I headed up to the Grand Canyon for a quick look. It had changed significantly since Carolyn and I were last here in 1985. For a start, I thought it looked deeper! Its a pretty impressive hole in the ground which ever way you look at it. Moving right along, I headed out to the Vermillion Cliffs along Alt US 89. These were also impressive, as was the Navajo Bridges over the Colorado River.
The Vermillion Cliffs
One of the Navajo Bridges
The Colorado River, downstream of Lake Powell, on its way into the Grand Canyon.
On the way to this area, I had passed a number of Navaho settlements. These all looked pretty dismal, with bits and pieces missing from the buildings, wrecked cars and other piles of junk strewn all over the place, not the slightest trace of any landscaping or care. Along the roadside there were numerous stalls selling Indian trinkets to the traveling public. Well, they might have had a chance if there was anyone in them. Most were unattended. This appeared to be the only sign of economic activity in this very large area. There was hardly any indication of agriculture or ranching, and all told painted a very bleak looking picture.
On a brighter note, today's ride was again in blustery conditions, strong at times but well below the terror level of a few days ago. The sky was cloudless, but looked murky on the horizon due to the dust being stirred up. Looking at all the weird rock formations in this area, the penny dropped. The wind is loaded with abrasive sand, and over millenia this has sculpted the relatively soft sandstone rock accordingly. That also means that wind is almost always present to some extent around here, so I'm not expecting much change in the riding conditions. In fact, its a local joke that when the first Mormons reached this area in the 1800s, they stopped and waited for the wind to abate, and they are still here.
So I crossed the border into Utah and headed for my motel in the small town of Kanab. As soon as I entered the lobby, I was hit by a wonderful aroma of curry. What's the bet? Yep, sure enough, and I don't mean Navajo. Here's where it gets interesting. Just as I'm checking in, a usually simple process but one which Indians can unfailingly turn into an exquisite form of torture, especially if the booking is done online, some guy comes running into the lobby shouting "Dial 911!" This guy looked a bit like the elevator didn't go all the way to the top floor, if you get my drift, and it turns out he was the handyman, and was reporting a fire. I looked across the courtyard, and sure enough there was a growing plume of smoke coming from behind that side of the motel. As I listened to the frantic Indian lady trying to explain the situation to the Emergency services, and really botching it up, I thought "this should be good!" Nobody else was doing anything, so I walked across to look behind the building. A power line had come down in the wind, and was flapping around wildly. Clearly it was still live, as it was arcing with a big blue flash every time it hit anything, and it had set fire to the long dry grass and timber fence behind the building. Not a fire extinguisher to be seen, let alone one for electrical fires, and not a good idea to get a hose just at the moment.
About 4 minutes had passed since the 911 call when I heard sirens in the distance and the first on the scene was a cop. I thought it prudent to let the guy know that there was a live power line under all the smoke, but he ignored me and disappeared around the back of the building. OK pal, you sort it out then. I pulled up a chair outside the lobby and sat down to watch. The first fire engine went straight past. The second one drove in. Two more cop cars. No sign of anyone from the Electric authority. The first fire engine came back. By this stage, there are quite a few people clutching radios all darting around the back, and then running back into the courtyard. About 8 Indians are standing as far away as possible, waving their hands and wobbling their heads, and had almost unanimously agreed that something was, in fact, on fire. The smoke is getting really thick. The neighbours start coming in. Other guests start coming out. Traffic in the street stops. Still no Electric guy. A German guy from the room nearest the source comes over and sits down next to me, and tells me in broken English that he just checked in. I grab a drink from the Coke machine, and start contemplating alternative accommodation. Just as the Electric guy drives in.
Kanab, Utah. A cemetery with a view, right across the road from the hottest motel in town.
On the way to this area, I had passed a number of Navaho settlements. These all looked pretty dismal, with bits and pieces missing from the buildings, wrecked cars and other piles of junk strewn all over the place, not the slightest trace of any landscaping or care. Along the roadside there were numerous stalls selling Indian trinkets to the traveling public. Well, they might have had a chance if there was anyone in them. Most were unattended. This appeared to be the only sign of economic activity in this very large area. There was hardly any indication of agriculture or ranching, and all told painted a very bleak looking picture.
On a brighter note, today's ride was again in blustery conditions, strong at times but well below the terror level of a few days ago. The sky was cloudless, but looked murky on the horizon due to the dust being stirred up. Looking at all the weird rock formations in this area, the penny dropped. The wind is loaded with abrasive sand, and over millenia this has sculpted the relatively soft sandstone rock accordingly. That also means that wind is almost always present to some extent around here, so I'm not expecting much change in the riding conditions. In fact, its a local joke that when the first Mormons reached this area in the 1800s, they stopped and waited for the wind to abate, and they are still here.
So I crossed the border into Utah and headed for my motel in the small town of Kanab. As soon as I entered the lobby, I was hit by a wonderful aroma of curry. What's the bet? Yep, sure enough, and I don't mean Navajo. Here's where it gets interesting. Just as I'm checking in, a usually simple process but one which Indians can unfailingly turn into an exquisite form of torture, especially if the booking is done online, some guy comes running into the lobby shouting "Dial 911!" This guy looked a bit like the elevator didn't go all the way to the top floor, if you get my drift, and it turns out he was the handyman, and was reporting a fire. I looked across the courtyard, and sure enough there was a growing plume of smoke coming from behind that side of the motel. As I listened to the frantic Indian lady trying to explain the situation to the Emergency services, and really botching it up, I thought "this should be good!" Nobody else was doing anything, so I walked across to look behind the building. A power line had come down in the wind, and was flapping around wildly. Clearly it was still live, as it was arcing with a big blue flash every time it hit anything, and it had set fire to the long dry grass and timber fence behind the building. Not a fire extinguisher to be seen, let alone one for electrical fires, and not a good idea to get a hose just at the moment.
About 4 minutes had passed since the 911 call when I heard sirens in the distance and the first on the scene was a cop. I thought it prudent to let the guy know that there was a live power line under all the smoke, but he ignored me and disappeared around the back of the building. OK pal, you sort it out then. I pulled up a chair outside the lobby and sat down to watch. The first fire engine went straight past. The second one drove in. Two more cop cars. No sign of anyone from the Electric authority. The first fire engine came back. By this stage, there are quite a few people clutching radios all darting around the back, and then running back into the courtyard. About 8 Indians are standing as far away as possible, waving their hands and wobbling their heads, and had almost unanimously agreed that something was, in fact, on fire. The smoke is getting really thick. The neighbours start coming in. Other guests start coming out. Traffic in the street stops. Still no Electric guy. A German guy from the room nearest the source comes over and sits down next to me, and tells me in broken English that he just checked in. I grab a drink from the Coke machine, and start contemplating alternative accommodation. Just as the Electric guy drives in.
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