What I Did On My Spring Vacation
Well, we had a lot of fun. Linda and I flew into Phoenix after a relatively uneventful airline flight. I say uneventful to mean that it was not unlike any other trip captained by H.R. Giger. Whenever I’m jammed into a plane these days, I keep being reminded of the slave ship scenes from Ben Hur. I swear I can sometimes make out the sounds of a rhythm drum as we’re chained into the pit of the plane. A young infant directly across the aisle from us screamed for about half the flight. Let me tell you something about hearing aids – hearing a scream is like a spike being pounded into your brain. My head felt like they were laying the roadbed for the Penn Central Railroad. In addition, approximately twenty of the passengers were loudly coughing, sneezing and wheezing in such a way to make me think we’d accidentally boarded a modern plague ship. It’s difficult not to breathe for five hours, but I managed to do so, and didn’t catch whatever afflictions the rest were suffering from. And, of course, thinking pure thoughts was also an aid and protection ;)
After landing, we rented a car and began to move North to our first destination, the Grand Canyon. Now, on a map, this looks pretty damn easy. Just a quick jaunt over to Interstate 17 and then straight North. But Phoenix is a cruel and possessive town. Many of you might remember various entries I’ve made regarding driving in DC during snow. Well, let me tell you about trying to get out of Phoenix in Spring – you can’t. The Interstate was a solid parking lot – no movement; nada; no way. We had three maps of the town – all worthless. None of them offered enough detail or covered a big enough territory to show us an alternative route. Driving feverishly, we managed to turn around and search for ways out of town. We roared past mile after mile of the same stucco track homes and strip malls. We tried to go East and then cut North, but the only road on our map was also blocked by construction! We were trapped in some sort of ersatz adobe nightmare! And then, a break! We found a small road out and to the North. Linda was driving and broke the land speed record for Arizona, but nevertheless, we’d lost half a day trying to escape the foul web of Phoenix.
The next three nights were spent in Tuba City, on the Navajo Reservation. The motel was actually run by the tribe. Being a traditionalist, I’d brought blankets and sheets from the local TB and smallpox wards to trade for room and board. The management seemed surprisingly reluctant to accept them in trade. We finally agreed on a large cash sum in exchange for a room and my life. The Navajo are shrewd traders.
The next day was spent at the Grand Canyon, (or the Big Ditch, as I like to call it). Linda had never been there before, and I hadn’t visited since I was a kid. Magnificent. All I’ve gotta say is, if you haven’t seen it, then you haven’t seen it. I’ve never seen a photo of the Grand Canyon that captured just how impressive and beautiful it really is. It’s overwhelming. Our only slight disappointment was that we didn’t see any of the California condors that now inhabit the park.
After that, we spend a day out driving around the Navajo and Hopi reservations in search of loot at the various trading posts. Two things of note here. Ten or twenty years ago, you could go to some of the more obscure trading posts and get a deal, maybe even find a real steal. Those days are over. Even the proverbial holes in the wall now know the value to tourists and collectors of their wares. The second, and sadder, fact is that almost all of the posts now carry junk for the tourists. Crap made in the Philippines or China; stuff that isn’t even particularly based on Southwestern Indian culture or traditions. I guess it sells, and you gotta go with you market. But it really cheapens the atmosphere of what used to be some places that just glowed with authenticity. Sad.
Another weird thing was the time. Arizona is on Mountain Time, but not Daylight Savings. But the Navajo Nation is. We kept shifting back and forth over the border every hour or so, getting completely confused between our Eastern oriented biological clocks and the local times. It was like some sort of Star Trek episode where we kept arriving before we left. I finally gave up all hope of figuring out what time it was. When Linda would ask me, all I could mutter was “April”.
The next stage of our trip was to visit my cousin Lynnae and her husband Pat at his cattle ranch in the center of the state, (Thanks Cousins!!!). What a time! Here we are, 40 minutes of off-road driving to get to the house, (no car, we had to leave it behind in the neighboring village so Lynnae could pick us up in her 4-wheel drive vehicle). We’re staying with them in a stone walled house hand built by Pat’s parents, overlooking hundreds of the thousands of acres he owns. You cannot see any other structure or person for miles around. There’s no connection to the outside, you’re off the grid – electricity, water, phone, etc., are all derived from solar power, wells, etc. I’m sitting here, asking questions about ranching, to a guy who literally rides a horse out to catch and herd cattle – a real honest-to-god cowboy! How many people can say they’ve had that experience? It’s kinda difficult to put into words, but I really feel like, for a day or two, I really was touching something out of folklore. Amazing. (Another footnote – the silence. Outside of the wind, there was no noise around the ranch, (cars, etc.).
The final leg of the trip was visiting my cousin Bill, his lovely wife Cathey, and their kids, Sean, Jennifer and Rebecca. Another wonderful experience. Bill and I have corresponded for years, (and met a few times in the 70’s), but I’d never met his family. Sean is a budding film maker, and we watched a collection of his works. They focused on violence, sex, and drugs, so I felt right at home. The reunion was wonderful, as we discussed the Cthulhu Mythos, psychotronic films, politics, industrial music, and their life in the desert of Southern California. All while feasting on Cathey’s cooking! A very cool time. (I know what some of you are thinking – “Hmmm, Rob having a family reunion on Walpurgisnacht. Coincidence? I THINK NOT!!!)
Then, it was back to the dreaded Phoenix and a flight back home. Dulles airport graciously provided us with an instant reminder that we had arrived back in DC. As one starts to leave the baggage claim area, there are many signs announcing that the airport had provided for cab service by selling sole rights to a company called the Washington Flyer. The signs darkly warn against accepting rides from any other cabbies, implying that hell and damnation await those who try to buck this monopolistic set-up. Well, Linda and I walked past several taxi freebooters offering us rides, and went to the “official” Dulles/Washington Flyer door, and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Guess what: Washington Flyer’s cabbies were on strike and had a picket line out front. There were no cabs. The corporate types were out there trying to bring in new drivers, and failing miserably. Linda and I both got after them as they idiotically grinned at us and assured us that the monopoly made sense, despite the lack of drivers. After a silly wait, they finally managed to breed a new foreigner to drive us home. But it was all so typically DC: 1) You must only use Washington Flyer cabs; 2) There are no Washington Flyer cabs available; 3)That doesn’t matter. Let’s see: Mindless Bureaucracy combined with Senseless Hassle. Hey! We’re Home! (As a footnote to this, I noticed that several of the striking drivers had signs saying that “Not all Afghans belong in Guantanamo”. After escaping Phoenix and enduring a half day flight, only to get burned on a cab ride when I’m so close to home, I’m not sure I agree with that statement…).
At any rate, we’re home, we’re in one piece, and we had fun. (And a big thanks to all the cousins - it was great!).
After landing, we rented a car and began to move North to our first destination, the Grand Canyon. Now, on a map, this looks pretty damn easy. Just a quick jaunt over to Interstate 17 and then straight North. But Phoenix is a cruel and possessive town. Many of you might remember various entries I’ve made regarding driving in DC during snow. Well, let me tell you about trying to get out of Phoenix in Spring – you can’t. The Interstate was a solid parking lot – no movement; nada; no way. We had three maps of the town – all worthless. None of them offered enough detail or covered a big enough territory to show us an alternative route. Driving feverishly, we managed to turn around and search for ways out of town. We roared past mile after mile of the same stucco track homes and strip malls. We tried to go East and then cut North, but the only road on our map was also blocked by construction! We were trapped in some sort of ersatz adobe nightmare! And then, a break! We found a small road out and to the North. Linda was driving and broke the land speed record for Arizona, but nevertheless, we’d lost half a day trying to escape the foul web of Phoenix.
The next three nights were spent in Tuba City, on the Navajo Reservation. The motel was actually run by the tribe. Being a traditionalist, I’d brought blankets and sheets from the local TB and smallpox wards to trade for room and board. The management seemed surprisingly reluctant to accept them in trade. We finally agreed on a large cash sum in exchange for a room and my life. The Navajo are shrewd traders.
The next day was spent at the Grand Canyon, (or the Big Ditch, as I like to call it). Linda had never been there before, and I hadn’t visited since I was a kid. Magnificent. All I’ve gotta say is, if you haven’t seen it, then you haven’t seen it. I’ve never seen a photo of the Grand Canyon that captured just how impressive and beautiful it really is. It’s overwhelming. Our only slight disappointment was that we didn’t see any of the California condors that now inhabit the park.
After that, we spend a day out driving around the Navajo and Hopi reservations in search of loot at the various trading posts. Two things of note here. Ten or twenty years ago, you could go to some of the more obscure trading posts and get a deal, maybe even find a real steal. Those days are over. Even the proverbial holes in the wall now know the value to tourists and collectors of their wares. The second, and sadder, fact is that almost all of the posts now carry junk for the tourists. Crap made in the Philippines or China; stuff that isn’t even particularly based on Southwestern Indian culture or traditions. I guess it sells, and you gotta go with you market. But it really cheapens the atmosphere of what used to be some places that just glowed with authenticity. Sad.
Another weird thing was the time. Arizona is on Mountain Time, but not Daylight Savings. But the Navajo Nation is. We kept shifting back and forth over the border every hour or so, getting completely confused between our Eastern oriented biological clocks and the local times. It was like some sort of Star Trek episode where we kept arriving before we left. I finally gave up all hope of figuring out what time it was. When Linda would ask me, all I could mutter was “April”.
The next stage of our trip was to visit my cousin Lynnae and her husband Pat at his cattle ranch in the center of the state, (Thanks Cousins!!!). What a time! Here we are, 40 minutes of off-road driving to get to the house, (no car, we had to leave it behind in the neighboring village so Lynnae could pick us up in her 4-wheel drive vehicle). We’re staying with them in a stone walled house hand built by Pat’s parents, overlooking hundreds of the thousands of acres he owns. You cannot see any other structure or person for miles around. There’s no connection to the outside, you’re off the grid – electricity, water, phone, etc., are all derived from solar power, wells, etc. I’m sitting here, asking questions about ranching, to a guy who literally rides a horse out to catch and herd cattle – a real honest-to-god cowboy! How many people can say they’ve had that experience? It’s kinda difficult to put into words, but I really feel like, for a day or two, I really was touching something out of folklore. Amazing. (Another footnote – the silence. Outside of the wind, there was no noise around the ranch, (cars, etc.).
The final leg of the trip was visiting my cousin Bill, his lovely wife Cathey, and their kids, Sean, Jennifer and Rebecca. Another wonderful experience. Bill and I have corresponded for years, (and met a few times in the 70’s), but I’d never met his family. Sean is a budding film maker, and we watched a collection of his works. They focused on violence, sex, and drugs, so I felt right at home. The reunion was wonderful, as we discussed the Cthulhu Mythos, psychotronic films, politics, industrial music, and their life in the desert of Southern California. All while feasting on Cathey’s cooking! A very cool time. (I know what some of you are thinking – “Hmmm, Rob having a family reunion on Walpurgisnacht. Coincidence? I THINK NOT!!!)
Then, it was back to the dreaded Phoenix and a flight back home. Dulles airport graciously provided us with an instant reminder that we had arrived back in DC. As one starts to leave the baggage claim area, there are many signs announcing that the airport had provided for cab service by selling sole rights to a company called the Washington Flyer. The signs darkly warn against accepting rides from any other cabbies, implying that hell and damnation await those who try to buck this monopolistic set-up. Well, Linda and I walked past several taxi freebooters offering us rides, and went to the “official” Dulles/Washington Flyer door, and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Guess what: Washington Flyer’s cabbies were on strike and had a picket line out front. There were no cabs. The corporate types were out there trying to bring in new drivers, and failing miserably. Linda and I both got after them as they idiotically grinned at us and assured us that the monopoly made sense, despite the lack of drivers. After a silly wait, they finally managed to breed a new foreigner to drive us home. But it was all so typically DC: 1) You must only use Washington Flyer cabs; 2) There are no Washington Flyer cabs available; 3)That doesn’t matter. Let’s see: Mindless Bureaucracy combined with Senseless Hassle. Hey! We’re Home! (As a footnote to this, I noticed that several of the striking drivers had signs saying that “Not all Afghans belong in Guantanamo”. After escaping Phoenix and enduring a half day flight, only to get burned on a cab ride when I’m so close to home, I’m not sure I agree with that statement…).
At any rate, we’re home, we’re in one piece, and we had fun. (And a big thanks to all the cousins - it was great!).
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