Over the Hill and Far Away……….

After watching the weather forecast this morning predicting high winds we scrambled to set off early and got on the Interstate 40 just after 9.

As I checked out of the motel the manager/desk clerk actually smiled at me and wished me a good day. I felt rather guilty as we had just comprehensively trashed him on Trip Adviser. Perhaps describing him as imbecile, the bile-spewing spawn of a scrofulous prairie dog (or something to that effect) was a bit extreme in retrospect.

The first part of the route went through the same country as yesterday and was very similar except for being a four lane road. We went up through the pine trees of the Kaibob National Forest up to the high desert which took us to Kingman. The Interstate differs from UK motorways by having a very wide central reservation and at times the lanes running in the opposite direction are not even visible. The wind was very strong and gusty which made for a very exciting experience. We stopped for a break after about 130 miles and felt like we had been beaten with baseball bats throughout the journey.

At the service area where we stopped we came across an elderly chap in biker gear including leather chaps, who was riding a bike with the word “chaplain” printed on its windshield, He wished us a safe journey and set off on his own, leading us to wonder what exactly he was the chaplain of and whether leather chaps were appropriate legwear for a man of the cloth.

Along the way we saw the usual quota of big RVs with a car or jeep in tow. We noticed that some of the towed cars actually had bikes on racks behind them. It was a bit like the automotive equivalent of Russian dolls.

We got to Kingman just after 2pm and checked into the Holiday Inn. After a session in the pool and “fitness suite” we got a taxi to the Dambar and Steakhouse, a traditional roadside eatery and saloon where we sat at the bar and ate unfeasibly large quantities of steak and ribs. All the staff seemed to be pregnant and everyone seemed to be related to each other. We got talking to a couple of guys at the bar, one of whom was a biker in the usual bandana and leather vest. We were asking about whether motorcycle helmets were compulsory out here and the non-biker explained that, whether it was guns or helmets, people pretty much did whatever they liked in Arizona. The biker then recounted a tale of his father (who he admitted was not a particularly nice person) who, when falling off his bike without any protective gear, had dragged the narrator’s step mother off the passenger seat and ensured his own safety by surfing her to a stop by the roadside. Apparently both of them survived the experience although the marriage was never quite the same again! After that the conversation faltered somewhat.

Tomorrow we’re setting off for Vegas which will serve as a base for a trip through Death Valley and back into California.

Today we made (quite literally) a flying visit to the Grand Canyon. We booked a helicopter ride online yesterday and so set off early this morning to ensure we had plenty of time. We were on the road by just after 8 am and took Highway 180 out of Flagstaff to the airport at Tusayan which is just by the canyon some 75 miles away.

The ride itself would have been worth getting up for, never mind the big hole in the ground at the end. The 180 was a strip of smooth two-lane road which climbed out of Flagstaff, through the winter ski area, to reach 8000 feet through the Ponderosa pines of the San Francisco Peaks. With the bike panniers empty for once and the road almost deserted we were able to enjoy leaning into the long, sweeping curves of the road as it meandered through the forests. Beyond that was a wide area of grassland called the Colorado Plateau which stayed at about 8000 feet until it began to drop a bit as we approached the airport.

We were early for our flight and were offered an earlier one which had spare places. After a weigh-in to ensure that we did not top the scales at more than 21.5 stone each (apparently after 3 weeks of American food a visual inspection was not conclusive enough) and a quick safety video we were airborne. The ride was amazing and the views were absolutely spectacular as we cruised over and through the canyon. We were not prepared for the sheer size of it or the presence of the many tributary canyons that ran into it. The Colorado River thousands of feet below us seemed absolutely tiny by comparison.

After a flight of about 30 minutes we arrived back at the airport feeling absolutely stunned by the experience (and it was also the first time that either of us had flown in a helicopter). We had plenty of time on our hands but decided we might as well return to Flagstaff as we didn’t think anything else could match the experience we had just had. Short of spending a few days there and going to different viewpoints I don’t think there is a better way of seeing the canyon and getting an impression of its size and the variety of the landscape. Nor was the flight hugely expensive at £110 per person. The only drawback is that it is difficult to take good pictures through the perspex cabin window but that’s only a small disadvantage taken in the overall context of the experience.

After another lovely ride back along the 180 with the view of the still-snow-capped peaks ahead of us we were back in Flagstaff by 12.30. We decided to treat ourselves to a burger and went to an “ethical” burger joint called Diabolo which our waitress last night had recommended. The “ethical” bit refers to the meat being free-range and locally sourced but it did provoke us to debate about what a truly ethical burger might be. We finally concluded that it would have to involve a cow which had lived a rich and full life and had passed away leaving clear written instructions donating its body to the meat industry. Anyway, whatever it was, it was very tasty.

We stopped on the way back to the motel at a bar close to the railway track that bisects the town (and where occasionally you have to wait while a train passes through). As we sat outside in the sun Mark looked contentedly around him and uttered the immortal words: “This is just like Grimsby”. As I picked myself up off the floor he explained that there too a railway line had impeded his access to the pub.

After such an amazing morning (please note I have studiously avoided using the word “awesome” although for once I have been sorely tempted) the rest of the day is bound to feel like an anticlimax however I expect that we will shortly drag ourselves back into town for more food.

Tomorrow we are back on Interstate Highway 40 to Kingman, which will put us within a day’s ride of Las Vegas.