Winter Sortie February 12 - 19, 2001 on how we almost missed a national holiday.

	Even in winter one must keep going...

The other day, an article came out disclosing why Americans are so fat. I was curious about what they could have found again -- personally, I believe that obesity comes from lack of motion, but I like to get entertained with claims that you can lose weight by this or that diet, when the second in the list, if possible, totally reverses the first one. So now I was in for a shock -- the article said clearly that Americans grow fatter because they don't walk anymore at all.

I immediately ran to our bathroom to see if it already started showing -- when I sort through my day step by step, there are not that many real steps I take -- no going to work, running out to have lunch, running a shopping errand, I don't even walk to go visiting someone -- Cecilia would drive me there.

To improve the odds, I set out for once, to make my grocery shopping on foot. It's only about two kilometers away, part of it means walking in a park, the rest is through a residential area. During my hour of walking down the streets I saw: two mothers with prams, two gardeners cutting some tree branches, two slowly walking and not so slowly talking ladies (though they wore fashion sweat sets to make sure they were WORKING OUT, which is healthy) and one woman who went to the same store like I did, and who looked a little crazy -- but so did I, I presume. In all cases everybody eyed me with a quizzing glance. A carless person is awfully suspect, it means that he or she is either homeless (which triggers an urge to call the arm of the law enforcement in our orderly town), a notorious drinker with no driver license (ditto applies), a dog-walker, only dogless, thereby suspect; or it may be a lost European - tourist.

	A view opens to one of the wonders of the world

Fortunately, nobody arrested me, but next time I shall go out wearing sweats and a headband, or I will borrow Šmudla - working out and walking a dog are seemingly the only "wholesome" reasons to be wandering around.

I don't know if Sid also read that article (I didn't -- Sid's note), but on Thursday evening he started fretting about not being out on a trip for a long time, claiming to have a travel withdrawal. No need to ask me twice (I'm home most of the week). We started packing the same night, planning a trip to Mono Lake - one can get there in about five hours, which appeared appropriate for the weekend.

	Now you can believe me I was really there...

But Martina mentioned Friday morning that they would be returning from Monterey on Monday evening. I found it odd, and hah! -- a closer investigation revealed a President's Day coming - a national holiday. And we would not even notice! I added a few pieces of underwear to our bags and we quickly changed our planned route to a much more challenging destination: Grand Canyon.

	Sid was there, too...

I picked Sid up at work so we would not waste any time and soon we left a few miles on Highway 101 behind us. Though we managed to avoid our usual Valley congestion (by leaving at half past two p.m.), it was not to be our last that day. After a "sandwich dinner" at Subway, I took my turn at the wheel, drove out on highway 85. Immediately I had a motorcycle behind me, and it was not a regular bike, it was a cop, as I found out, after he shone bright red and blue lights into my mirrors. I let him pass, he vanished in the distance. After another mile it was obvious what he was in hurry for -- probably an accident, and the whole traffic stopped in a moment. I made a U-turn through the median (usually just a wide strip of grass here) and took an exit from the freeway. Sid fired up our GPS and assured me that the seemingly terminating piece of pavement continues as a road and I should drive on -- and I did and it really only was local re-paving and there was no roadblock in sight anywhere. We zigzagged elegantly through a few local roads, made a detour around the crash and took the freeway again after several more miles, reaching Barstow before going to bed.

	A side canyon vista

We were glad to get any room for the motel was packed full, perhaps because there was a Civil War Re-enactment Event going on at a nearby ghost-town. Well Sid wasn't glad for long. That last free room we got was right above the office, so the whole night people were arriving and departing, plus right across the street was Ruby's Dancing where disco music was beating till two a.m. -- only base was audible in our room, this rhythmical "thud thud"... At least Sid said so; I slept without a problem, but he may start feeling his advancing age (being older by another year since last Tuesday).

	Gee, how do I get all that canyon in that tiny picture?

But neither I could sleep for long, at half past six booming voices could be heard right outside our room, then the voices descended to the office, eventually drifting out to the parking lot. Sid torpedoed himself out of the spring mattress to the window and insisted that I guess who they were. At such hour I usually keep completely different concerns (regardless of my get up time, I wake up at eleven), so he had to enlighten me -- who would be used to get up early and start their day by YELLING? An army officer, right ?! It seems that some alternatives to homo sapiens are omnipresent. On the other hand, it had the advantage that we started out early, for we still were to cross Nevada and half of Arizona to reach the Canyon.

It is hard to miss the Grand Canyon, as about it starts getting announced on signs along the highway while it's still 200 miles away. Hoping that it would be relatively deserted at wintertime, we were disappointed - it was teeming with people. We tried to secure tickets for and evening IMAX (wide angle movie) show, but a woman at a register dismissed us with a grave "no advance tickets". That made us mad, but what can you expect from a government-run enterprise (GC is a National Park). We drove over to the South Rim, and found literally no place to park. All the lodges, hotels, and gift (read: junk) shops at the edge of the canyon are extremely hideous and ugly .

Grand Canyon, however, is awesome. Only when you see it for yourself, life-size, you realize that all those movies and pictures totally distort the real perspective. No wonder it has always attracted people -- there were some ancient dwellers, Anasazi and Navajo Indians, Spaniards discovered it while on quest for gold, French trappers re-discovered it later -- some sending legends to the world, of hidden Indian and Spanish treasures, which lures various adventurers. At the end of 19th century, a group of men managed to float down through it on boats -- two boats made it, a third team gave up, decided to ascend out of the canyon walls -- no one ever heard of them again.

They have a very good movie about it at the IMAX theatre -- we were in a hurry to catch the show at 5:30, hoping that if that one were sold out, we could perhaps still get the last one, an hour later.

There was no reason to worry - IMAX hall is huge, and it was half-empty. Fortunately for us, since Sid's watch showed 5:30 and so it was -- in California (Pacific Standard Time) -- and Arizona is on Mountain Standard Time, one hour advanced . Everybody grab a free seat, they're not numbered, so the "better" rows were taken, but Sid assured me that you have to "lick the screen" and marched straight for the fourth (completely empty) row. He was right -- the screen covered almost all of my viewing angle, and I had a great time. So great that in flying sequences, I countered every turn with my body, and in boating sequences, I mentally braced myself ready for a cold splash in every wave burst. The show lasts 34 minutes and it's a great deal for $10.

	Balanced rocks at Red Canyon

We considered staying another day at the Canyon, but as we both avoid crowds, we chose to leave for Bryce Canyon, Utah. That meant driving several hundred miles through pitch dark wasteland, which called for a dinner before takeoff. No way getting into a "steakhouse" (people queued out of the door), and we were glad for a cafeteria-style pizza place. They were refreshingly quick, food was good and so was - surprise - Pilsner Urquell beer.

	Welcome to Bryce Canyon NP

Uplifted and refreshed, we drove north. It looked like a very pretty landscape (highway 89 alternative), but it was no use at night. Around eleven p.m. it was clear that we would not make it to Bryce, only conversation kept us awake at the wheel. We were passing through some village, Sid just pointed out that I should drive slower, but so late at night I thought it pointless. A car behind us got closer, I expected it to be some nerve wreck in a capsizer (i.e. a jeepoid with a high center of gravity and a single digit gas mileage -- typical capsizer drivers maintain that they must pass us -- a white station wagon -- at all cost, only to slow us all down at next turn, for they would tend to tip over). He started flashing his headlights, and just as I was about to say something harshly Czech about people who turn on their high beams when there's no place to turn out, he added read-and-blue discotheque, and it was obvious I was in trouble.

Cops catch you from behind in America. Recently, my cousin mailed me a story about a her friend who so much did not want to obstruct those speeding police cars that she kept driving faster and faster and they kept flashing the lights... she ended sprawled across the hood like in a gangster movie, and with a $650 fine. So I was already informed that you must stop, turn off the engine, pull down your window and wait. Don't make sudden moves and don't rummage in your glove compartment -- if the arm of the law recons you are fishing for a gun, they may shoot you. It's a good idea to announce "I'm going to show you the ID, it is inside this bag" before you rip through your luggage.

	Which shade of vermilion do you prefer?

Well, my sheriff was already shining his flashlight through the car and asked me if I knew why he stopped me. "Speeding", I peeped, making sure my thick Czech accent was apparent, as well as my image of a poor and totally frightened foreigner. Honestly -- it wasn't that much of a disguise. I would not be scared of police in Czech, I can usually deal with them, but here it is a completely different feeling. I showed my documents, explained why I still haven't got my driver license (DMV still did not send it and I should be glad to get it within a half year). Fortunately my Czech license sufficed -- any document with a picture is accepted here. I don't know if he let me go without a ticket, because I was obviously sober and only tired, or because we were only going to Kanab (a few miles down the road), or because I did not speed more that 10 mph over the limit. He just gave me a warning. Sigh. Even a ticket fine would not be a real tragedy, the worse thing is the effect on your driving record, which comes up when you extend your license (every five years), and which reflects on insurance premiums etc.

	Descending from the edge of Bryce Canyon promises various adventures...

Kanab looked rather desolate, but they were still up at Best Western, since they had only five guests. We got our room, laid down, and -- we heard a noisy rattle. Something somewhere resonated through the walls and hummed and whined all night long. Poor Sid did not sleep well again (while I sawed through my usual thirty feet of high quality two by fours).

We tried to pump gas in the morning, but Mormons must be all at a church on Sunday or something; and they take their gas with them. After a third (automated) station refused to disgorge fuel, we concluded that our half of tank would have to suffice, and drove towards our destination.

Bryce Canyon is not far from Zion, cutting into a mesa at the elevation of up to 9000 feet. It was cold there, and lots of snow, and the whole place had a certain pre-Christmas atmosphere.

Canyon's main attraction are "hoodoos" - the mesa eroded away, leaving thousands of thin rocky towers. Paiute Indians explained them as enchanted, petrified "Legend People". Many places around Bryce Canyon kept their Indian names (Pausaugunt, Paria, Panguitch), the park got its name after Ebenezer Bryce, who settled there at the end of 19th century.

	Walking down the canyon between huge hoodoos

A pretty trail attracted us from Sunrise Point, down among the hoodoos - well - it attracted me. Sid was kind of protesting, the path looked icy and he was afraid he might hurt his ankle again. He was probably right - while he bravely descended all the way without losing balance, I slid one spot on my butt. It seemed safer that way . Our trail could not have more than 2.5 miles, but it was quite a hike -- descent through ice and mud, then a walkabout on snow, finally a steep ascent and return along the rim to our car. There were not many people there, only once we met a group going the opposite way, equipped with boot covers and telescopic poles, simply conquest of Mt. Everest.

	Bryce Canyon is a maze of hoodoos

Hiking made us hungry, so we checked out Ruby's Inn (don't confuse it with Ruby's Dancing at Barstow!). This one is for a change named after Mr. Reuben C. Syrett, who settled at the Canyon in 1916 and opened a tourist rest. In 1923, when the canyon was pronounced a National Monument, Ruby had to move his business away from the rim to the location of his original ranch, which by the way I find much more reasonable than erecting arrogant hotels at the edge of Grand Canyon. However, a leaflet that we got at a Bryce park entrance mentions plans to build a lodge "with a view" .

Having had a late lunch, we visited all other attractive spots by car, but it was rapidly getting dark and a refrosted snow started falling. We were terribly tired from two days' worth of driving, and from wading through snow. To be able to get somewhere alive, we folded our seats at a parking lot and took an hour nap. We had no idea how much we would need it.

	One more tunnel ... actually named Natural Bridge, which is technically an arch...

We tried (in vain) to solicit for gas at several stations, and feverishly counted miles to figure out if our remaining quarter tank would last to the next town. Finally, at an intersection with highway 14, a station was open, and with 42 miles to Cedar City we filled up.

Snow was falling and ice started forming on the road, while we were scrambling up on a mesa. I was sorry that it got already dark, as this must be the landscape that Jan Šmíd beautifully describes through the stories of drummer Nat Jessel. While driving downhill, we suddenly saw a car with emergency lights and a man waving his arms. Sid stopped and asked him if he needed any help and he told us that behind a curve, there was an overturned truck with a trailer and the road was impassable. We went to look if our wagon would really not manage (it has a four wheel drive and behaves quite well on snow, sand and ice). No luck. First we passed demolished concrete blocks that used to be a wall on the right side of the road. Then we were looking at a belly of a poor tipped-over rig. People from several other cars were hanging around, but did not seem to be much aware of what was going on so Sid crawled the snow slope around the truck's cabin to see how the drive was doing. Smoke was still coming out of the brakes, the truck could not have been laying there for long.

	Brrrr-yce... let's go someplace warm!

Amazingly, the driver was unharmed (though shaken and having difficulty breathing) and a cop from Cedar City (only some eight miles away) was already present and was arranging everything necessary. We had no other choice but to turn around and try to go some other way -- that's not always simple in America -- it represented 34 miles back to the intersection with the gas station, 40 miles north towards Bryce to Panguitch, 17 miles west on highway 20 to interstate 15, plus 35 miles on the interstate to Cedar City. Summed up, it's over 100 miles detour, the other option being a long wait till they clear up the truck.

We originally wanted to make it back to Barstow, CA, on that night, but due to such detour, we gave it up at St. George, UT, about hundred miles before Las Vegas, NV. The first model had only one free room left, Sid went to look an returned claiming he would rather sleep in the car; the room was awfully smoked. A competing business offered a room closest to the office (other client obviously prefer not to make even a single extra step), Sid frowned that we want to have it QUIET. The receptionist knowingly nodded his head and said: "OK, then I guess I won't be putting you next to the family with children." Hooray, once again we could have a good night's rest.

	Snow, ice, and a narrow road through a canyon... fortunately nobody was hurt

We had a long way ahead, after a few miles it was clear we had to visit a casino in Oasis, NV, to eat. I did not quite understand the connection of gambling and eating, but only for a moment -- at casinos (the authentic, giant ones) they usually have a buffet -- you pay a fix amount and then gorge yourself on anything you can find. Hence I finally saw a REAL casino. Well -- nothing much -- thousands of gambling machines, dim lights, rugs with gambling theme patterns, busloads of retirees and families with small kids. And since this was an extended weekend, the casino abounded with them. We ate breakfast for adequate cash (no entrance fee to the casino, they expect you to spend the desired amount on gambling).

	On of the shiny summits of southern Sierra Nevada illuminates a grim desert at Ridgecrest

Unfortunately, approximately half of Los Angeles had the idea of going to Las Vegas for some fun -- since Vegas, the traffic turned horrible, most drivers were nervous, plus there's no limit on truck traffic over freeways during weekend rush hours (as there is in Czech).

We were tens through the whole almost two hundred mile stretch to Barstow, fearing a jam somewhere, and we kept studying our maps for alternative routes -- only there's nothing there across the desert. Arriving pretty jerked-out at Barstow, CA, we went for a remedy at Golden Dragon. It was deserted, which is a shame, and we only hope that this great Thai restaurant won't go out of business.

We left Barstow in our "dirt-road" arrangement (me behind the wheel, Sid behind our GPS), ready for the worst -- our last encounter with highway 58 (we got stuck in a 10 mile jam, and eventually drove through desert dirt roads on GPS navigation) did not make us feel too hopeful. It was not so bad this time, only about a mile backup before a bad intersection with 395 -- but we already knew the way and took a service ditch through the sands. Maybe it was not even faster, but it's better to go steady than stop and go and stop every three feet. And I got to drive through mud (it was raining), and tried another skill.

	Should it be called Loch Isabella?

Rain in a desert is a pretty thing - one has the feeling of how RIGHT that is, and you don't even think about complaining over the few drops. To see rain among yuccas and cacti is quite a strong experience.

Just like in the fall, we picked our detour through Lake Isabella a Kern River Canyon - it was early afternoon and I did not see any part of the route last time. Lake Isabella is a man-made reservoir, though with a strange natural atmosphere. It reminds me a little of Lake District in England, and of abandoned lakes in southern Czech borderline hills. We took a small hike around, and some pictures. As the daylight faded, we pulled out Sid's new tripod (a birthday present) and photographed some more (not enough -- those snapshots are still in the camera; pictures will come later).

Eventually it got pitch dark, and we set off for home. Valley had showers for the whole three days, welcoming us with rain, nothing much. We parked our wagon roughly around midnight, tachometer indicating 2200 miles -- quite a feat, is it not? For only three days off...

Copyright © 2001-2008 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.