Tuba City, Arizona was next on our list. The name peaked enough curiosity in me to have me look up its origins. The city, the largest in the Navajo Nation, boasts 8,611 citizens, or at least according to the 2020 census. I knew it was larger than many we had passed through since leaving Moab, because there was a McDonald’s sign evident when we rolled into town, and according to my phone search, a super Walmart somewhere within the city limits. This is how I’ve come to gauge what size town we are dealing with since being on the road. According to what I read, city was named by Europeans for a Navajo chief, Tuuvi, who converted to the Mormon religion and allowed Mormon settlers to populate the region. In the Navajo language it translates to “tangled waters”, most likely referring to the many underground springs in the area. Probably more information than you needed about Tuba City, but now if you’re ever asked about Tuba City at a dinner party you’ll have the information close at hand.
The Tuba City RV park offered the least amenities of any since we began. There were bathrooms and a laundry area, but no WIFI (I know!!), no cable, and my phone got spotty reception at best. There is actually a lovely sense of freedom associated with being unplugged. You can’t contact anyone, but conversely, no one can contact you. It was a lovely couple of days of total reflection for which my body and mind thanked me soundly for.
Once again settling in for our stay, that first night I didn’t sleep well because I knew the big daddy of gorges was on the horizon the following morning, the Grand Canyon. During all my travels across country, no matter how many times I planned a side trip to visit the area, something always got in the way of my visiting the park. It seemed I was destined never to cross it off my bucket list. Until now, here I was. Oh boy. I got up early and was ready and raring to go at 8:00 a.m., as we’d discussed the night before. The canyon was a fifty mile drive from Tuba City, which would put us there around mid-morning. The weather was looking a bit iffy as we wound our way up the mountain road. Clouds had begun to move in, and the darkening sky was looking more and more ominous. Roh-roh. Fortunately, the sun peeked out long enough here and there to allow me to get some good pictures on the way up. Like most people we met along the way, I was wearing shorts in anticipation of high seventies being the prevailing temps. Thankfully, I’d thrown both a light and heavy jacket in the back of the truck, simply because I am familiar with how Murphy works and wanted to be prepared. By the time we reached the visitors center at the south rim of the canyon, it had turned downright blustery. The temperature had easily dropped by ten degrees, and the wind had picked up considerably. The walk to the rim is not a hike by any means, but not a hop, skip and a jump either. Richard, as I’ve said, is dealing with a hernia, Not feeling up to the walk, I left him sitting on a bench by the visitor’s center, and made my way to the rim on my own. Raindrops had begun to drop haphazardly on my head, and lordy was it getting chilly. Goosebumps had risen up on every inch of my bare skin, but I pressed forward. By God, I was going to see the Grand Canyon even it began to snow. There are viewing areas that jut out far over the vast expanse of canyon stretching out below the rim. I made my way down the path along with other hearty souls. Lightening flashed intermittently above me in the dark clouds churning overhead, followed quickly by loud bursts of thunder. I began to feel I might only have moments to capture some photos before being battered and crisply fried. Whew. Looking down into the great abyss, I thought of something Richard had mentioned earlier in the day. Somewhere up there was a place where you can walk out on a glass sky walk and actually be able to see down below you to the canyon floor. That must be an experience. Not one I’m signing up for anytime soon, but I’m just sayin.
Miraculously, I didn’t go up like a Roman candle before pushing through the wind to get back to Richard, who, unexpectedly, wasn’t seated on the bench where I’d left him. I searched the area to no avail. What? My goosebumps now looked more like anthills, and my teeth had begun to chatter alarmingly. I spotted the visitor’s center and ducked inside. Heat, glorious, glorious, heat. Ahhhhh. I decided I would never leave there, but simply stick a tag in my ear and, take up residence in the stuffed animal section. My phone, suddenly deciding to cooperate, rang. It was Richard. He was waiting for me at the shuttle area where we were to grab a ride to the restaurant he wanted to take me to for lunch. K. Couldn’t we just get a snack in the visitor’s center? But, no. Pushing back out into the now steady rain and cold, I met up with him under the awning at the shuttle pick up area. Brrrrrrr. I would have held an elderly person up for their pants at that moment without guilt, if the opportunity had afforded itself. Finally, the bus arrived, and we were temporarily dry and warm until we got to our destination, which was El Tovar. El Tovar, is a famous eatery perched on the lip of the canyon. On sunny days the restaurant’s bank of windows, offer up spectacular views. Richard’s aunt worked as a waitress there for eight years during the season when a girl, he told me, and it was important to him we eat there. Got it. Reluctantly getting off the shuttle, the rain had eased up a bit. Access to the lodge where the restaurant was housed required going up numerous flights of stairs. By the time we reached the top Richard and his hernia were locked in a desperate battle, and I needed a respirator. Ascending at that height leaves you with little wind to sustain yourself I assure you. Once inside the lodge, it was lovely and warm. We added our name to the list of people waiting to eat and spent some time perusing the gift shop until we were called.
The restaurant, I would say, was not fine dining, but perhaps rested somewhere in between a high end hotel coffee shop and fine dining. We were given plastic utensils and the food was presented on paper plates due to the water shortage, which was the right thing to do given the situation. However, right thing or not, it couldn’t help but take away a bit from the ambience of linen tablecloths. Lunch was, um, acceptable. My sandwich, the special of the day, did not have one drop of moisture in it. I guess I am a bit of a restaurant Nazi, perhaps because Rick and I owned one, but to me it’s not that difficult, particularly for a talented chef, to present a good sandwich. Seriously. Two pieces of lovely fresh bread with something delicious tucked inside. In this instance, it was not about the food, but rather the experience, which was lovely. By the time the bill was paid the sun had reappeared and the rain had stopped. Yay.
Back out to the rim I trekked to get some additional photos before getting back in the truck to head back to Tuba City. This time it was warm, and the sun dominated the sky. What a view. OMG. The cut in the earth seemed to go on forever. I have a dear friend who took the raft trip on the floor of the canyon. He told me he will never forget that trip. As amazing as the view is looking down, I can only imagine how impressive it must have been looking up.
Back in Tuba City for our last night there, Richard and I greeted our neighbor sitting on her stoop before going inside the fifth wheel. I have to say, you do meet some interesting folks along the way traveling like this. Tuba City was not short on characters to include on the list. This particular woman, I’d guess to be in her late fifties, occupied the fifth wheel next to us, our dining room facing her patio. The view was fascinating. From the yard decor, I got the impression she had been living there awhile, not like us passing through for only a day or two. There was a half circle of metal fencing cordoning off the entrance to her unit, which served as a dog run for the six dogs that regularly came and went through the front door. The menagerie included two tiny chihuahuas, each wearing hot pink sweaters, the cutest corgi on the planet, a Shetland sheep dog, what appeared to be a pit bull mix, and one larger breed I would guess to be a boxer with a little something else thrown in for good measure. They came and went through the door like the figures in a Swiss cuckoo clock, relieving themselves everywhere and anywhere in the yard. The woman mainly sat on her front steps talking on the phone. I began to wonder if she ever did not talk on the phone. A chain smoker, she was the type we used to refer to as a one match smoker. These smokers use a single match to light their first cigarette, then light the rest of them smoked during the day with the previous cigarette before it’s burned down. At one point, she brought in a substantial supply of Miller Life. From the looks of it, I assumed this stock would do to see her through the winter months. Where was she putting it all, I couldn’t help but wonder? These trailers are comfortable, but with all these animals, where does anything else go? As if six dogs in a small space wasn’t enough excitement, when I was coming back from my walk, she had added a large white parrot to her brood. The bird moved back and forth nervously, using her back as a bridge to travel from one shoulder to another. It’s not that this was so extraordinary, people do have multiple pets, but when you consider the size of her living quarters, it becomes somewhat more so. Cannot imagine what the inside of the trailer looks like, or if you’ll pardon, smells like. I do have to say though, they were very entertaining to watch.
The next morning we would pack up and head towards Albuquerque. I have been through there many times on my travels, but never stopped for a visit. Updates to come.
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