By the time we had eased into our second week in the road, Richard and I had established a pretty workable routine. As I have said previously, he and I have both things in common and our differences, like most couples. Aside from him being cold while I am breaking a sweat, I am a morning being where he leans more towards being a creature of the night. These things are workable.
That being said, unless we are leaving at the crack of dawn, I am usually the first one to greet the day, and I like it that way. I get a little personal space in the wee hours before the sun comes up, and, conversely, he gets time to himself later in the day. All good. I bring all my makeup etc. down into the dining area before I go to bed. I have discovered if I turn a paper towel roll on end vertically, and crank the lights full on over the sink, I can rest my makeup mirror on top of it and see perfectly. My mother used to call this female ritual, “putting her face on”. Richard has set up an extension cord next to the big mirror in the living room area, which allows me to dry my hair if he is still in bed. It all sounds a bit discomfiting, but it really isn’t. What you get used to, is what you get used to.
On our last day in Moab, Utah, I was up early as usual organizing the fifth wheel in anticipation of pulling up stakes the following morning, destination Tuba City, Arizona. The previous day, as I wrote in my last blog, we spent touring The Arches National Park. On, this, our last day in Moab, we were off to Dead Horse Point and to possibly to tour The Canyonlands National Park if there was time. Certainly, I had heard of The Arches before, but Dead Horse Point was totally unfamiliar to me. Richard, always a fountain of information, told me the park was named thusly because in the late 1800’s, a group of cowboys supposedly corralled a herd of wild mustangs there. The horses were taken to the top of a cliff overlooking the massive canyon dominating the center of the park. Keeping the horses contained, the men used the native brush to create a makeshift barrier to keep them from escaping. The animals were then left there to die of thirst, ironically with the raging waters of the Colorado River rushing past them 2,000 feet below. How much of this is myth and how much fact, I believe is still up for debate. This, as well as what compelled them to commit such a horrific act. Should it be a true accounting of what is actually occurred, what a sad tale to add to our history books. For me, who forwards a letter of condolence to the ant colony when I decrease their numbers by killing them off in my sink, I can’t fathom why people would do something like that to such beautiful creatures. When asking Richard what he thought their motive might have been, my guru lol, he conjectured times were tough back then. Staying alive in these new territories was a daily struggle. Theories are, they destroyed the horses so nobody else could use them to attack them. As so many things in our world, this too will remain an unsolved mystery.
At any rate, as we drove along the highway towards the park, I was again struck by how barren and unforgiving the landscape appears in the area. Not a building in site, just mile after mile of desolate expanse of land. I believe, and hope to be correct, the land around Dead Horse Point is part of the Ute reservation. There are many tribes represented in this area, so it is easy to get confused. At one point or another we would pass through Lakota, Hopi, Navajo, Apache, Comanche and Pueblo territories. I noticed when we went through the park gate at Dead Horse Point, Richard had to pay an admission fee. In most national parks there is no fee because of some annual pass Richard holds in his name. The fee is paid, pass or no pass, when on a reservation because the reservation lands are omnipotent and self governed, not bound by state laws.
Dead Horse Canyon was, well, I don’t have words really. The severe gouge in the land plummets a mile down at it’s deepest and reaches across seven miles. The river can be seen below winding and turning where the rocks permit. Water in the Colorado is at a low place due to drought conditions apparently, or so the man next to me was explaining. There is a moment when you are standing there where you can hardly take in the vastness of the place. Words such as awe inspiring or magnificent come to mind, but don’t seem to do it justice. As always, when standing at a place of great height, I wonder what it would be like to jump off and soar in the currents like the hawks circling overhead. Of course, you would only soar until you did not, and that would not be a pretty end I’m thinking. I decided to leave that to conjecture and simply enjoy the view. The eye of the camera is not as all encompassing as the actual seeing of a place, but it gives you a glimpse of what it is like so I have included some pictures.
After an hour or so the tour buses were lining up in the parking lot, so we moved on. That’s the thing about these magical locations, you must share them with others equally as excited to be there. I remember once going to see Bridal Falls in Yosemite. It was to be my first time in the park. Unfortunately, we had chosen peak season to go there so the floor of the beautiful park was a sea of cars and humans. Tourists were pushing and shoving at the bottom of the falls trying to get that perfect angle for a shot. As deafening as the falls were all I heard was everyone talking and cameras clicking. The second time I went, it was autumn. The leaves were turning, my breath lingered in the air, and the ground was hard and crisp as I walked along. Early in the morning, there were few people standing with us, and it was a far more moving experience.
We decided to pass on Canyonlands, and see it another trip. The following day was a full one with moving day once again along plus the lengthy drive to Tuba City, Arizona where our next pin in the map was. We had also planned stop to take a jeep tour at Monument Valley on the way to Tuba City.
Monument Valley is on the Navajo Reservation. Pulling into the parking lot well before noon, we found and booked a tour easily. Our carriage was to be a rather shop worn looking olive green jeep with a bobble head of a Chinese cow on the dashboard. Our guide, Larry. Larry, undoubtedly not his given name, was the best. I am a person with an inquisitive mind, who asks a lot of questions. My interest in history has been present in me as long as I can remember. Larry was a willing participant, enthusiastically providing me with information as we drove along. Drove along might be a bit of a misnomer here. I have been on trampolines with less spring. The road, a bright orange clay, darker when marked with puddles from the rain the night before, bore some very impressive potholes, and was not for the feint of heart. At one point, I think I actually left my seat and was suspended in mid-air for a full minute. When talking to the woman who booked our tour she had asked if we wanted an 1 1/2 hours or 2 1/2 hours, Richard was leaning toward the latter. I suggested we go for the shorter tour, this after looking at the road we were to take. Afterwards Richard said, “good choice”.
Monument Valley has been used as a backdrop for many movies over the years. Film crews, according to our guide, were watched closely by the President and Vice-President of the Navajo nation to ensure they leave the land as they found it. This was John Wayne’s favorite place he went on to say. Wayne helped name the impressive rock formations we were to see along our route when he was alive, and the names have remained in place ever since. The Mitten you see pictured above on the left, and on the right, The Three Sisters. As we toured the area, Larry would stop here and there at pivotal spots to allow us to take pictures. When you put the name with the rock monuments, you could understand how the names were chosen. My favorite was Snoopy. The rock formation looked exactly like the beagle resting on his back. This, as fate would have it, was the only picture I took while there that did not turn out. Sigh.
Larry told me much about the Navajo way of life. The Navajo Nation, he said, is 295,000 strong. The elders have persevered in their quest to keep the land in it’s natural state. There is no water source, so water must be trucked in. Electricity is provided by either generators or, for those who could afford it, solar. As to the Internet, I assume they have it, but I didn’t ask. From what I could see around me as we drove through the reservation, they were dealing with a lot of poverty. Every other sign we passed read “don’t drink and drive” which led me to believe they were dealing with other problems as well.
In the middle of the ride, the jeep made it’s way up a hill to a group of buildings. Most of the buildings were small shops selling Navajo art goods. Richard bought me a lovely bracelet at one of the stands. The young woman behind the table was so friendly, and truly beautiful. Her lush black hair was tied behind her clasped in a leather tie, but it was her smiling face that held your attention. I asked about the horse tethered under a thatched lean-to. I do love horses, and this one was a real beauty. Buckskin in color with a white blaze, he stood regally, wearing his saddle as if waiting for a rider to arrive. Turns out he was. His name, she told me, was Spirit, which suited him to a tee. The sign next to him read “Have your picture taken sitting on John Wayne’s horse.” Hmmmm, now John Wayne died in 1979. A horse might live for 28 years if lucky, so this for me was bit of a stretch. Perhaps Spirit was a descendant? That I might be able to latch onto. She asked if I’d like my picture taken. I declined, but asked if I could get a picture of Spirit, which I did.
Back at the origin parking lot, we thanked Larry for being so informative and interesting, and threw in a nice tip for his trouble. I felt sad to see him drive off. After a call to my chiropractor (kidding but not a bad idea), we hopped in the truck and pointed it towards Tuba, Arizona. The Grand Canyon was next on our list, and I have to tell you I had butterflies in my stomach.
Today is midway through our trip, marking two weeks on the road exactly. Talk soon.
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