Friends, foes, and all those in between –

I hope this chronicle finds you well. Before all else, I’d like to as for your advice on an important matter. I’ve recently been trying a host of new foods, as one does when on the road, and I’ve been lucky enough to try buffalo (enjoyable), elk (fine, but not my favorite), rabbit (a tasty treat), purple yam ice cream (heavenly), and cow tongue (a lot like roast beef). I wonder: do you have any suggestions for other culinary adventures I could have out West?

And now on to share more of our adventures…
From our log-cabin stay in stunning Moab, Utah, Jonny and I trekked south. On our way, we visited Natural Bridges National Monument, appreciating once more the grandeur of nature’s rock creations, thereafter moving on to visit Lake Powell just north of Page, Arizona. We arrived late in the day, and before all else we jumped out of the car, made our way around the huge number of RVs and tents at the shore, and wandered through prickly plants and fire ants to our own beautiful, secluded stretch of shoreline.

The afternoon sun was low in the sky, and the canyon walls towered above the aqua lake, burning with autumn colors. Because Lake Powell is the second largest man-made lake in North America, formed by damming up the Colorado River to the north, it serves as a vast playground for boaters, jet-skiers, kayakers, and those who just seek a little summer relaxation on the beach. Jon and I dove immediately into the warm water, making our afternoon swim also serve as bath time. We worked our hair into a lather as jet-skis zoomed past, and we rinsed off soap suds as the clouds parted to reveal the largest rainbow we had ever seen. That night, we slept beneath the dense black sky with stars that seemed to wink and pulse just above the horizon line. As I drifted off to sleep, I felt certain I’d never before seen an empty space so full of life. And something about the terrible pop and country music drifting into the tent from nearby RVs made it seem like a perfect summer night in the U.S. of A.

From Page, we voyaged on to Kanab, Utah, known as the “Hollywood of the West” for the many western movies filmed there. We used Kanab as a jumping off point for visits to Bryce Canyon and Zion National Parks, two glorious gateways into the natural world. Bryce Canyon appeared to me like Mars, great spires of ET-esque red stone and belts of peach desert punctuated only by the random alien trees, nude of leaves because of fire damage. And Zion was a land rich with green and wildlife, with squirrels so bold as to come up to you and rest on your hand awaiting food. Jon and I spent much of our time there wading through The Narrows, a rock-walled canyon through which a gentle river flows.

Thereafter, we cruised on to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, an area that differed entirely from what I’d imagined. I imagined the Grand Canyon to mean throngs of tourists, dusty and oppressive heat, and something of a roar from camera shutters constantly clicking (which I think may more accurately define the South Rim of the Grand Canyon). Yet, the North Rim of the canyon, because it’s so difficult to reach, has probably only several hundred visitors a day, the canyon rim is bordered by a lush forest of rolling hills, and the breeze carries with it a sound of weighted silence. It is truly an awe-inspiring and relaxing place to spend time.

After camping in the desert of northern Arizona, with the wind hot and tearing through the tent and lizards crawling up the outside walls, Jon and I decided a morning swim in the Colorado River was in order. The water, although warm further north in Utah, was somehow cripplingly cold and pained the muscles before numbing them. And yet, it was wonderful to wash our hair and get cold headaches in the turquoise rushing waters as the sun rose above the mesas and our own private beach. And, we were enthralled that as we left we were passed by a group of three beautiful Navajo people, speaking in their own language and going to greet the day on the same stretch of land.

Finally, following the desert, we jetted into Sedona and Flagstaff to relax before meeting our family in Michigan. The Red Rock country around Sedona is astounding, but the town itself seemed rather forced and only exists for the sake of tourists. Flagstaff felt quaint and quiet during the day, it’s 50,000 inhabitants perhaps off sleeping in the shade somewhere; however, in the evening, the city came to life with a roar, bursting at the seams with music and bustling crowds. It’s certainly a little city worth visiting.

Anyway, I’ve droned on for quite some while now, so I’ll let you go.

Eyelids drooping and coffee calling irresistibly, I leave you.

Rachel

P.S. To track my journey:
http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&msa=0&msid=108615724721649217631.00045208d5352931b9e50&ll=37.020098,-107.753906&spn=17.164462,28.78418&z=5

P.P.S. To see some photos:
http://picasaweb.google.com/rarudwall