MONUMENT VALLEY
SUNDAY 20TH SEPTEMBER 2015
Another warm and sunny morning. We leave Page traveling southeast on US 98 and by midday we are passing a sign at the side of the road: "Monument Valley."
In the distance sandstone monoliths seem to have risen out of the ground. Each in splendid isolation. Each a different shape, carved by the wind, rain and aeons of time.
We drive further in to the valley. Above us a clear and blue sky. The outside temperature, the car's gauge tells us, is 88 degrees. A sign takes us to the entrance of a large car park on the side of a hill. At the top is a hotel, restaurant, souvenir shop. We sit in the car and study the coloured leaflet, including a map, given to us as part of the $20 fee. In front of us, lower down, is a small hut where bookings are being taken for a tour round the 17 mile 'Valley Drive,' shown on the map, in four wheel drive open topped land rovers. The price of these 'tours' put us off (nearly $100) and we decide we should be able to manage it ourselves. The 'road' is more a track with ruts, and holes, and steep slopes but C is a professional driver so he should manage it okay. Shouldn't he?
Before setting off we take photographs from an outcrop at the side of the car park. Below can be seen vehicles making slow progress around the Drive, clouds of red dust rising from each.
It is very hot now, we go back to the car and get the air conditioning going and set off. The track is just wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other. It drops down steeply and it is rough going. The car bounces and lurches. C wrestles with the steering wheel trying to avoid the deepest ruts. Within a couple of hundred yards I'm beginning to wonder if our decision to drive ourselves round has been such a good idea. "Should we turn back?" I say.
"It might be better when we get to the bottom." C says, sounding more hopeful than confident.
One of the four-wheel drive vehicle comes past at speed, the passengers in the back being tossed around like they were in small boat in a rough sea. A cloud of red dust closely following and drifting over to us as we pass.
We reach the valley floor and C is able to speed up a little. I study the map of the Drive. To our right is West Mitten Butte (pronounced bee-ute)East Mitten Butte, in the distance Elephant Butte. Progress is slow and hard work for C avoiding the worst of the ruts and holes. I hope he thinks what we are seeing is worth it - as I do.
The leaflet tells us The Valley Drive will take one-and-half to two hours. We pass Cy Butte, Camel Butte, go around Rain God Mesa, and nowThurnderbird Mesa is over to our right. We stop several times to take photographs.
The 'Monuments' are just as spectacularly impressive as they are in John Ford's films - more so as this isn't a film we are looking at, this is the real thing.
Gigantic sandstone rock formations growing out of the valley floor and sculptured by nature herself. Another feast of beauty for our eyes.
Several of the four-wheel drive's, full of - probably dusty - passengers sweep past us. Selfishly the thought crosses my mind that there are too many people here. The valley should be closed to tourists. Now that I have seen it.
We reach Artist Point Overlook. More photographs. The drive around the route takes about an hour and a half with several stops. We get back to the car park and walk up to the hotel complex. It is very hot, temperature must be up in the nineties now.
A young blond-headed German speaks to me in very precise english: "Excuse me sir, may I ask you a question?'
"Go ahead." I say.
"Is it possible for me to drive my car around the valley? My girl friend, she thinks it too dangerous."
"What sort of car do you have?" I ask.
"It is that one." He points to a red four-wheel drive SUV.
"You'll be okay with that." I say.
"It is not dangerous?"
"It could be, if you are not careful. The road is no more than an unmade track. It is steep in places…" And beginning to sound like an expert on travel in Monument Valley, I add: "There are some treacherous ruts and holes, and watch out for boulders; you must take is slowly. Take some water with you, it is very hot and dusty."
He smiles and says, "This is very good of you to tell me this. I thank you very much, sir." He gives a sort of half bow, and I'm expecting him to click his heels, but I'm disappointed, he doesn't.
At the hotel we buy some bottled water and take more photo's from the balcony and then walk back to the car deciding it is time to move on. Once in the car we get the air conditioning on and study the map. Soon we are on our way again on US 163 crossing in to Utah for a while and at the eastern end of the valley turn right. We drive south on US 191, cross back in to Arizona and then drive east again on US 64, cross the State Line in to New Mexico, through Shiprock, Farmington, and then turn southeast again at Bloomfield where we stop and have a meal, then on to US 550 again.
Now we are travelling southeast, the road is almost empty and straight as an arrow. We are out of the tourist area; in the far distance mountains low on the horizon. I drive for a couple of hours, then C takes the wheel again and as it is getting dark we are close to Albuquerque; more traffic. We stop at a Days Inn in Bernalillo, New Mexico. It's been a long day, enjoyable but long, and we have travelled far, covered about 400 miles.
We sleep.
MONDAY 21st SEPTEMBER 2015
Another hot and sunny day. Breakfast at Days Inn before we leave Bernalillo and drive east for a while on Interstate 40, then southeast on US 285. The road is again, straight as an arrow but not empty. We pass dozens of oil tankers travelling in both directions. Then I notice the landscape is dotted with oil derricks, nodding donkeys pumping up black gold. The road surface has become rough, jarring the car and probably not doing the tires any good at all. It all adds up. Nodding donkeys plus dozens of oil tankers - equals badly damaged road.
We enter Roswell, New Mexico. Near here, in the 1950s, when such things happened, aliens from a distant planet landed in their flying saucer and were captured and kept in a secret place out in the desert by the American military, questioned by 'alien experts' and then mysteriously disappeared. It's all documented, so it is said, by the same 'alien experts.' But the military are tight lipped, deny it all. No flying saucer. No aliens. No mystery.
But who knows? Perhaps Beings from a distant world did land here. Perhaps they brought with them the knowledge most crave to have: How to stop war, live in harmony, do without organised religion and the greedy rich and needy poor, cure cancer, dementia and other such diseases. Think how such knowledge would affect the military, our capitalist society and how detrimental it would be to organised religion. No wonder it was all hushed up.
I'm joking. Of course I am.
Now we are on the road again. More tankers, the road surface a little better; cross in to Texas. We go through Pecos where there is a "West Of The Pecos" museum housed in an old western saloon and hotel, but we don't stop. Perhaps we should have.
We decide to stop at a McDonalds in Roswell for a milk-shake - the only item on their menu I would buy. Afterwards we drive over to a nearby Walmart's where we buy underclothes and socks, but see no aliens.
We reach the town of Fort Stockton, Texas, and book into a Motel. It's a cheap place. The woman running it tells me. "We get a lot of Europeans here."
"You do?" I ask. "Why do they come here? Stockton doesn't appear to have much going for it. A small Texas town in the middle of nowhere, a little scruffy where many of the oil tankers we saw earlier appear to have parked for the night.
"They come to see the fort." The motel lady says. "It's historic."
"It is? I didn't know that."
"Oh sure. A lot of people come here to see it. You ought to go. It's historic."
Later we ask a chap getting out of his car if he knows of a bar nearby where we can get something to eat and drink. "Sure do," he says in a really strong Texan accent, and explains where it it - "Just up the road a piece." He sounds like he's just stepped out of a Western.
We find the restaurant and order something to eat at the bar. Two chaps, one a lot older than the other, start talking to us. They are from Florida but are on a similar tour of the country to us. They started off in Canada, they tell us, three months ago. Came down through Oregon, California, across to Las Vegas. Testing out their new car, a Chevrolet Impala, the same model we have hired. They are heading for New Orleans and then across the Florida Panhandle to their home in Fort Myers on the west coast.
They have been 'on the road' longer than we have and travelled further.
SUNDAY 20TH SEPTEMBER 2015
Another warm and sunny morning. We leave Page traveling southeast on US 98 and by midday we are passing a sign at the side of the road: "Monument Valley."
In the distance sandstone monoliths seem to have risen out of the ground. Each in splendid isolation. Each a different shape, carved by the wind, rain and aeons of time.
We drive further in to the valley. Above us a clear and blue sky. The outside temperature, the car's gauge tells us, is 88 degrees. A sign takes us to the entrance of a large car park on the side of a hill. At the top is a hotel, restaurant, souvenir shop. We sit in the car and study the coloured leaflet, including a map, given to us as part of the $20 fee. In front of us, lower down, is a small hut where bookings are being taken for a tour round the 17 mile 'Valley Drive,' shown on the map, in four wheel drive open topped land rovers. The price of these 'tours' put us off (nearly $100) and we decide we should be able to manage it ourselves. The 'road' is more a track with ruts, and holes, and steep slopes but C is a professional driver so he should manage it okay. Shouldn't he?
Before setting off we take photographs from an outcrop at the side of the car park. Below can be seen vehicles making slow progress around the Drive, clouds of red dust rising from each.
It is very hot now, we go back to the car and get the air conditioning going and set off. The track is just wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other. It drops down steeply and it is rough going. The car bounces and lurches. C wrestles with the steering wheel trying to avoid the deepest ruts. Within a couple of hundred yards I'm beginning to wonder if our decision to drive ourselves round has been such a good idea. "Should we turn back?" I say.
"It might be better when we get to the bottom." C says, sounding more hopeful than confident.
One of the four-wheel drive vehicle comes past at speed, the passengers in the back being tossed around like they were in small boat in a rough sea. A cloud of red dust closely following and drifting over to us as we pass.
We reach the valley floor and C is able to speed up a little. I study the map of the Drive. To our right is West Mitten Butte (pronounced bee-ute)East Mitten Butte, in the distance Elephant Butte. Progress is slow and hard work for C avoiding the worst of the ruts and holes. I hope he thinks what we are seeing is worth it - as I do.
The leaflet tells us The Valley Drive will take one-and-half to two hours. We pass Cy Butte, Camel Butte, go around Rain God Mesa, and nowThurnderbird Mesa is over to our right. We stop several times to take photographs.
The 'Monuments' are just as spectacularly impressive as they are in John Ford's films - more so as this isn't a film we are looking at, this is the real thing.
Gigantic sandstone rock formations growing out of the valley floor and sculptured by nature herself. Another feast of beauty for our eyes.
Several of the four-wheel drive's, full of - probably dusty - passengers sweep past us. Selfishly the thought crosses my mind that there are too many people here. The valley should be closed to tourists. Now that I have seen it.
We reach Artist Point Overlook. More photographs. The drive around the route takes about an hour and a half with several stops. We get back to the car park and walk up to the hotel complex. It is very hot, temperature must be up in the nineties now.
A young blond-headed German speaks to me in very precise english: "Excuse me sir, may I ask you a question?'
"Go ahead." I say.
"Is it possible for me to drive my car around the valley? My girl friend, she thinks it too dangerous."
"What sort of car do you have?" I ask.
"It is that one." He points to a red four-wheel drive SUV.
"You'll be okay with that." I say.
"It is not dangerous?"
"It could be, if you are not careful. The road is no more than an unmade track. It is steep in places…" And beginning to sound like an expert on travel in Monument Valley, I add: "There are some treacherous ruts and holes, and watch out for boulders; you must take is slowly. Take some water with you, it is very hot and dusty."
He smiles and says, "This is very good of you to tell me this. I thank you very much, sir." He gives a sort of half bow, and I'm expecting him to click his heels, but I'm disappointed, he doesn't.
At the hotel we buy some bottled water and take more photo's from the balcony and then walk back to the car deciding it is time to move on. Once in the car we get the air conditioning on and study the map. Soon we are on our way again on US 163 crossing in to Utah for a while and at the eastern end of the valley turn right. We drive south on US 191, cross back in to Arizona and then drive east again on US 64, cross the State Line in to New Mexico, through Shiprock, Farmington, and then turn southeast again at Bloomfield where we stop and have a meal, then on to US 550 again.
Now we are travelling southeast, the road is almost empty and straight as an arrow. We are out of the tourist area; in the far distance mountains low on the horizon. I drive for a couple of hours, then C takes the wheel again and as it is getting dark we are close to Albuquerque; more traffic. We stop at a Days Inn in Bernalillo, New Mexico. It's been a long day, enjoyable but long, and we have travelled far, covered about 400 miles.
We sleep.
MONDAY 21st SEPTEMBER 2015
Another hot and sunny day. Breakfast at Days Inn before we leave Bernalillo and drive east for a while on Interstate 40, then southeast on US 285. The road is again, straight as an arrow but not empty. We pass dozens of oil tankers travelling in both directions. Then I notice the landscape is dotted with oil derricks, nodding donkeys pumping up black gold. The road surface has become rough, jarring the car and probably not doing the tires any good at all. It all adds up. Nodding donkeys plus dozens of oil tankers - equals badly damaged road.
We enter Roswell, New Mexico. Near here, in the 1950s, when such things happened, aliens from a distant planet landed in their flying saucer and were captured and kept in a secret place out in the desert by the American military, questioned by 'alien experts' and then mysteriously disappeared. It's all documented, so it is said, by the same 'alien experts.' But the military are tight lipped, deny it all. No flying saucer. No aliens. No mystery.
But who knows? Perhaps Beings from a distant world did land here. Perhaps they brought with them the knowledge most crave to have: How to stop war, live in harmony, do without organised religion and the greedy rich and needy poor, cure cancer, dementia and other such diseases. Think how such knowledge would affect the military, our capitalist society and how detrimental it would be to organised religion. No wonder it was all hushed up.
I'm joking. Of course I am.
Now we are on the road again. More tankers, the road surface a little better; cross in to Texas. We go through Pecos where there is a "West Of The Pecos" museum housed in an old western saloon and hotel, but we don't stop. Perhaps we should have.
We decide to stop at a McDonalds in Roswell for a milk-shake - the only item on their menu I would buy. Afterwards we drive over to a nearby Walmart's where we buy underclothes and socks, but see no aliens.
We reach the town of Fort Stockton, Texas, and book into a Motel. It's a cheap place. The woman running it tells me. "We get a lot of Europeans here."
"You do?" I ask. "Why do they come here? Stockton doesn't appear to have much going for it. A small Texas town in the middle of nowhere, a little scruffy where many of the oil tankers we saw earlier appear to have parked for the night.
"They come to see the fort." The motel lady says. "It's historic."
"It is? I didn't know that."
"Oh sure. A lot of people come here to see it. You ought to go. It's historic."
Later we ask a chap getting out of his car if he knows of a bar nearby where we can get something to eat and drink. "Sure do," he says in a really strong Texan accent, and explains where it it - "Just up the road a piece." He sounds like he's just stepped out of a Western.
We find the restaurant and order something to eat at the bar. Two chaps, one a lot older than the other, start talking to us. They are from Florida but are on a similar tour of the country to us. They started off in Canada, they tell us, three months ago. Came down through Oregon, California, across to Las Vegas. Testing out their new car, a Chevrolet Impala, the same model we have hired. They are heading for New Orleans and then across the Florida Panhandle to their home in Fort Myers on the west coast.
They have been 'on the road' longer than we have and travelled further.
