ZION NATIONAL PARK
SATURDAY 19TH SEPTEMBER 2015
SATURDAY 19TH SEPTEMBER 2015
Out of Hurricane now and the landscape has become eye catching. We stop, take photographs. It is still hot and sunny; a beautiful day, the colours in the cliffs and rocks are similar to my cut hair scattered on the floor of the hairdressing salon: greys and yellows, browns and whites.
We move on, keeping the speed down so we can enjoy the scenery. The traffic has thinned.
There are mountains to the west and soon we see more to the north. The road is much less busy now; it climbs up, then drops down, it twists and turns. The map tells me there is a time change as we cross the State Line from Nevada to Arizona, one hour forward, from Pacific to Mountain time; then we cross in to Utah We have left Interstate 15 and turned on to U.S. 85 heading east. The landscape is more rugged and rocky, it looks parched, arid; then there are areas of green, lush looking grass, golf courses, I think.
We move on, keeping the speed down so we can enjoy the scenery. The traffic has thinned.
There are mountains to the west and soon we see more to the north. The road is much less busy now; it climbs up, then drops down, it twists and turns. The map tells me there is a time change as we cross the State Line from Nevada to Arizona, one hour forward, from Pacific to Mountain time; then we cross in to Utah We have left Interstate 15 and turned on to U.S. 85 heading east. The landscape is more rugged and rocky, it looks parched, arid; then there are areas of green, lush looking grass, golf courses, I think.
We stop at a town called Hurricane, (pronounced Hur-a-kin) for breakfast and afterwards ask if there is a barber's nearby. We are directed down the road to "Great Clips," a hairdressing salon, where two girls greet us with big smiles and perform much needed haircuts on us.
Out of Hurricane now and the landscape has become eye catching. We stop, take photographs. It is still hot and sunny; a beautiful day, the colours in the cliffs and rocks are similar to my cut hair scattered on the floor of the hairdressing salon: greys and yellows, browns and whites.
We move on, keeping the speed down so we can enjoy the scenery. The traffic starts to become thicker. slows down, comes to a halt;
it splits in to two lanes and two queues and we edge forward. "What's the hold up?" I say.
"Don't know." Says Cyril. Then: "It looks like some kind of booth. There's a chap there collecting money."
"Money?" I say. "This is a toll road?" I peer at the map on my knee. "It doesn't say that on the map."
We get closer to the booths. There is a notice: "Zion National Park." Underneath a list of prices. We reach the Booth.
"Hello folks." A smiling man with a name tag on his uniform, 'Larry,' looks down at us. "Welcome, I sure hope you enjoy your day.
That will be thirty dollars."
"Thirty dollars? Is this a toll road? " Says Cyril.
"This is Zion National Park, sir."
I lean across, "We're just trying to get to Page." I hold the map up. "It doesn't say anything on here about having to pay."
"You need to get a better map!"
"Is there another way to Page?" Asks Cyril.
"Sure is." Says Larry. "If you turn around and go back a ways, but it will put an hour or more on your journey. Where are you folks from?"
Out of Hurricane now and the landscape has become eye catching. We stop, take photographs. It is still hot and sunny; a beautiful day, the colours in the cliffs and rocks are similar to my cut hair scattered on the floor of the hairdressing salon: greys and yellows, browns and whites.
We move on, keeping the speed down so we can enjoy the scenery. The traffic starts to become thicker. slows down, comes to a halt;
it splits in to two lanes and two queues and we edge forward. "What's the hold up?" I say.
"Don't know." Says Cyril. Then: "It looks like some kind of booth. There's a chap there collecting money."
"Money?" I say. "This is a toll road?" I peer at the map on my knee. "It doesn't say that on the map."
We get closer to the booths. There is a notice: "Zion National Park." Underneath a list of prices. We reach the Booth.
"Hello folks." A smiling man with a name tag on his uniform, 'Larry,' looks down at us. "Welcome, I sure hope you enjoy your day.
That will be thirty dollars."
"Thirty dollars? Is this a toll road? " Says Cyril.
"This is Zion National Park, sir."
I lean across, "We're just trying to get to Page." I hold the map up. "It doesn't say anything on here about having to pay."
"You need to get a better map!"
"Is there another way to Page?" Asks Cyril.
"Sure is." Says Larry. "If you turn around and go back a ways, but it will put an hour or more on your journey. Where are you folks from?"
We tell him. He says: "Will you come here again?"
"Yes." Says Cyril. "What we've seen so far is great, it's beautiful."
He hands down a map. "Zion is beautiful. Okay, you folks go ahead, as our guest, follow what I have marked on the map there, it will take you out of the park and on to Page."
"We can go through?"
"Sure, you are our guest. Take a right where I've marked. Have a nice day."
We drive on. Larry has made our day. What a nice chap.
The road narrows, twists and climbs. High cliffs rise up each side of us. The colours in them outstanding: pinks, vermillion, white, brown, green. The Grand Canyon is, well… grand, but this is better, this is just plain beautiful. We pull off the road several times to feast our eyes on its splendour, to take photographs, and film that I know won't capture the reality of it all. Not for the first time I wish Heather were here, she would have loved it. This is "nature at its most eloquent" as the Berlitz Handbook says. It truly is.
We take the right turn that Larry advised, resisting the temptation to explore deeper into the park. Another time, I hope.
We reach Page at about five in the afternoon. Page is the centre of the southwest Tourist circle. Something we did not realise. We pass coach loads of tourists. The town is busy, all the hotels and motels appear to be full. We chase around enquiring at each one, another couple doing the same thing, sometimes in front of us, sometimes behind. Finally we are forced to take a room offered by the receptionist at The Rodeway Inn. Rip-off Rodeway we call it. They charge us $220 for a mediocre room.
As the sun sets we walk across the road to a restaurant. At the bar we talk to a couple. "Are you from England?" The man asks.
His wife, Dorothy, asks how long we have been in the States and we tell them about our trip. They both seem interested and ask questions. Dorothy, it turns out works at one of the motels in town.
"How much are you paying at the Rodeway?" Her husband asks. We tell him.
"You were ripped off!" He says.
We know it, we say. "Pity we didn't meet you and Dorothy a couple of hours ago."
He talks about Page, the tourists, and how the internet connection is so bad here and how they are trying to improve it.
We return to the rip-off Rodeway Inn. It's been a long day. We've seen some wonderful scenery, managed to get our hair cut at last. Travelled about 280 miles.
"Yes." Says Cyril. "What we've seen so far is great, it's beautiful."
He hands down a map. "Zion is beautiful. Okay, you folks go ahead, as our guest, follow what I have marked on the map there, it will take you out of the park and on to Page."
"We can go through?"
"Sure, you are our guest. Take a right where I've marked. Have a nice day."
We drive on. Larry has made our day. What a nice chap.
The road narrows, twists and climbs. High cliffs rise up each side of us. The colours in them outstanding: pinks, vermillion, white, brown, green. The Grand Canyon is, well… grand, but this is better, this is just plain beautiful. We pull off the road several times to feast our eyes on its splendour, to take photographs, and film that I know won't capture the reality of it all. Not for the first time I wish Heather were here, she would have loved it. This is "nature at its most eloquent" as the Berlitz Handbook says. It truly is.
We take the right turn that Larry advised, resisting the temptation to explore deeper into the park. Another time, I hope.
We reach Page at about five in the afternoon. Page is the centre of the southwest Tourist circle. Something we did not realise. We pass coach loads of tourists. The town is busy, all the hotels and motels appear to be full. We chase around enquiring at each one, another couple doing the same thing, sometimes in front of us, sometimes behind. Finally we are forced to take a room offered by the receptionist at The Rodeway Inn. Rip-off Rodeway we call it. They charge us $220 for a mediocre room.
As the sun sets we walk across the road to a restaurant. At the bar we talk to a couple. "Are you from England?" The man asks.
His wife, Dorothy, asks how long we have been in the States and we tell them about our trip. They both seem interested and ask questions. Dorothy, it turns out works at one of the motels in town.
"How much are you paying at the Rodeway?" Her husband asks. We tell him.
"You were ripped off!" He says.
We know it, we say. "Pity we didn't meet you and Dorothy a couple of hours ago."
He talks about Page, the tourists, and how the internet connection is so bad here and how they are trying to improve it.
We return to the rip-off Rodeway Inn. It's been a long day. We've seen some wonderful scenery, managed to get our hair cut at last. Travelled about 280 miles.
