Head West young lad, for there are fortunes to be made in the vast prairies and mysterious hoodoos beyond the setting sun. Sound advice, until you realize Daddy is talking about the Vegas penny slots.
United Airlines, only marginally more comfortable than the front seat of a Conestoga wagon. At least on the latter you can shoot a buffalo if they run out of tapas boxes.
The road to the horizon seems endless. Especially with Rock at the wheel.
Peruvian chicken in the middle of the Arizona desert? On second thought, the landscape does have a Peruvian feel to it, sans the alpacas, desiccated lomo saltado, and sprint to the outhouse.
The wagons are circled deep in the mountains of Utah, ready for any threat from the shadows beyond the flickering campfire's pale glow. None shall breach the defenses, except an organic celery stick or two.
First stop on the dusty trail is the fabled Antelope Canyon, in the heart of Navajo country. Don't worry about your scalp, it turns out tourists are much more useful with hair and wallet attached.
The ride out to the canyon is the stuff of Indiana Jones, a rollicking ride in the back of a battered pick up truck through the bone dry riverbed that leads to the mouth of the canyon. No CGI-ed herd of spiders here folks, this is old school special effects.
Fire up Raiders March now or forever hold your peace.
It's like millions of years of erosion were all building up to one singular event: the invention of Instagram.
There's a hashtag for that.
In the Well of Souls time stands still, like the ethereal ribbons of sand that glide down the canyon walls. Until the next tour group comes stomping up behind you and a selfie stick rams you in the back.
So that's where that giant boulder comes from...
Looks like Sauron is voting in a swing state this year. Make Mordor Great Again!
This formation is known as Sunrise Over Monument Valley. Guess that saves us a five hour drive.
We do not follow Rock's directions to buried treasure and X never, ever marks the spot.
You're not the man I knew ten years ago... It's not the years, honey, it's the Premier Qualifying Miles.
Saddle up and get ready to ride off into the sunset to the soaring strains of John Williams. And then ruin the moment by dragging everyone out of retirement to prove that refrigerators make good nuclear fallout shelters.
Three hours later the interminable desert finally gives way to the soaring peaks of Zion National Park, a worthy second stop on the greatest hits tour of three states: Arizona, Utah, and Nevada.
The Gates of Zion. Make sure you grab the wifi password off St. Peter on the way through.
Swimming in the shadow of The Patriarchs. Or rather, doggie paddling in the shadow of The Patriarchs.
No comments:
Post a Comment