It really isn’t until the paperwork is done and we pull away from the lot without that iconic silver bullet behind us that it sinks in: our Amazing Airstream Adventure is over.

But what an adventure it’s been! Nearly half a year of full-timing in a 23’ 2008 Safari SE has given us access to places and people we never would have encountered otherwise. It’s also meant that we’ve greatly extended the amount of time our Trans-Americas Journey has been able to spend exploring the US by saving us a ton of money we’d otherwise have had to shell out on motel rooms and restaurant meals. You’d be amazed how much that all adds up.

So our Trans-Americas Journey has lost its temporary travel trailer team mate. We’re sure there are going to be many times we’ll look into our side-view mirrors and long to see our Safari rolling along behind us, but the Trans-Americas Journey will roll on—into Mexico, then further south through all of Central and South America—as planned.

This blog will roll on too as a kind of living memory of some of our best Airstream Adventures. Feel free to pop by anytime you feel like checking out The Alabama Hills, or the Bonneville Salt Flats or the Black Rock Desert or the life on the rim of the Grand Canyon or the best campsite in all of Mount Rainier National Park or any of the other amazing places we’ve discovered in our Airstream.

Well, sort of. The Rio Grande, which runs through the park, crested more than 25 feet above normal two months ago and the flooding has left a trail of destruction and debris and silt behind. More than half the sites in each of the park’s two campgrounds remain closed. On the other hand, almost half of each campground has been re-opened, and we actually have no problem finding a home for our Airstream in Cottonwood Campground.

The Rio Grande River enters Big Bend National Park through Santa Elena Canyon. That's Mexico on the left.

As we drive through the park at dusk a family of javelinas, which look like a wild boar crossed with a warthog with a smidge of rhino thrown in, crosses the road in front of us—in no great hurry it should be added. They may be short but they’re dense and we give them the respect (and the brakes) they deserve.

That evening, back in the campground, we hear a group of coyotes calling very near our site. But it’s not until the next day that we realize that javelinas and coyotes are far outnumbered by the birds in this park. Over coffee we watch a woodpecker with a vivid red splotch on the top of its head and a neon yellow swipe down its neck bedevil a plain-Jane dove that seems to want to land on a tree that the woodpecker considers its own. Factor in the seemingly never-ending stream of birds of prey and Big Bend is a tweeter’s dream.

Out on one of the roads through the park we slam on the brakes and pull over to admire something that more often factors in people’s nightmares, not their dreams: a tarantula as big as a human hand. The prehistoric looking thing is slowly ambling across the road, and then it heads off into the rocky, dusty desert on impossibly fragile looking legs.

Why did the tarantula cross the road? We don't know, but the things are so big and so common in Big Bend National Park that we have no trouble spotting them as they meander across the asphalt.

The animals that really get us revved up, however, are far bigger and hairier than the tarantula. Staff and visitors report around 130 mountain lion sightings in the park every year, which is extraordinarily high. The park’s black bears, once common in the park’s Chisos Mountains, had disappeared by the mid 1940s when the park was created. However, since the 1980s, black bears have slowly repopulated the area by crossing into Big Bend from neighboring Mexico

This year they’re extremely active with many sightings and signs on the trails advising hikers to be vigilant. With all this big predator activity, the park is also peppered with tantalizing warning signs about how to behave if confronted with either animal.

We’d love to catch a glimpse of another black bear, but a mountain lion sighting would really be special since neither of us has ever seen one. With that in mind, we head for the park’s backcountry to hit the trial. At the urging of a fellow camper, we set our sights on the Pine Canyon Trail which is reached via about 10 miles of single track dirt road.

Beginning the Pine Canyon hike into the Chisos Mountains.

A wonderful sampling of the park’s diversity, the four mile roundtrip walk starts off through scrubby classic Chihuahua desert, working almost imperceptibly up Pine Canyon. The terrain quickly gets steeper, more narrow and more forested until we reach trail’s end literally at a rock wall which is the site of a dramatic waterfall whenever it rains. Though we see a big fresh pile of bear poop right on the trail (oh, you’d recognize it if you saw it too), we make it all the way back down to our truck without seeing a bear or a mountain lion.

In addition to the extraordinary number of mountain lion sightings and the rare mix of Chihuahua desert and Chisos Mountains and Rio Grande, the other truly unique thing we take away from Big Bend National Park is a reminder of the randomness of borders. Here in Big Bend the Rio Grande is the border and we can literally see Mexico from almost anywhere in the park.

Looking out over the Rio Grande near Boquillas Canyon. Mexico starts on the left side of the river and continues up into the hills in the background.

Craftsman from villages and towns on the Mexican side of the river used to be allowed to wade across with goods to sell to Big Bend visitors, and then return to their homes at night. Post 9/11 border crackdowns ended all that and now just a few intrepid souls sneak across the river, set up makeshift craft stands with donations boxes and signs in butchered English, then return to Mexico and hope that someone buys a carved walking stick or scorpion sculpture and puts something in their cash box (though park officials warn that buying these goods is against the law). At night these stealthy shopkeepers return to collect their unsold goods and any revenue.

We’ve crossed a lot of borders in our time and we hope we’ll be lucky enough to cross many more. But somehow it never seems right that a river/wall/line in the sand should be powerful enough to create such a divide.

]]> http://transamerica.airstream.com/?feed=rss2&p=406 http://transamerica.airstream.com/?p=393 http://transamerica.airstream.com/?p=393#comments Mon, 19 Jan 2009 14:37:51 +0000 transamericas http://transamerica.airstream.com/?p=393

Since moving into our 23’ Airstream Safari SE full time in June we’ve spent almost 30 nights in KOAs across the country where we can always count on a convenient hookup, fair to great facilities, an internet connection (some weaker than others, it must be said) and sometimes even free pancakes.

It’s dark by the time we pull into the Las Cruces, NM KOA so we don’t see much of the place until we head to the showers which bode well for this particular KOA with spotlessly clean facilities, shower curtains that are actually long enough to keep the water from escaping and flooding the floor and even perfectly dry and perfectly clean rag-weave bathmats to stand on as you dry off and dress.

The next morning, the light of day reveals even more reasons why the Las Cruces KOA won both the KOA President’s Award and the KOA Founder’s Award in 2008 including a free vehicle and RV/trailer wash station, meticulous site maintenance and super-friendly staff that will even bake and deliver a pizza to your site for a very reasonable fee.

Then we see site #12. Located on a huge corner parcel on the edge of the campground, site #12 has an unobstructed view of the Organ Mountains plus a private gazebo with a table and chairs and your own personal gas grill.

Beautiful site #12 at the Las Cruces KOA.

We’re sold, even though the site is $12 more than the standard site we originally reserved, and the cheerful KOA staff happily swaps our reservation so we can move into our new mansion of a campsite which literally has room for at least three of our Airstreams. We’re just getting settled in and deciding what to grill for dinner when a 32’ vintage Airstream bus pulls into a nearby site.

Out jump Michael and Judy and their adorable dog Rose and before long we’re all enjoying cold beverages in our gazebo. Michael and Judy have been full-timing in their Airstream, which they’ve lovingly named Bess, for a long time and we really relate to their attitude toward life on the road. Namely, don’t make too much of a schedule—it’s just going to change anyway, don’t let the idiots get to you and never, ever make plans with other people if you can avoid it.

Oh, and don’t be afraid to snag the best site in the campground. We suspect that as soon as we leave site #12 Michael and Judy will move in!

From Las Cruces we head for Van Horn, TX but first we make a mandatory pit stop at the Lucchese cowboy boot outlet in El Paso, TX where Eric tries on about a gazillion different styles of boots. The place is packed to the rafters with hundreds of styles from subdued classics to flamboyant colors and fancy skins. Eric finally settles on a deliciously soft, dark -caramel-colored handmade pair that fit him perfectly—and at a fraction of the cost of regularly priced Lucchese creations.

We’re not big shoppers, but we’re sure these are boots that will prove their worth for years to come just like the boots Karen bought at the Alberta Boot Company in Calgary, Canada almost two years ago, which have become treasured (if slightly scuffed) possessions. Besides, you just can’t drive around Texas wearing sneakers!

After a night in the Van Horn, TX KOA, where the night staff actually stayed late in order to greet us when we checked in, we begin making our way toward Big Bend National Park. Our route takes us directly through Marfa, TX a quirker of a town that’s become a magnet for artists, nature lovers and general urban refugees and harmless misfits from all over.

Like so many roads in Texas, the route from Van Horn to Marfa is two lanes of pretty much straight flat pavement with a speed limit of 80 mph, which means we cover the 75 miles between Van Horn and Marfa in no time flat—even with a stop at Prada Marfa, an art installation by German artists Michael Elmgreen and Ingar Dragset which opened in 2005 and that consists of a petite replica of a Prada story (complete with actual Prada handbags and shoes on shelves inside) literally plunked down in the middle of nowhere. Not sure why, but it makes us smile.

This Prada store 35 miles outside of Marfa, which is filled with real Prada shoes and handbags but is never open, was created by German artists Elmgreen & Dragset.

The minute we hit Marfa we can see the cool. There’s the Thunderbird Hotel (owned by the same folks who run the desert-chic Hotel San Jose in Austin, TX, they’ll let you borrow an actual vintage turntable so you can play something from their vinyl library right in your room). There’s the Pizza Foundation which earns rave reviews from hippies and hipsters alike. And there’s Maiya’s and the fairly new and much-hyped Cochineal (opened by two former New York City restaurateurs who used to run Etats-Unis on Manhattan’s Upper East Side) where even big-city diners marvel at their meal—and often their celebrity co-diners.

To fill in the gaps between meals and star-sightings there are tempting books stores and hardcore coffee shops galore and cheeky second hand stores. Not to mention the thing that transformed Marfa from an obscure, half-dead dustbowl cattle town to the Brooklyn of Texas in the first place: Art.

Downtown Marfa.

New York City minimalist Donald Judd (though the vitriolic Judd reportedly preferred the term empiricist) came to Marfa in the early ‘70s and soon began taking over massive buildings on an abandoned military base and other properties in and around town and turning them into galleries for his work. He eventually formed the Judd Foundation and opened the Chinati Foundation (named after Marfa’s neighboring mountain range) in 1976 and the influx of art-tourists his installations eventually attracted has been largely credited not just with Marfa’s survival but with its current boom.

Besides copious quantities of cool, the other thing we notice about Marfa is an amazing number of Airstreams. We count six without even trying on just one quick pass through town. Clearly art attracts art….

Sadly, we don’t have time to hang out and make our Safari SE the seventh Airstream in town, so it’s on toward Big Bend National Park!

]]> http://transamerica.airstream.com/?feed=rss2&p=393 http://transamerica.airstream.com/?p=381 http://transamerica.airstream.com/?p=381#comments Fri, 16 Jan 2009 14:53:53 +0000 transamericas http://transamerica.airstream.com/?p=381 Natural Bridges National Monument is a compact, focused park which makes it easy to wrap your head (and your time) around it. Created to showcase just three stellar examples of bridges formed by naturally eroded rock, all of the park’s geological wonders are easily reached via hiking trails off a short scenic drive.

The naturally eroded Sipapu bridge in Natural Bridge National Monument.

The naturally eroded Sipapu bridge in Natural Bridge National Monument.

Owachomo bridge in Natural Bridges National Monument.

Owachomo bridge in Natural Bridges National Monument.

Even with a lovely pit stop to make a sandwich in the Airstream we’re able to walk to all three bridges and enjoy all of the overlooks in just a few hours, then we’re off to Moab where we do something we’ve never done during all of our visits to the area: stop and take a tour of the Hole ‘n The Rock attraction just south of town.

Sure, from the outside it looks like just another cheesy roadside rip-off complete with a lame petting zoo and an overpriced gift shop (which is exactly why we’ve always driven right past it). But this time we stop and pony up the $5 each for a tour of the main attraction, a 5,000 square foot multi-room home with electricity and plumbing (not to mention some very, um, unique décor—more on that later) blasted, carved and coaxed out of sheer rock.

The tour starts in the kitchen, a cheerily painted room that was the first area built in order to serve guests at what was originally a roadhouse restaurant. Apart from the French fryer carved into solid stone and the cabinets that have been rounded to fit into the curved rock walls, the kitchen doesn’t seem that unusual.

Then you enter the home’s other 13 rooms. There’s the bathtub carved out of solid rock and the 65 foot chimney blasted through solid stone. Not to mention huge solid-stone pillars throughout. All told 50,000 cubic feet of sandstone was removed to create the Hole ‘n The Rock as it was expanded into a full-fledged home and art studio.

However, the thing that really makes this place unique is the way the creators, Gladys and Albert Christensen, decorated their cave home.

An avid painter and sculptor Albert’s work is everywhere—much of it focused on his hero Franklin D. Roosevelt. His other passion, taxidermy, is also represented in the form of the sorriest looking re-animations of various dearly departed pets, including the donkey who did most of the heavy lifting during construction of Hole ‘n The Rock and a sort of ethereal floating foal that’s more creepy than cute.

Fittingly, Gladys and Albert are buried in a rocky plot next door to their labor of love.

We can’t be sure that the 15 years it took Albert and Gladys to construct and decorate this boondoggle was time well spent, but we’re glad we stopped by for a little while.

After driving past this roadside attraction half a dozen times, we finally stop to tour the amazing Hole 'n The Rock cave home--and we're glad we did.

We’re also glad we stopped by the Star Casino in Santa Ana, New Mexico the next day. We’ve made it a habit to stop at casinos and take advantage of any free play they offer new club members. Usually it’s five bucks or so and we can almost always make a few dollars in a few minutes.

When we pull into the Star Casino, however, they’re offering an additional bonus to first-time club members. All we have to do is show our drivers’ licenses, then log onto their web site and use a code to play an online game that determines what our additional bonus is. We play the game later that night in the nearby Albuquerque Central KOA but one of the codes is expired.

When we return to the casino the next morning they tell us they can give us a new online game code to replace the expired one, but we’ll have to use our own computers to redeem free play. No problem! We just go out to our Airstream in the parking lot and fire up our mobile office. In the end, we get $70 in free play which we quickly parlay into almost $50 of pure profit. Now that’s time well spent!

A sea of hoodoos (tall thin spires of rock) are the main attraction at Bryce Canyon National Park.

It is, indeed, warmer by the time we reach the town of Escalante and drop our Airstream at an uninspired local trailer park before heading out to drive the Burr Trail, a 68 mile backcountry route through Grand Escalante National Monument and on to Capitol Reef National Park.

The red rock world of Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument and Capitol Reef National Park.

We’ve been warned that the road is not recommended for trailers, so we are confused when we hit the Burr Trail and realize it’s almost entirely freshly paved. Save for a few final miles of switchbacks and dirt road which would, admittedly, be an Airstream challenge, the entire Burr Trail is in better shape than much of the road we’ve been on lately.

Save for a group of cowboys on horseback and on truck coming from the other direction, we have the Burr Trail to ourselves and as the gorgeous scenery unfolds—including towering walls of bright red Navajo sandstone that out-wow all the dramatic rocks we’ve seen so far—we’re sorry we didn’t bring the Airstream with us. Even a wide spot in this road would make a vastly preferable camping spot than the dusty pull through we just left her in and since its BLM land we could have parked it almost anywhere.

Our Airstream in front of Chimney Rock in Capitol Reef National Park.

The next morning we head to Capitol Reef National Park via scenic Highway 12, but despite the gorgeous scenery we seem to be a bigger attraction for a European tourist who takes a picture of our Airstream as we’re pulled over in a turnout making a quick picnic.

Capitol Reef National Park, whose main feature is an enormous spine of sandstone that acts like a barrier or reef, is home to the remnants of cabins, schools and farms left behind by the area’s first white settlers who managed to find a way into the region. Weirdly, park visitors are allowed to pick the fruit that the settler’s old orchards still produce each season.

In Capitol Reef National Park the Waterpocket Fold, a 100 mile wrinkle in the earth's crust, creates an impassable reef-like barrier.

There’s no fruit around right now so we focus on the park’s scenic drive along a mostly paved road past pockmarked sandstone formations and side canyons and run offs. The road saves the really dramatic scenery for the last unpaved miles and then dead ends at Capitol Gorge, a pass through the imposing sandstone walls that Native American tribes and early settlers both used like a road.

The walls of Capitol Gorge still hold onto Indian petro glyphs and the inscriptions of settlers who passed through in 1911. The gorge is also home to some more recent arrivals: strange birds called Chukars that look like enormous quail but without the floppy head piece and with a hooked magenta beak and magenta colored legs.

We know all that because the things are nearly tame. As we walked through the gorge a flock of a half dozen Chukars walked right up to us, like dogs, and when we sat down on the ground they happily pecked and scratched all around us. We were charmed until the ranger told us that the Chukars are an invasive species that’s slowly but surely pushing the native quail out.

One of the friendly Chukars we come across in Capitol Gorge.

We’ve grown used to the rock shows that go on in this part of the country, but as we drive out of Capitol Reef National Park we are amazed at how the terrain changes like neighborhoods in a city—now red Navajo sandstone walls, now beige flat stretches, now pure white and pitted pillars, now grey sandy humps.

Sometimes the changes sneak up on us in gradual stages as we drive. Sometimes the change is incredibly sudden, like someone flipped a geological switch and the backdrop around us flipped to something totally different.

And, so, just a few miles south of the spiny, spiky neighborhood of Capitol Reef National Park the landscape looks like a lumpy moon—something that’s not lost on the locals who call their neighborhood Luna Mesa.

A full moon rising over Hite Overlook.

That night we get a bit of a boondock fix as we pull into the Hite Overlook where we’d intended to just enjoy the sunset with the junction of the Colorado and Dirty Devil Rivers as they join Lake Powell far below us. It’s so lovely and secluded, however, that we decide we’ve found our neighborhood for the night.

The sun rises on a red, red world at Hite Overlook.

We’ve been through the park briefly before, but we make a return trip hoping it’ll be warm enough to hike The Narrows which requires some canyoneering through water. After moving into an enormous site in the Watchman Campground which, surprisingly, comes with an electrical hookup, we decide that the temperatures are already too cold for The Narrows (though other, heartier, souls are attempting it outfitted in insulated hip waders).

Sunset over our Airstream home in the Watchman Campground in Zion National Park.

Instead, we focus on some of the park’s hikes like Angels Landing which requires traversing a narrow spine of rock that turns some folks back. We’re even more tempted by the hike up to Observation Point which gains 2,000 feet in four miles of switchbacks pretty much straight uphill through a range of terrain, including some brief slot canyons and plenty of red rock, culminating in a great viewpoint over the park.

The trail that switchbacks up to Observation Point offers a great view of the Horseshoe bend in the Virgin River. Somehow this little river created Zion canyon.

The scenery is so gorgeous that before we know it we’re at the top munching on trail mix and enjoying the view. When someone points to the sky and hollers “condors” we are skeptical, but a quick check through binoculars reveals the giant endangered bird’s tell-tale wing markings and an identification number clamped to each animal’s wing.

Karen hikes through a partial tunnel blasted out to gain access to a small slot canyon on the trail up to Observation Point.

For the next 15 minutes we watch three California condors slowly circle and swirl above us, ultimately getting so low that we can see their markings without binoculars. We’d just read that condors are so comfortable with humans because they’ve learned that mammals like us often leave food behind and we wonder if these birds are hoping for some leftover trail mix.

Two of the three California Condors that soared above us at Observation Point before vanishing into thin air.

Then, as quickly as they appeared, the huge birds are gone. Vanished. As if they were never there. All of the hikers at Observation Point look at each other as if to confirm that we all just saw what we thought we saw. Buoyed by our condor sighting, we cover the four miles back down the trail and on to our Airstream in record time, almost like we’re flying ourselves.

Stunning views from Observation Point down into Zion Canyon.

The next morning we make a quick breakfast and head out to the Emerald Pools trail which threads together three different natural pools. On a sunny day, the pools each exhibit a different brilliant color. In the gathering grayness on the morning we’re there, the colors are not quite apparent but it’s a pleasant walk nonetheless.

Our journey out of Zion National Park is also an adventure. In order to fit through the tunnel in the road that exits the park all RV drivers have to buy a special pass. When we reach the tunnel in our Airstream we show our pass and traffic in both directions is stopped so we can drive in the center of the tunnel, straddling the dividing line, through the tallest point in the tunnel. It’s definitely a first.

Fall colors along the Virgin River.

]]> http://transamerica.airstream.com/?feed=rss2&p=362 http://transamerica.airstream.com/?p=351 http://transamerica.airstream.com/?p=351#comments Wed, 07 Jan 2009 13:47:16 +0000 transamericas http://transamerica.airstream.com/?p=351 If the North Rim of Grand Canyon National Park is the South Rim’s less famous sibling, then the Toroweap area (also called the Tuweep area) of the park is the long lost cousin. Whereas the South Rim can get over 15,000 visitors on a busy day, Toroweap rarely sees more than a dozen or two visitors. In fact, in 2004 3,314,226 people visited the South Rim, 306,926 people visited the North Rim, and only 8,066 visited Toroweap!

We didn’t know much about the area at all until Dave from the North Rim backcountry office started raving about how amazing it was and how he looks forward to spending half his year in Toroweap despite the isolation and the bad road. Isolation? Bad road? Sign us up!

Leaving the Airstream happily nestled in its desert home in the Paria Canyon/Vermillion Cliffs Wilderness, we head out to Toroweap for a day trip. As we turn off the pavement and onto the Sunshine Route to Toroweap we’re surprised at how good the dirt road is. Heck, for the first 50+ miles it’s more than good enough for the Airstream!

The first 50 miles of dirt road up to the entrance of the Toroweap area of Grand Canyon National Park are in decent shape and the Airstream could probably have made it....

However, just as we reach the ranger station and the official sign for the Grand Canyon National Park Toroweap area the road takes a pronounced turn for the worse with deep ruts, sand pits and huge rocks that toss us from side to side and up and down and forward and backward no matter how slow we go. These final six miles are so uniformly bad that it seems like someone’s come in with heavy equipment and intentionally made the road worse in order to discourage visitors.

... but things take a drastic turn for the worse over the last few miles to Toroweap Point and the canyon rim.

After many hours of driving (nearly a full hour just to get through the last six brutal miles), we finally reach Toroweap Point, a spectacular spot 3,000 feet above the Colorado River right on the rim of the Grand Canyon with views of light-and-color-bathed canyon walls, Lava Falls rapids and that iconic river snaking lazily along far below. 

The Grand Canyon and the Colorado River from Toroweap Point. The canyon here is narrow and drops nearly 3,000 feet straight down to the river which is about 90 miles downstream from the canyon most Grand Canyon National Park visitors see.

With the sun setting and neither of us looking forward to facing that brutal stretch of road again so soon we decide to camp for the night in the exquisite primitive campground just in from the rim where 10 sites with tables and fire rings are set along a flat shelf. We settle into site number five tucked into a gentle bend in the landscape (this is exactly why we always carry full camping gear and plenty of water with us in the truck) and once darkness falls the sky puts on a spectacular star show.

Sunset over the Grand Canyon from Toroweap Point.

The night is so warm that we don’t even put the fly on our tent, which allows us to stargaze right up until our eyes close. And did we mention that the campground has the cleanest backcountry bathrooms we’ve ever seen? Still, it’ll be good to get back into our Airstream home!

The Colorado River almost 3,000 feet straight below the rim at Toroweap Point.

The USFS manages a huge amount of land on the canyon’s rim just on the outskirts of the park and, despite its less than enticing name, Locust Point proves to be a wonderful boon docking location, just as Bob promised—remote, private, slightly hard to reach (and even harder to leave—more on that later) and absolutely gorgeous. After 20 miles or so of well-maintained dirt roads we hit a turnaround marked Locust Point.

From there we branch off down a rough and narrow spur trail (to call it a road would be too generous) until we literally reach the canyon’s rim. With darkness coming, we slowly and carefully tow our Airstream to a stunning vantage point and park it. We end up camped so close to the rim that we’re thankful neither of us are sleepwalkers.

Panorama from Locust Point looking out over the Grand Canyon, just steps from the Airstream. (Click for Full Size)

From bed we can see the far wall of the canyon and the wind brings over the faint remains of our nearest neighbor’s nightly playlist of Bob Marley and traditional Native American flute music, which suits the mood perfectly.

Airstreaming on the edge of the Grand Canyon at Locust Point.

Because we’re on National Forest land we’re allowed to gather wood, which we do in anticipation of building a campfire in one of the lovely stone fire ring some thoughtfully left behind by previous visitors. However, when night falls a breeze picks up which carries embers from our fire straight over the edge of the canyon so we douse it before we start a catastrophic forest fire.

It’s out here at Locust Point that we discover another use for our Safari: wildlife blind. If we sit very quietly inside the Airstream birds and squirrels seem to forget we’re there and come right up to the Airstream—in some cases even wandering around on the roof and peaking in the roofline windows curiously.

The view from the rim of the Grand Canyon, mere feet from where the Airstream was Boondocked.

After a few contented days we really do have to leave Locust Point, which requires carefully extricating ourselves from our prime location. We are squeezed in between tree branches mere inches from the top of our Safari and rocks and stout brush on all sides. There’s no way to turn around, so we spend nearly an hour painstakingly backing up and around (and sometimes through) these obstacles until we’re back out on the main dirt road.

We prefer to think of the scratches that this adventure inflicts on the Airstream as battle scars of the best kind.

From Locust Point we head to the equally evocatively named Vermillion Cliffs National Monument then through a town called Cliff Dwellings which makes us think Native Americans must have settled here. We pull off the road, amidst an eerie flotsam of bulbous rocks perched atop way-too-flimsy looking pillars of earth until they look like geological toadstools, and we do, indeed, see Native Americans.

However, they’ve inherited this place and now use it as a roadside vending stand. The original inhabitant of Cliff Dwellings was a woman named Blanche who started building rooms and homes amidst the rock jumble in the 1920s after hear car broke down pretty much where we’ve parked the Airstream. Yes, wacky.

The next day we continue our extraordinary streak of good luck obtaining last minute permits by scoring a green light to hike into North Coyote Butte, aka The Wave in Paria Canyon/Vermillion Cliffs Wilderness. The swirling, sloping walls of tangerine, pale pink and taupe colored Navajo sandstone became so popular after being featured in European movies that the Bureau of Land Management, which administers the area, has had to institute a complicated lottery system to dole out the 10 permits given each morning for access to the area on the following day (you can also reserve one of 10 slots per day in advance, but we never work that far ahead).

We’d set aside three mornings to attempt to get a permit (some days hundreds of people show up for the 10 slots), never dreaming we’d score a permit our first time out. Now we’ve got plenty of free time to explore other less famous spots in the area which BLM staff make clear are just as spectacular as The Wave.

"The Wave" at North Coyote Buttes in the Paria Canyon/Vermillion Cliffs Wilderness.

But first we’ve got to find a home so we drive a few miles out a dirt road into the Paria/Vermillion Cliffs Wilderness and park the Airstream in a flat, clear turn around off the road. Voila! Then we head to Wire Pass/Buckskin Gulch for a taste of this amazing landscape.

When we hear the word “pass” we think of high mountain peaks that require long uphill slogs before reaching the “pass” onto the other side of the mountain range. In this part of the world, however, passes through rocky obstacles happen in the opposite way—way down low on the ground where water has worn away slot canyons which are used to “pass” through.

The resulting slot canyons, like Wire Pass and Buckskin Gulch, are narrow, high-walled and sinewy. In places light never reaches the bottom of the canyon and the walls are so close together that you have to turn sideways to pass through. Many areas of the canyon floor are strewn with big boulders washed into the slots during sometimes deadly flash floods.

The slot canyon called Wire Pass.

The most hardcore slot canyons require scaling mountains of these boulders and fording deep, dark, cold areas of collected water. However, Wire Pass and Buckskin Gulch are easy ambles once you’re over those tricky boulders early on. There’s very little standing water and what’s there can be easily skirted. The biggest hazards are pockets of saturated mud the consistency of chocolate pudding that would probably suck the boots right off your feet if you got in too deep.

Then there are the rattlesnakes.

No big deal. We’ve seen them before. But the one we come across in Buckskin Gulch is in a narrow place with sheer canyon walls on either side that prevent us from giving him a wide birth as we pass. No matter how we cut it, in order to move further into the canyon we’d have to walk by the snake within striking distance.

Karen hiking in the Buckskin Gulch slot canyon.

Despite the fact that the poor snake looks more than half dead from the cold and from the trauma of however he managed to fall or get dropped into the frigid slot canyon, risking a rattlesnake bite seems foolhardy so we turn around as the snake tosses us one last half-hearted flick of his sad little tongue.

The next morning we grab our coveted hiking pass and head for The Wave which involves a fair amount of climbing up and over the rounded shoulders of rust colored sandstone formations which is generally a pleasure since sandstone is so grippy and easy to walk on. What’s not so easy to walk on are the long stretches of sand. Since both sandstone and loose sand are hard to construct a trail through, the route is marked by the occasional Karin.

Eric in "The Wave."

We reach the mouth of the Wave formation just as the sun is getting high enough to really show off the color bands in its hot-pulled-taffy shapes that were formed by wind literally blowing the sandstone particles into the form of an enormous wave. It’s lovely and hypnotic and seems to change before our eyes.

Karen at "The Wave."

After sitting on the edge of a big sandstone bowl above the main Wave formation for a while we explore the rocks around The Wave. Weirdly, they are all pretty much just normal sandstone—except for a formation another hiker called The Hamburger. From the back it just looks like another lumpy sandstone ball. From the front it’s been eroded in a way that makes it look exactly like a big sloppy burger on a bun complete with tomato and lettuce.

"Hamburger Rock" that sits just above "The Wave" at North Coyote Buttes.

We are very grateful that we were able to get out to The Wave but as we leave the Paria/Vermillion Cliffs Wilderness we have to think the local BLM staff members were right—there are definitely other stars in the area.

It’s just the other side of a massive hole in the ground, but the North Rim of Grand Canyon National Park might as well be the other side of the planet from the more-visited South Rim. Fewer visitors mean you never have to wait in traffic or transfer to a people-moving bus or elbow your way to a rim view. And the canyon—which shows itself so freely from the South Rim—is largely hidden from the North Rim except to those who are willing to walk and/or drive a bit to a vantage point, which makes the canyon feel as mysterious, elusive and awesome as it is.

An additional 1,400 feet in elevation above the South Rim also means cooler temperatures and different flora, including Aspens. The North Rim even has its own squirrel that’s not found on the other side of the canyon. The Kaibab Squirrel sports a distinctive charcoal colored body and a silver tail which makes it look like two different squirrels got their halves mixed up. Though the Kaibab Squirrel can literally see the South Rim from most of its terrain, it appears to have decided that the hike down into the canyon then back up to the other side is just too much effort—and you can forget about the 220 mile road route between the two rims of the park—so the squirrel remains local.

Sunset over Bright Angel Canyon with the Grand Canyon in the distance.

Despite our late fall arrival, we find the lone North Rim campground is still open for business—though without water services which reduces the nightly rate to just $12, down from the normal $17 rate. Even the coveted rim-front sites, which normally go for a jacked-up $25 a night, are available for just $12 and we happily snag site #14 which rubs right up against the lip of a dramatic side canyon.

As we’re filling out our site registration form Bob, the campground host, comes by on his bicycle and asks if he can take a picture of our Safari SE. We’re used to this kind of Airstreamania by now and we’re happy to oblige. Then Bob, who camps in a 1970s Argosy, explains that he’s taken Airstreamania to a new level, documenting all of the Airstreams that have spent the night in his campground since he started hosting back in May.

Bob tells us that 10 Airstreams have been in the campground so far on his watch, ranging from a 1963 which the owners had dubbed The Frog (rivet, rivet—get it?) to a bunch of 2008s like ours and he’s diligently logged most of them with photos and details about length, model and owners.

Light streaking through Angels Window which we later walke over via a narrow trail.

Now, we’ve hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and back from the South Rim during an earlier visit to the park, so we know full well that it’s a serious walk. Unlike the Kaibab Squirrel, however, we are so enchanted by the canyon that we decide we have to do it from the North Rim as well. But we don’t begin to seriously plan a canyon hike until after we miraculously get dorm room reservations at Phantom Ranch, the historic lodge down at the bottom of the canyon—something akin to winning the lottery.

That’s when we head to the park’s backcountry permit office where Dave sets us up with camping permits for Cottonwood Campground, mid way between Phantom Ranch and the North Rim and with permits and reservations in hand the only thing left is the walking. And more walking.

At Coconino Overlook, near the beginning of the North Kaibab trail, on our way down into the Grand Canyon. It's still a long way down to Roaring Springs Canyon then Bright Angel Canyon and finally the Colorado River some 5,600 feet below us.

As compared to the hike from the South Rim, the North Rim route to the bottom of the canyon and back is steeper (descending and ascending 5,600 feet vs. 4,400 feet to and from the South Rim) and longer (28 miles round trip to Phantom Ranch and back, vs. 17 round trip from the South Rim). But we’re not complaining. The walk is gorgeous from the first steps as the North Kaibab Trail drops and winds steeply through the rim forest then through the distinct rock layers of the canyon.

Karen heads down the trail just below the Supai Tunnel.

We hike, virtually alone, until we reach Cottonwood Campground with a handful of clean, flat sites near a stream—which is a good thing since the piped in water all along the North Rim trails has just been turned off for the season to avoid freezing pipes. We relax on the bank of the stream in the last of the evening sun and use our SteriPEN to purify enough water to re-fill our Camelbak backpack bladders and get us through the night before scarfing down a delicious (seriously) freeze-dried Mountain House meal and climbing into our sleeping bags.

Karen in The Box, a dramatic narrow, high-walled canyon on the lower section of the North Kaibab trail.

The next day’s walk down to Phantom Ranch is even more breathtaking, mainly because it’s so varied. Gone are the layers upon layers of rock that we descended through the previous day, replaced with surprisingly wet and green stretches along the canyon bottom. Then we reach a section called The Box—4 miles through an increasingly narrow and high-walled canyon crossing and re-crossing the stream. The water thunders off the rock walls and the trail gentles-out to a leisurely stroll almost inperceptably downhill. We could walk like this all day!

Phantom Ranch at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

And then we’re at Phantom Ranch which appears very much like the oasis it is. Trees, grass, clear water, nearly-tame deer plus a warm bed in the dorm and a hot shower followed by a hot meal in the ranch’s dining hall where the truly delicious beef stew dinner with fresh, crispy salad, fresh-baked cornbread and chocolate cake fuels us up for the hard part—tomorrow’s return hike back UP the way we just came down.

After dinner we sit in on a ranger talk in the dark outdoor amphitheater near the canteen. As the ranger is wrapping up, she casually asks if anyone is interested in going scorpion hunting. As feared, scorpion hunting is really, really easy since they’re all around us. Scorpions glow in the dark, so the rangers at Phantom Ranch use flashlights fitted with a black light bulb to almost instantly reveal a disconcerting number of 2” long scorpions covering the rocks near where we’d just been sitting. One of the rangers specializes in scorpions and has been stung many times and her stories of pain suffering sorry agony and grief make us suddenly wish we still had our boots on instead of the open-toed sandals we wore to dinner…

The Colorado River with some rafters taking a rest on the beach.

We’re not the only ones taking advantage of the natural and gastronomic wonders of Phantom Ranch and of all the interesting folks we meet and see down there, two stand out.

The first is a white-bearded, big-bellied, crinkly-eyed smiler who calls himself Meadow Ed (google him) who easily holds court with his stories from a lifetime lived on the trail—from the Grand Canyon to the Pacific Crest Trail where he is, no exaggeration, a legend. Like we said, google him.

The second stand out is a guy we only exchange about 10 words with. The first time we see him he’s running (yes, running) past us on the trail up the North Rim side as we’re beginning to re-pack our Mountainsmith packs for our own return hike.

Most everything gets down to the bottom of the Canyon by mule, including food, mail, cases of beer, trash (on the way out) and even many tourists.

Later that day, as we approach the half-way mark, the same runner passes us again, this time on his way back down toward Phantom Ranch before continuing back up to the South Rim from whence he came. Still running, he has enough breath to inform us as he flies past that he’s on track to make the entire 42 mile trip from the South Rim to the North Rim and back again, descending and climbing more than 11,300 long hard feet, in EIGHT HOURS. That’s like running up and down a 1,150 story building spread out over 42 miles. Incredible.

We spend the next few hours on the trail simply trying to wrap our heads around what that guy is doing. At the same time, we’re also getting sucked into the addictive nature of the Grand Canyon. Incredibly, we finish our own trip into the canyon and back without even getting sore (possibly due to residual fitness left over from our recent Half Dome hike). This makes us begin to consider upping the ante ourselves with a hike from the North Rim to the South Rim in one day the next time we’re lucky enough to visit Grand Canyon National Park. Stay tuned.

Karen relaxes on the banks of The Colorado River at the the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

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Many of you have met Grady, our beloved canine companion. However, since moving into our Safari SE full time back in June we’ve had another official inanimate mascot: a pair of pink plastic flamingos that have decorated our “front lawn” in places as diverse as the Black Rock Desert and the logo for this blog.

This helps explain why, as we pull into Las Vegas, we can’t resist the enormous neon flamingo that beckons to us from in front of the Flamingo Hotel & Casino. Now, we’ve been full-timing in our Airstream for more than four months which has allowed us to happily drive right past hundreds of motels and hotels, but we quickly make an exception and settle into one of The Flamingo’s recently renovated GO rooms after tucking our trailer safely into the hotel’s convenient over-size lot.

Flamingos can be seen all around the Flamingo Las Vegas Hotel & Casino, not all of them are as real as these.

“We own the pink!” is the slightly racy new motto of The Flamingo and the GO rooms make good on that promise with funky, modern, minimalist décor uses strategic touches of pink along with brown and white and cream and tan making the overall effect not unlike being inside a giant box of Good N’ Plenty (in a nice way).

Even nicer is the long and roomy desk (plenty of room for both of our computers), an empty refrigerator (we figure GO rooms have to be the only rooms in Las Vegas that don’t force an overpriced mini bar on you), a sexy/chic quilted white patent leather headboard, a huge fan over the bed, a small TV in the bathroom and an enormous flat screen in the room.

They even have a very small flock of live flamingos in an outdoor landscaped courtyard.

From Las Vegas, we head for the intimidating-sounding Valley of Fire State Park, just 55 miles northeast of the strip—but a world away.

Red rocks like these are what gave Valley of Fire State Park its name.

The park certainly has no flamingos, but it does have some seriously red rock formations, hence the name. It also has two campgrounds, though we highly recommend Arch Rock Campground which is more secluded and features much more dramatic terrain than its counterpart, if you can live without a hookup (there is a free dump station nearby).

An nearly full moon rises inside the arch.

For $14 a night Arch Rock Campground lets us park our Safari SE right amongst the namesake rocks with a level site, a fire ring and a lovely covered picnic table. It’s so nice we stay an extra night and even put our flamingos out.

It's a tight squeeze between the amazing rock formations in the Arch Rock Campground in Valley of Fire State Park.

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