The West

The West appears bland. From the Rockies to the Sierra Nevada’s and beyond, it flows, an endless sea of sand, rock, scrub brush and sun. Traveling through the expanse brings on highway hypnosis, that limbo of relaxed libido and drooping eyelids that can be deadly. Nothing to see. . . nothing to do. . . 

Not so. Desert colors: striking orange, gentle pink, and dusty sand offset by patches of green seep into the consciousness. Easy names: big sandy wash, rattlesnake gulch, and Grand Canyon, feed the psyche.

Sun-lit mountains rise behind red wind worn cliffs and darken beneath passing clouds. 

And then flowers:  Desert Dandelions, Globe Mallow, and Brittlebrush (or is it Spiney Senna?) match the colors of the land.

Kingman should have become the halfway point to the Canyon but there are grandchildren to meet. What else to do but travel north.

 Sin City again becomes our launch pad, Circus Circus our RV hook-up. It’s not hot in April, but hot in action and people, and big city life that doesn’t stop at midnight. We opt for the simpler pleasure of hanging out by Mandalay Bay beach/pool with family, a great start for a hot vacation.

The caboose waits in Williams where Bearizona brings animals up close, where real bears climb up trees and white buffalo gallop up so close you can touch them; but don’t, you’ll lose a hand. And the baby is just as dangerous.

 And down Williams’  short Main Street  the whine of the train howls. The caboose is for sleeping, the train for our trip to the Canyon, frought with mounted robbers and fiddlers giving the kids lessons.

 A grander vacation couldn’t be asked for.