Viva Las Grand Canyon (PART I)

Over the Easter break, Mrs. Kievitz and I made a trip to the great American southwest. We took a flight into Las Vegas and spent some time there before renting a car and driving to the Grand Canyon. I wasn't sure if I was planning to gaze at the casinos and throw my money into the canyon or if it should be the other way around. As I soon learned, it wouldn’t make much difference.

Arriving at the Las Vegas airport is a lot like walking through a portal into a parallel universe. Only this parallel universe is filled with slot machines, flashing video screens and shiny ads for escort services. Really, if all you want to do is gamble, you don't even have to leave the airport or get a hotel room. You can play the slots right there in the terminal and hop back on the next flight home. Then again, it is a convenient way to get rid of all that pocket change that annoyingly rolled out of your pocket every ten minutes during the flight.

We stayed at the Tropicana on the south end of Las Vegas Boulevard for one night before leaving for Arizona. (You'll notice from here on out that I do not refer to this stretch of road as "The Strip.") The Tropicana is one of the classic properties in town. And by classic, I mean aging, dim and musty. But thanks to a local connection, we were upgraded to a Jacuzzi suite for the same price as a modest room at a Super-8 Motel in Wichita. The Jacuzzi was wonderful, but I could have done without the full wrap around wall-of-mirrors. The visual distraction kind of ruins the soothing sensation of easing yourself into the warm bubbly water. Once in the tub, however, being able to look across the room and gaze out of our 22nd-floor window at backdrop of hotels and mountains seemed to be a classic high-roller experience.

Walking Las Vegas Boulevard the following morning was probably the most touristy thing I have ever done. Well, that and buying a bumper sticker at "South of the Border" along I-95. Most of the hotels look the same. Large lobbies filled with beeping, blinking, bleeping, blaring, slot machines and gaming tables. A few of the hotels, however, definitely stand out.

As cynical as I am when it comes to commercialism and grandeur, the Bellagio was pretty impressive. The dancing fountains are admittedly cool. Although, watching a large mist of water spray 300 feet into the air, you have to wonder why they complain about water rights. The shopping in the Bellagio is impressive as well. The large indoor mall contains famously upscale stores selling luxury items at prices you can't imagine. I really enjoyed the Armani shop, and the misses was most intrigued by the Gucci store. I even caught her eyeing their items for baby known as the "Guccci-Gucci-Goo Collection." Caesar's Palace and the Venetian each have their own gimmicks, but they pretty much look the same after five minutes of walking around. So after a bit more walking, we thought it was time to split town.

The next day we rented a car from the airport (after stopping off to play a few slots in the terminal) and headed for Arizona. Along the way we stopped at the Hoover Dam. We each got to make one "dam" joke before agreeing to a moratorium for the rest of the trip. The misses walked up to the edge and predictably yelled, "Day-yam, girlfriend!" I dropped my camera accidentally and yelled, "Dammit!" wasting my only opportunity to make a cute pun for the rest of the week.

The drive from Vegas to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon takes about five hours. It's a wonderful drive. I love those kinds of roads -- straight and flat. I set the cruise control on 85, let go of the steering wheel and took a nap. Occasionally I would awake and gaze across vast swaths of desert, picking out specs of tiny trailer homes on the horizon. About 15 miles past Chloride, Arizona, I spotted the perfect place to retire on a peaceful 10-acre cactus farm.

We arrived at the Grand Canyon after dark. We were staying in an inn right on the south rim of the canyon. We caught a quick glimpse of the canyon in the clouded moonlight. It was difficult to comprehend any details, but the scale of the place was immediate. With jaw agape, the misses simply (and predictably) exclaimed, "Day-yam, girlfriend!" We were both completely blown away.

Our room at the inn was about as close to camping as I will ever get. The accommodations were meager. No Jacuzzi. No television. No mirrored ceiling. It was the kind of room where you "shit, sleep and shave" and get the hell out. But when you do get out, the view is unbeatable.

Standing right on the rim of the canyon, you can see for miles. Everyone says that nothing can prepare you for the size of this place. They're right. Pictures do no justice. But I took a couple hundred pictures anyway.

I was not prepared for the elevation there. The South Rim is at an elevation of 7,200 feet above sea level. Because of the elevation, the first day we were there, several early spring snow storms blew down the canyon. You could see them coming from miles away. Like white sheets dancing between the canyon walls, the storms would race in and create near white-out conditions. Only to quickly clear, leaving bright sunshine and a dusting of beautiful white snow on the red cliffs. Oh, and did I mention it was fucking cold, too? Yeah, desert my ass.

That night, the clouds cleared and a brilliant full moon rose over the landscape. The moonlight lit up every feature of the canyon. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. The misses adroitly pointed out why the canyon seemed so much more beautiful in the moonlight.

"You're not distracted by all the details," she said. "All you see is the scope of the entire thing. It's tranquil, calm and beautiful." Then someone’s car alarm went off.

The next day was clear and crisp. The views were even more beautiful than the day before. We drove the rim of the canyon, walked a few trails and spent the better part of an hour just sitting and staring the vastness. This was the one trip I had always wanted to make, and it was well worth the wait.

I told “enchanted_pants” I was going to see the Grand Canyon.

“What for?” he asked.

“I just want to sit there, gaze out at the world, and feel insignificant,” I said.

His reply: “Come over to my place. I’ll make you feel insignificant and save you the airfare.”

Well, “enchanted_pants,” your verbal assaults are just no comparison. I’m still glad I made the trip.

I also took a short hike below the rim of the canyon on the Bright Angel Trail. This is a wide, well-graded trail that is build up by several thick layers of compacted mule shit. The mules use this trail to schlep overweight tourists into the inner reaches of the canyon, leaving their voluminous droppings along the way (the mules, not the tourists).

Walking down the trail was pretty easy. Walking up was not. The altitude, combined with my lack of physical fitness, made for a slow climb. Crawling my way back up, I noticed the great diversity of world cultures represented in the tourist population there. I was most impressed by the three elderly Indian women, dressed in full traditional Indian garb and sandals -- passing me on the trail!

Now fully demoralized, we felt it was time to leave and head back to Las Vegas. Upon arrival, we checked back into the Tropicana and got our same Jacuzzi suite on the 22nd floor with the full wrap-around mirrors.

MORE TO COME!