Grand, Awesome, and Dangerous

Yee-hah. We have resurrected our Grand Canyon pictures. Ain't ya thrilled? Or not. And this is our campsite. And here it truly is camping because we couldn't book a full hook-up space so we resorted to "dry camping". No electric, sewer, or water. Just what the twelve-volt battery in the trailer can provide but for two or three days it's perfectly fine. For Daisy, sitting here with her Amish fedora, she has completely eschewed all modern conveniences, like the Amish themselves. So here she is right at home. Everything but the horse and buggy. Say what??? ? In Grand Canyon National Park visitors get just as excited about seeing animal poop as they do seeing the animals themselves.

This is elk poop. Not edible, by the way. No one told Daisy.And here's Daisy's new BFF. The damnedest canine we've seen in some time. A lady was walking it on the canyon rim. It's a wolf hybrid. A cross between a wolf and a collie. The owner said it has none of the wolf aggression. In fact, it's afraid of its own shadow. Actually, a lovely, sweet creature but weird as hell. We stopped at a snack bar along the canyon rim for a Coke and a soft pretzel. Put the pretzel down for second and a squirrel sneaked out of a bush and snagged it. The pretzel was bigger than the squirrel but what a payday for that little critter. The rangers ask you not to feed the wildlife. What the hell. The wildlife helps itself.Paul wearing Daisy's Amish hat and doing what all men are wont to do: pee off a deck or into the canyon. Why do men do it? Paul says "why do men build decks? So they can pee off 'em". What the hell, they're born with a "pull toy" and never quite let go of it.  By the way, men taking the opportunity to relieve themselves into the canyon is one of the top reasons they fall to their death.  Needless to say, you're warned every so often but idiots (dare we say Paul) still venture to within steps of a fatal plunge. Which bring us to one of the most popular "reads" at the Grand Canyon. Not about the flora or fauna but about the falls into it. It's a 370-page account of hundreds of fatal falls and other types of accidents. Everything from stupid daredevil drunks, mostly young men losing their footing, to a mid-air collision in 1956 with TWA and  United planes veering off course and colliding at about twenty thousand feet above the canyon, killing all on board. Half a century later much of the wreckage and passenger debris are still in the canyon in remote and unreachable places. Yuck. We happened to be there on June 30th, the 54th anniversary.As a footnote, we worked with a videotape editor whose mother suffered a fatal fall in the early 1990s. At the time it was considered an accident but was later determined to be MURDER. Her new husband turned out be a serial killer. This was his third wife. He felt this little "un-love tap" over the edge was easier than a drawn-out divorce. It was sure as hell quicker. Paul taking a self-photo with his outstretched 18-foot-long arms. This is Daisy donning her Outward Hound parachute. We taught her how to pull the ripcord should she ever slip over the edge. Actually, it's a little life jacket for our next adventure at Lake Powell. But not nearly as interesting. And after strapping her into it, Daisy wouldn't budge. She refused to move even one leg. I don't think she could since she's become so fat. But what the heck. The dog can still swim better than any of us.Two days at the Grand Canyon and we headed north 140 miles to the city of Page at the far west end of massive Lake Powell. A 400-mile long lake with more than a thousand miles of shoreline formed by damming the Colorado River and burying the beautiful Glen Canyon. All of this to control the river's flow so that Los Angeles and Las Vegas could have water and electricity. Go figure. The big adventure here is houseboating. We've done that in previous trips and they only run about $6000 a night. But the Euros/foreigners suck 'em up like bangers, Vegemite and the never-ending World Cup.  For $120, something we bought into, this high-speed boat ride about fifty miles up the lake to the world's largest natural stone arch.But first, me on the boat. We're zipping along at 273 miles per hour.Our skipper, Captain Gustav Farkle, a 400-pounder, zigzags his way up-lake missing the rocky outcroppings by inches. People are screaming out of fright and delight and the Captain just keeps on popping cool ones, tossing the empties overboard.  Not really. Just making all this up as we try to fill time before we can show you the world's largest natural arch. The computer won't let us erase pictures.We cut our speed from a top of 463 miles per hour down to a drift to catch up with this supply boat. The captain took on more beer and tapioca pudding. And the supply boat ventured on to stock the larders of people living along the lake. Mostly "hostiles" Ein-jines. That's "Indians" or "First Nationers" for the politically correct. Oh, a barge delivering gas and ice. Where the hell is the arch? Finally, we're coming in for a landing, sans Captain Gustav who passed out at the helm. We'll be doing some on-shore exploring. And how great whites ever got into Lake Powell God only knows. But they have multiplied and become quite a threat, especially to water skiers.We're getting closer. We're almost there.I can hear the oohs and ahhs. Yes, this is Rainbow Bridge, the world's largest natural arch. This is a picture of our friend "Sam"  -- a woman -- who joined us for the very beginning of our trip. She's game to do anything and is a very good cook, allowing us to fully enjoy wine time while she works out in the kitchen. Somehow my out-stretched arm shot doesn't work as well as Paul's.Some new friends we met, a mother and daughter from Indiana, who volunteer at an animal rescue center called "Best Friends" in nearby Kanab, Utah. Something you lazy good-for-nothings might want to consider doing. Those, by the way, were Paul's words. And especially for you misguided conservatives listening to right-wing radio and watching Fox News, come out to volunteer and help the poor homeless animals in this world. Liberals, on the other hand, are born with a soft spot in their hearts and saving helpless creatures is second nature to them. Paul rails on.  But we digress...This is where we stayed at Lake Powell. A very nice RV park where most sites have water views. Of course the high during the day was 105 degrees so you're likely to be viewing the scenery from inside the rig with your air-conditioning blasting. Ah...nature.While Sam and I enjoyed the boat ride, Paul and Daisy enjoyed their favorite RV pastime. They're sound asleep in the cool rig. But then, who the hell took the picture? Apparently it was the  31-year-old Swedish nurse/"massage therapist" camped in the rig next to us. But she had cleared out by the time Sam and I returned.  Paul said his muscle/muscles haven't known such joy in some time. Do you suppose???? Nah...

Paul took off with the Swedish nurse/"massage therapist" while Daisy and I are headed to John Ford/John Wayne country in stunning Monument Valley. Thank God I now have the rig all to myself.