Day 144 – The Deadly Desert

Author – Grant
Based In – Tucsan, Arizona

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157616016082001/

If you don’t like cacti, stop reading immediately because today was a seriously cactus heavy day. We saw thousands of them, learnt lots about them, photographed hundreds of them and even prodded a few of them. Whilst I admit it’s not like us to actually learn about the thing we’re seeing, we were kind of hoodwinked into joining in on a guided walk in Saguaro (pronounced sawaro) National Park with the uber-nice Volunteer Ranger Nick and two elderly couples; one of which you will see soon on Mastermind as their specialist subject will be saguaros. I am amazed that I managed to survive 32 years without knowing such facts about cacti as…it’s a prisonable offence to lop down a cactus; they live for about 200 years; after 70 years they start to grow arms; there are over 600 varieties of cactus; the cowboy scene where they open a cactus and drink from it is a myth – they do hold water but it’s heavily alkaline and will make you puke like a stag. Consider yourself cactus-savvy. You’re welcome. It wasn’t, however, all a stroll in the park (or the desert in this case) and sometimes being armed with knowledge isn’t necessarily a good thing. Take, for example, when something the size of a small bi-plane hovered over us for a few seconds before retreating into the bushes. “What was that?” we innocently asked Ranger Nick. “Looks like a Tarantula Hawk Wasp to me” he replied. Given that I don’t like any of individual components of this freakishly named beastie, the amalgamation of the three is naturally something that leaves me clammy with fear. In summary, nature is fascinating but my chosen method of information delivery is via the Discovery Channel as the 3D version is often terrifying.

After waddling round the one mile guided walk not much faster than the average cactus grows (about 5 inches a year, by the way), it was time to get our sweat on and bash out a self-guided 3.5 mile walk armed with our increased fear of nature. Unfortunately we couldn’t tell you much about the scenery as I focussed on nothing but the ground 5 feet ahead of me for snakes, scorpions and hairy spiders whilst Kate’s radar scanned for anything with wings that would consider any of the scary things I was looking for as a tasty, between meal snack. Net result, 3.5 miles in 7 minutes – nature can be quite the fitness incentive.

The afternoon’s activity should redefine the phrase “under promise, over deliver” as I’ll admit that The Desert Museum doesn’t sound like the most intriguing of venues but in actuality it was fab. I’ll admit that my almost Spok-like logical/literal mind has very little imagination and hence I envisaged that the Desert Museum would be nothing more than a large hall containing sand samples from various deserts across the world. Luckily, however, the curator of the real Desert Museum has significantly more imagination than me and hence the 21 acre plot is more of an interactive zoo / natural history museum / botanical garden. However, in-keeping with everything else in this particular neck of the woods, most if it seems to be designed to scare the pants off you. The reptile house and arachnid displays are a real who’s who of the nastiest, deadliest creatures that Mother Nature put on this planet to smite Liverpool fans and even the hummingbird display involves walking through a contained unit with the threat of them plucking your eyes out at any minute. On the plus side, the ice creams were nice.

So many close brushes with death clearly deserve some hearty sustenance and there was a Greek place down the road that seemed to be perpetually filled with punters. Now I’m particularly partial to all things Greek (except the occasional hirsute lady) but we should have know what we were getting ourselves into long before any food arrived. The first sign that it wasn’t going to be anything above average was that it was called “My Big Fat Greek Restaurant” and, a little research uncovered, was part of a chain of 8 restaurants throughout the South East that were opened in conjunction with the movie (My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but you already knew that). Still, don’t judge a book by its cover or a restaurant by its name. Indication two happened whilst we were waiting for our table - service stopped whilst the entire wait staff linked arms and danced round the restaurant to Zorba The Greek before the plate smashing finale. Actually, I have no idea why this is in my negatives list as it was awesome. Cheesy but awesome. Unfortunately the food was a real let down which is surprising because Greek isn’t really that tough to do well. It’s your standard Mediterranean fare which means that the combination of incredibly fresh ingredients prepared incredibly simpley results in something incredibly good. Our Keftedes (meatballs) starter was luke warm indicating their lack of freshness and our main courses (braised lamb shank for me and shrimp souvlaki for Kate) were both pretty greasy and not particularly tasty. But my biggest gripe is that the mains hit the table about 60 seconds after the starter was delivered meaning that 10 minutes after arriving we had a mountain of food on the table. It’s not tough to work out the economics of delivering our food as quick as possible and hence increasing the table turnover but I want to spend more than 30 minutes over my meal – hell I’ll even drink more and make it well worth their time. Between you and me, however, the main reason I wanted to stay more than 30 minutes was the possibility that the Zorba The Greek show would be an hourly event but, alas, we didn’t stay long enough to find out.

Spring Training tomorrow. For both us and the professional athletes of the MLB.

Day 143 – Grumpelstiltskin

Author – Grant
From – Sedona, Arizona
To – Tucson, Arizona
Via – Phoenix, Arizona
Miles Driven – 235

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157616015982451/

The only thing worse than reading about Day 143 is being in Kate’s shoes during Day 143. In summary, I had the hump. The serious hump. I put Quasimodo to shame. I couldn’t even tell you what caused it but given that it has been approximately 28 days since my last hump, it was probably my beeriod. Perhaps it was because we were leaving Sedona which had been such a good, albeit temporary, home for us over the past few nights? Perhaps it was because the day was not going to involve much more than sitting on our ever-fattening asses in the car? Perhaps it was because the weather is getting hotter and I’m getting flashbacks (or, rather, hot flashes) of Singapore? Perhaps it’s because I’m a spoiled brat and don’t realise how lucky I am to be on the trip of a lifetime? Whatever it was, we’re all allowed a day off.

I might be imagining it or it could be a result of my moodiness, but it seems that the further south we have moved in Arizona, the less hospitable it has become. Actually, I already know that this is an incredibly harsh comment as it seems unfair to compare North Arizonans with anyone else on the planet as they have been the friendliest bunch we have encountered so far on this trip. Nevertheless, it seems that people south of Sedona are just a little less willing to spend an extra 10 seconds to say hi or break out a smile. As silly as it sounds, I’m genuinely missing that personal touch and even long for the once annoying conversation starter “are you guys Australian?” Maybe it’s just a big city thing? Oh god, I’m turning into a country boy. One mention of “howdy” in Los Angeles is going to leave me penniless and naked. Let’s hope Kate remembers some of her gritty street sense from being dragged up in the slums of gangster-rich Romford.

Anyway, today’s ultimate destination was Tucson (pronounced Two-Sawn, it helps to affect a French accent despite being just 60 miles from the Mexican border) which makes a convenient base for the Saguaro National Park that houses the huge iconic cacti of the same name…but more of that tomorrow. Today, however, was primarily a travelling day as we passed by (and understandably directly through) places like Big Bug Creek, Bumble Bee and Bloody Creek…how shitty are their tourist marketing drives? We did, however, stop off in Phoenix despite hearing nothing but bad things about the place since getting into Arizona. Obviously it’s impossible to judge a major metropolitan city based on a 45 minute sandwich stop but the place looked nice enough. Clean, modern, low-rise and a tangy BBQ sauce are all traits that I’ll remember from this underrated city that I believe every one should visit at least once in their lifetime for the megacrunch fries alone.

Our first night in Tucson doesn’t really merit much air-time as I still had the hump and Kate dragged us on a truly rubbish walk along a waterless river. I’ve learnt that the best thing to do in this circumstance is to have a couple of beers and an early night. As Annie put so well, “it’s only a day away”.

Days 141 & 142 – Chillin’ & Grillin’ In Sedona

Author – Grant
Based In – Sedona, Arizona

Day 141 Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615912246172/
Day 142 Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615912330574/

What a blissful couple of days. A bazillion trails to roam; no internet or phone reception and a BBQ pit to play with. If this is how ancient civilisations lived then I’m all in favour...although the in-room DVD player did help.

I’ve lumped days 141 and 142 together because they had an identical pattern. The daylight hours were for exploring and exercising and the evenings were for playing with various forms of fire and eating meat. Add 5 minutes a day to worship the sun and we’d be practically Mayan.

So in typical over-confident fashion, the hike for day 141 was chosen because it contained the largest digits in both the ‘distance’ and ‘elevation’ columns in the trail guide. Given that I’m a good 50lbs overweight and have difficulty brushing my teeth without panting like a dog in a microwave, I have no idea exactly where this over-confidence in my athletic ability comes from. Either I love a challenge or my brain likes to play practical jokes on my body but either way I had 11 miles to walk and 2300 feet to climb (from 4800 ft to 7100 ft) up an arid, rocky mountain. What the trail guide didn’t mention was that my path would be sporadically crossed by two foot long snakes. Don’t believe me? Check the photos. One just happened to slither across my path whilst I was trying to take a photo of the incredible orange landscape. Someone manlier than me would now sport snake-skin boots but I just have a depleted boxer short collection.

I did, however, make it to the snow-capped summit where I knew my reward for this 2 ½ hour uphill slog would be a unique and enviable view of the Sedona Valley. What I didn’t expect was that I would have the company of 25 members of Surprise (it’s a town in Arizona) 55+ Senior Citizens Walking Club which kind of took the shine off my achievement. Admittedly they had come up the other side of the mountain which wasn’t as big an ascent but then some of them were a clear 40 years older than me. When I am their age, I’ll only be “conquering” mountains served by roads or gondolas. Kudos to the lot of them and their zest for life was admirable and infectious. After chatting with them for 20 minutes, they agreed I could become an honorary overseas (and underage) member of their club and apparently the group photo I joined them for will be on their web-site when they get back from this trip. I’m happy about this but if their blog is also better than mine then I’m going to have to virally infect it. I don’t actually know how to do that but there’s a 79 year old staying in the room next to us so I’ll ask him for help.

Now I have time to sit back and reflect on our time in Sedona, I realise that not informing me about the abundant serpents on the Mt Wilson hike wasn’t the only piece of misinformation in the Trail Guide. In addition to the previous day’s walks that ended abruptly thanks to a raging river and a 500 foot fall off a cliff, they also lied to us about the “easy and smooth” 7 mile bike ride around Bell Rock and the “flat, 2 mile” Baldwin Walk. Firstly, if the boulder, rock and gravel covered undulating bike ride we endured is considered “smooth” then so is my bottom and if that path is easy then I want to know which sneaky bugger threw water on my t-shirt in all the places that men stereotypically sweat. Secondly, admittedly we aren’t the fittest people alive but why did the walk force my ears to pop and un-pop about a dozen times and take us well over an hour to complete? In keeping with the rectum comparison…2 miles my arse. Luckily they were both incredibly enjoyable but when the guide warns “take more water than you think you will need”, it’s probably because the actual trail distances are twice those published.

On the food front – well I had a blast. Despite their only being two mouths to feed over two meals; we managed to grill up a grand total of 6 different cuts of meat and 7 different vegetables…you know, something for the ladies. The chap in front of me in the supermarket made me laugh when we turned up with a very full cart and just happened to unload the meat, charcoal and wine first; at which point he correctly pointed out that was all we needed. Still, over the two nights the grill took a serious hammering as pork chops (obviously), rib-eyes, fillets mignons, chicken and two types of sausages were all grilled to smoky, juicy perfection (if I do say so myself) and washed down with some local plonk. Once full food coma was induced, it was time to escape the bitterly chilly evening by retiring to the log-fire lit room and try to stay conscious during that evening’s DVD selection. I could get used to that life-style…of course I don’t speak on behalf of my liver. Turns out life without a kitchen isn’t too restricting after all.

Southbound to Tucson tomorrow which is just 60 miles from the Mexican border. You know, where all the trouble is. We just can’t resist a good barney…

Day 140 – Coming Down From Quite a High

Author – Grant
From Williams, Arizona
To – Sedona, Arizona
Via – Flagstaff, Arizona
Miles Driven – 60

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615825629809/

I’m rapidly coming to the conclusion that this little corner of the world contains some of the most incredible and diverse scenery I’ve ever seen. Within the space of seven days we’ve been treated snow-capped mountains, the natural rock outcrops at Monument Valley, the inexplicable Grand Canyon and over the next week we’re due to hike through the Red Rock canyons and travel through a dessert to see 50 foot cacti. The life of the professional tourist is unrelenting but in the process we haven’t missed a single episode of Bret Michaels Rock of Love Bus Tour. That’s dedication, people.

Another impressive trait of this part of the world is that even the lowliest of hotels and motels have a swimming pool as standard which is lucky because the altitude makes running anything more than 100 metres impossible and so swimming has become the current exercise of choice. Unfortunately, however, I’m a terrible swimmer. Don’t get me wrong, I can get from A to B but the whole stroke-breath-stroke-breath thing is completely lost on me and hence I swim with my head out of the water at all times and the visual result is that I look like a 60 year old lady protecting her bee hive ‘doo. Still, if it helps negate the effect of last night’s South Western Egg Rolls with Jalapeno Jelly then I’ll continue to doggy paddle my way towards fitness…or at least towards reduced fatness.

We only had a 60 mile drive to Sedona today but we’d heard good things about Flagstaff from various locals so we broke our journey in half with, surprise surprise, a food stop. The compact and thriving town centre of Flagstaff hints that this used to be a cute little place but, being positioned so close to the Grand Canyon, tourist demand has rapidly expanded the place so the edges have sprawled the usual generic strip mall look which is a shame. Still, if you don’t veer out of the boundary of ‘Historic Downtown’ then there’s a plethora of quaint little shops from which to buy all your energy stones and New Age tat. For lunch, we were once again drawn towards an iconic, shiny, silver, detached, Route 66 diner that served up American diner classics with a side of sassiness. Kate’s Chicken Noodle soup and half a roast turkey sandwich was from the ‘light lunch’ menu yet could have easily satiated a family willing to share. The advantage of ordering this from a proper diner rather than a deli was that the turkey was simply real home roasted slices of turkey rather than the watered down deli variety which turns the sandwich from bland to tasty. My chicken burger was a similar story – it was simply a grilled breast of chicken rather than a chicken/water combo that needs breading to achieve a crust. Unfortunately the addition of several hunks of juicy grilled pineapple and a couple of ladles of Teriyaki sauce resulted in the messiest sandwich I have ever eaten but I was happily licking my elbows for the next few hours.

Onwards towards Sedona which was just 28 more miles down the road yet we had about 4000 feet to drop in elevation. As such, the drive was a seriously wibbly-wobbly affair and not the kind of experience you want to have when carrying a few pounds of undigested diner food. Still, the scenery as we drove down the middle of Oak Creek was incredible although being flanked either side by towering red-stone canyon walls was a tad claustrophobic and was a constant reminder of our relative insignificance. Our next job was to find accommodation and as Kate has taken a giant step back from any planning recently, it was her call. Being a self-diagnosed control freak, it’s tough for me to relinquish control but, surprisingly, the planning element of the trip is a real bind so sometimes it’s nice to just sit back and enjoy the ride. The net result, however, was a 90 minute tour of every corner of Sedona including a drive up a mountain and a drive to a false address. Perhaps she was doing that thing where you purposefully do something badly in the hope that you won’t be asked to do it again? I mean, how hard is it to just put a little bit of milk in a cup of tea? Still, the place we have finally ended up in is great. It’s 4 miles outside of town, right next to the creek, has it’s own fireplace and BBQ pit and contains a hideously tacky massive red heart shaped jacuzzi. Luckily the said jacuzzi doesn’t work so we’re getting a 25% discount on the room. When originally asked if having a Jacuzzi was a priority for us, we simply answered “no, we’re married”. She seemed to think I was kidding.

The Tour de Sedona left us with just a couple of hours of daylight to explore one of the many local trails through the canyon but it seems like our hotel finding experience was to spill into our trail finding experience as the first trail we attempted was cut short thanks to a treacherous fast-flowing river caused by the recent snow melt and our second walk halted when faced with a 500 foot sheer drop off a cliff face. It was third time lucky though as the Wilson Canyon walk was a beautiful three mile round trip that gently rose through the canyon to the base of Mount Wilson.

Now we all know what some exercise means…more food. Dinner was at the rather swanky Silver Saddle (just in case you needed reminding that we’re still in the heart of the wild west) which was the fine dining arm of the Cowboy Club. Well, I say fine dining but the only difference between the two areas was that it didn’t serve burgers or fish & chips, apparently to keep the kids out. Shame as we both quite fancied some nostalgic fish & chips although it would have come with fries rather than chips and set off a tirade of abuse. No need to worry though as the meal we were about to enjoy was seriously good and dirt cheap. Somewhat out of character for this joint, the meal started with an amuse bouche of a goat cheese filled olive on roasted red pepper puree – all a bit swanky for a bar but very welcome nevertheless. Our shared starter (i.e. my starter that Kate will have a tiny taste of) were slivers of breaded and deep fried cactus flesh served with a ginger and tequila dipping sauce. I was a bit sceptical about how this would work but any fears were soon put to bed when they hit the table as they were delicious. The initial crunch of the batter yielded to the juicy flesh and the dipping sauce was heavily accented with cilantro which I may be addicted to. A couple more pints of the local Sedona pale ale and I could have retired a happy man…but our main courses were still to come. Not before, however, a palate refreshing lime and tequila sorbet – another very welcome surprise for bar food. For mains, I ordered some excellent yet severely lardy chicken and bacon creamy cayenne accented pasta with the feeble pretence of carbo-loading for tomorrow’s hike despite clearly having been carbo-loading for the past 32 years. Kate, still sulking about the inability to have fish & chips, ordered the rotisserie half chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans which was all good and the beauty of her ordering half a chicken is that I usually get the leg. I think this is the main reason that being in a relationship is bad for a man’s physique. All this, including a few beers, came to about $50 – what a crazy bargain.

Tomorrow I’m climbing Mount Wilson, the highest peak in the area whilst Kate does some more foot-friendly exercise, namely shopping. We can be quite the stereotype when we put some effort into it.

Day 139 – The Big One

Author – Kate
Based In – The Grand Canyon South Rim, Arizona

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615911834580/

We were really looking forward to hiking into the grand canyon but the 40 – 60 mph winds forecast for that day (funnily enough nothing to do with Grants posterior) made climbing down into the canyon seem a bit risky so we decided to do the trail along the top of the canyon instead. One minute in and we’d already seen four of the local mule deer so it looked like it was going to be mucho impressive walk. I had always pictured the canyon to be two cliffs facing each other with a deep deep gap in the middle and I expected that the distance between the cliffs would be between 1 and 100 meters across. I pictured myself looking down into the deep gap and that being the really impressive part and being able to wave at the people on the other side of the gap.

That’s not exactly how it is in reality and for me the really impressive part turned out to be the crazy colours and the massive scale of it. If you’ve been to the Isle of White in England and bought one of the tacky souvenir sand in a glass shaped [Eiffel tower/guitar/other unrelated shaped] object then you’ll have seen something similar to the colours. If not, our pictures give a bit of an idea but our little camera is getting a bit worn out by the trip and so doesn’t fully capture the kaleidoscope of browns, purples, reds, oranges and yellows. When you stand on the rim for as far as you can see there are crazy shapes cut into the earth. There isn’t just the one main canyon, there are mini canyons running throughout so the effect is you can’t even see where the opposite side of the canyon fully kicks in. There aren’t any clean lines because I guess nature doesn’t work like that. Apparently the canyon gets 50ft wider every million years mainly through wind corrosion and on a windy day like today that wasn’t too hard to imagine.

Its funny how tourists often leave their common sense at home because even though trees were being blown onto the path by the strong gusts not many people seemed to have a sense of danger while standing so close to the edge of the chasm. We saw so many people sending their grandma / small children out to stand on dangerous looking ledges for photo ops. We also saw small children trying to get animals out of their hiding holes much like Molly does and so I was half expecting to see on the news that night an outbreak of bitten children with rabies in the region and a few people having gone over the side.

Unlike all of the fearless people we were seeing after 1.5 hours of walking the wind was getting a bit scary for me and the altitude was tiring us out so we switched gears and went to the IMAX to watch the Grand Canyon IMAX movie. In short it was rubbish, the highlight was the power going off half way through but it came back on so we had to stay till the end. The movie tried to provide insight into the first users of the canyon but it wasn’t really gripping and so the $25 tickets seemed a bit steep and we didn’t bother buying the $30 DVD. We are staying in Williams which is a cute historic route 66 town so after a quick swim that night we headed out for dinner in one to a historic place for food, nah not really we went for burritos & fajitas in the local Irish / Mexican restaurant. I basically got no sleep because of how full I was so might skip eating everything in site for a while.

Tomorrow were off to Sedona to get our hike on.

P.S. We have given ourselves new Navajo names: One-who-eats-much-fast & she-who-runs-slow

Day 138 – A Taste of Canyons To Come

Author – Grant
From – Mexican Hat, Utah
To – Williams, Arizona
Via – The Grand Canyon South Rim, Arizona
Miles Driven – 250ish
Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615825146083/

Today’s objective was to set everything up for a great day tomorrow so it won’t be the most fascinating to talk about. Still, being America, we managed to bump into more than our fair share of nut-jobs which livened things up a bit.

I have a weird habit of really enjoying looking forward to things almost as much as doing the thing itself. For example, I hate buying tickets to concerts or shows on the same day as I really enjoy the anticipation and build up associated with waiting for the event to come round. Today’s visit to the Grand Canyon was a bit like that for me as mentally I have set aside Day 139 (tomorrow) for Grand Canyon sightseeing and so when it became clear that our route to get to base camp for the night took us into the heart or the Grand Canyon National Park and just a few metres from the spectacular south rim I was, strangely, a bit miffed. Still, you can’t be so close to one of the world’s Seven Natural Wonders of The World (according to CNN who may be just an ‘ickle bit biased) and not go and see it. I mean, someone might fill it with concrete overnight and then I’d be dissapointed. Now I don’t want to go on about it too much today as it’s Kate’s turn to blog tomorrow and I don’t want to steal her thunder but I will throw in the obvious statements that it’s frickin’ big, eerily beautiful and a canvas of crazy colours (the canyon that it, not Kate). Tomorrow we get to explore it on foot and possibly on bike but given that the weather forecast is predicting snow and 60mph winds, this could be our goodbye.

One of the aforementioned nut-jobs we encountered was at this touristy view point. He was with his girlfriend and claimed to be 100% Navajo that lived on a canyon overhang just across from were we stood. Why, then, was his missus snapping away with her ruddy great Pentax given that they would theoretically get a better view from their own back yard without the hoards of tourists that flocked around this area? Kate innocently asked if the Grand Canyon was called something different in the Navajo tongue and they said that it was but that it was a secret. I’m assuming this was a pretty naff cover for the fact that he simply didn’t know but either way he came across as a bit of a “nalga hi tsin nah ailh” (which actually means “supply ship” but free online Navajo-to-English translator services are hard to come by).

Dogs aren’t allowed to stay in any of the six lodges inside the national park but luckily the near-by own of Tusayan has one motel (the Red Feather Lodge) that will welcome our pooch. Unfortunately, however, the lady behind reception was a stroppy cow, it was pretty expensive and the hotel’s “pet friendly” policy involves never being allowed to leave the dog unattended for a second in the room. When asked how we are supposed to eat or see the Grand Canyon, she just shrugged and couldn’t have given two hoots. I’m all done with handing over my not-very-hard-earned cash to arseholes (or to companies that employ them) so I’m proud to say that we high-tailed and have settled at the Holiday Inn in Williams. It might be 40 miles further away from tomorrow’s sightseeing but it has sensible policies and a pool/jacuzzi to boot. Also, Williams seems to have a funky little Wild West themed high street with a number of saloons that I’m sure we’ll rip up tomorrow night. Tonight, however, we contented ourselves with a fine meal at the Red Raven Restaurant (almost everything in town is called Red-Somethingorother…I’m sure why will become abundantly clear before we leave) that served up a fine pepper steak, chicken pasta all washed down with a few glasses of almost local Californian red which is now in frighteningly close proximity.

Whilst online Navajo to English dictionaries are hard to come by, check babelfish.com for an Essex to English dictionary to help with tomorrow’s blog which will cover our proper trip to the Grand Canyon and will be written by Kate.

Day 137 - Navajo-ho-ho

Author – Grant
Based In – Mexican Hat, Utah

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615734978610/

It’s been another Day of A Thousand Photos as our first destination was to Monument Valley which sits in the heart of the vast area owned by the Navajo tripe. Actually, a quick sidetrack here because I’m not entirely sure that ‘tribe’ is the politically correct phrase but ‘people’ didn’t quite seem right and I’m positive that ‘dance crew’ is wrong so I’m sticking with ‘tribe’ and will keep my fingers crossed that I don’t alienate my Indian American readership…like anyone outside our family reads this crap. Anyway, apparently over a third of Arizona is still American Indian owned which surprised me as I thought that, over the years, they had been marginalised to a few casinos in Nevada. I guess that’s just skimming the surface of my global ignorance which is based mainly on stereotypes.

In yesterday’s blog I prematurely used up all of my adjectives to describe impressive-big-rock-outcrops-that-look-a-bit-like-things-in-everyday-life so today I’m either going to have to repeat them all, learn some new ones or make up some new ones. I don’t like repetitiveness or learning so I’m going to choose the latter. In that spirit, today’s 17 mile self-drive was both lampshade and waterproof and the monuments were benevolent with a hint of excessiveness. The highlights were the gravity-defying Totem Pole, a pair of mittens and the Praying Sisters. I also learnt that it’s possible to make any rock look like an elephant with a bit of imagination. I can’t work out if Bridget is enjoying herself or not though - we are subjecting her to terrain that a car designed for the average Mormon family isn’t supposed to endure but then she just looks so damn good against the Utah / Arizona backdrop and I think she knows it. Whenever we leave her to wander off looking at a monument, it seems like when we turn round she’s opened a door or a window and is posing just in case she’s in a Dodge commercial.

Still, she wasn’t invited on the next part of the day which was a walk around one of the mitten buttes. In fact, that’s a good indication of the size of these structures as it wasn’t even one of the particularly big rocks but a lap was 3.5 miles. And it’s not a normal 3.5 miles as it’s on undulating, inhospitable, sandy wilderness and it’s hard to take in the surroundings when fear drives you to always be looking 5 feet ahead of you just in case the rattlesnakes or scorpions who call this area home are lurking around the next corner. As it turns out, we didn’t see either which is both disappointing and a blessing but there were plenty of quick-moving lizards darting across our path just to keep the nerves on end.

After being disappointed by a local pizza joint that doesn’t serve food (confusing, no?), we headed to the San Juan Motel which has a café attached to the side serving “Authentic Navajo Cuisine”. What we got, however, was the strangest waiter I’ve ever encountered. The guy looked and sounded like he’d just pulled a syringe from his arm just moments before approaching us and his trout-like memory confirmed that coffee was clearly not his stimulant of choice. We ordered a starter (chicken wings…presumably not particularly authentic Navajo fodder) and asked that it came out before our mains. When the mains arrived first, I asked what happened to the starter and got the reply “it’ll be a while”. Still, despite the comedy service from our Navajo Sk8ter Boi, the food wasn’t bad. High marks for simple tastiness but low marks for Navajo authenticity as I had the Navajo Roast Beef Cowboy Fry Bread Sandwich and Kate had the Chicken Quesadilla which are bastardised Texan and Mexican dishes unless they originally stole them from the Navajo dance crew which I’m assuming they didn’t. Still, I really like the cunning trick of shoving the word ‘Navajo’ in front of one of the dishes and claiming it as your own - it’s a bit like me inventing the English Lasagne.

This being our second night in Mexican Hat, we’d learnt that post-sun-down entertainment is non-existent so tonight we came prepared by gathering and buying enough wood to allow us to build a fire in the outdoor pit behind our motel. I’ve clearly gone a bit hunter-gatherer recently but nothing makes me happier than building a fire whilst draining a few tins of beer. We even managed to entice a couple of fellow motel guests to join us who turned out to be Peace Corps veterans (John & Wanda) who have spent a considerable amount of time in Costa Rica and Nicaragua and hence provided some excellent came fire rhetoric. Between the four of us, over next few hours, we managed to solve the world hunger crisis, cure cancer and formulate the perfect political party – if only I’d have used my right hand for making notes rather than drinking beer I might have remembered some of our conclusions the following morning. After peeing the fire out (I warned you I’d gone Neanderthal), it was time to retire to bed smelling and feeling like a well smoked brisket. How we both made it through the night with all limbs in tact is still a mystery.

Tomorrow we head further west towards the Grand Canyon for yet more ooohing and aaahing over American sized tourist attractions. We really are a couple of lucky buggers.

Day 136 - FOUR State Day Baby

Author - Grant
From – Durango, Colorado
To – Mexican Hat, Utah
Via – Four Corners (the state intersection of Colorado, Utah, New Mexico and Arizona)
Miles Driven – 165 plus 120-ish on sightseeing detours mainly on unmarked, bumpy gravel tracks.
Amount Of Front Bumper Remaining – I’m too afraid to look but something between none and half at a guess.

Today's Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615641688093/

After an early morning swim to get full value for money from the hotel (on an unrelated subject, if anyone can think of anything clever to do with 136 mini-soap bars, drop me a line) we loaded up Bridget for what was to turn out to be easily her most gruelling day of the trip. 285 miles isn’t a particularly long distance for her but the terrain was pretty nasty for almost half of it and sometime near the end I had to promise her a full wash and wax (the equivalent of a weekend in Paris for Grand Caravans) just to spur her on to the finish. Of course I won’t follow through with the promise as she’ll do something in the mean-time to purposefully annoy me which will make me question whether or not I got married to early, Wait a minute, what was I talking about?

Just a few miles outside of Durango and we had left behind the rolling snow and pine covered hills and entered the vast, burnt orange plains that confirmed we were heading in the right direction. We, scratch that, I get pretty excited about hitting new states so when a glance at the map confirmed that today our journey would take us through a whopping four different states left me almost frothing with excitement. The marshmallows on the whipped cream on the hot chocolate was that, thanks to the geometrically random assignation of state border lines, all four states converge at one point. Because this is the only place in the US where this happens, they have cleverly named it Four Corners, stuck up a monument, invited local tribes to set up stalls selling various degrees of tat and (here’s the genius bit) charge punters a criminal $3 per person to see. Still, it’s well worth a look and despite Kate’s Twister antics, Molly takes the prize for looking most natural and nonplussed whilst having a limb in each state. In fact, Molly enjoyed the foray significantly more than either of her adoptive parents as she managed to wolf down the lion’s share of the powdered sugar coated Fry Bread (supposedly a Native Indian traditional bread but its resemblance to an unrisen donut and hence its appeal to modern day Americans makes me doubt it despite my complete lack of knowledge on the subject) which the wind fortuitously threw directly onto her ginger pelt. As a result, she farted like a trouper for the remaining 6 hours in the car but her fur has a lasting sweetness that makes for a perfect 2am snack.

Our destination was a place called Mexican Hat which is named after the rock formation that, funnily enough, resembles a sombrero…sort of. There’s a lot of this poetic license with the naming of the buttes (rock outcrops) and whilst some that we saw on our drive around the Valley of The Gods later that afternoon looked spookily like their names (the Rooster and the Lady In The Bath are great examples), some just look like big jutty rocks (the battleship, for example). Still, it’s all an incredible sight nevertheless and the shear scale of these structures are mind-blowing. It’s almost impossible to guess how far away some of the bigger structures are as you drive towards them as they can seem within walking distance but are actually 10 miles away. And the quiet is eerie as noises don’t echo because, at times, there’s sod all for the sound to bounce off. Our photos clearly don’t do it justice but hopefully they’ll give you an idea of the expanse and beauty of this unique place.

I’ve jumped ahead of myself by talking about the Valley of The Gods which was the last thing we saw that day and was preceded by both The Gooseneck and the Natural Bridges National Monument. The former was described to us as a “mini Grand Canyon” and is the result of the San Juan river cutting a deep gorge into the sandstone landscape over the past 600 million years, give or take and ice age or two. The result is a 1000 foot deep canyon that is mindblowingly beautiful. Apparently it’s only about a tenth the depth of the Grand Canyon which we’re due to see in a few days but, at the moment, it’s probably the most impressive thing I have seen on this trip excluding my own reflection in a full length mirror. Kate put it nicely by commenting that “you don’t get that in Hornchurch”. But the flip of that argument is that there isn’t a decent kebab shop in Mexican Hat so, you know, swings and roundabouts.

45 miles further down the road was the Natural Bridges National Monument which is accessible via a crazy, 3 mile, near vertical climb up a cliff on a single lane gravel road that had Kate clinging onto the door handle like it contained a parachute. Given the severity of the drive, the bridges were going to have to be bloody impressive and luckily they were. The park is a 9 mile loop road that takes you close to three natural bridges and there are hiking options to visit the base of each of them but luckily the pooch was with us and she wasn’t allowed down, sparing us from probably lung and heart failure. There were also dwellings belonging to the Anasazi who inhabited these parts at the same time that Jesus was on his Water to Wine Tour. Which leads me nicely into my Jesus conspiracy theory but this is not the time or the place and I don’t want to insult the readers with my atheist rants.

Dinner choices are limited in Mexican Hat. There’s Swinging Steak or…well, you can go hungry. Swinging Steak it is then. Now, like the culinarily naive chap I am, I just thought that it was a catchy name for the restaurant but it turns out it’s a cooking style. To create your own, follow these simple instructions. 1) Get a big pit and chuck some wood in. 2) Light the wood. 3) Adapt a child’s swing by replacing the plastic seat with a flame retardant grill. 4) Place the swing over the fire. 5) Chuck on various meats. 6) Set the swing in motion to ensure that the flames only lick the meat every second or so. 7) Eat said meat once cooked through. The result is some juicy, smoky meat although best not to replicate the Mexican Hat Swinging Steak accompaniments of lifeless chopped salad and tasteless, unseasoned pinto beans. The garlic Texas Toast, however, was probably the nicest thing on the plate. Wash that all down with a Polygamy Porter (a nice Mormon pun) and retire to bed early because there is absolutely sod all else to do in town.

Tomorrow we’re heading deeper into Monument Valley for more rock formation spotting.

Day 135 – Yakety Yak, Do Eat That

Author - Grant
Based In – Durango

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615734385342/

With nothing but the mildest of St Patrick’s Day hangovers (a clear indication that we’re as old as we are boring), today’s mission was to explore Durango via a casual triathlon. I say casual because the bike ride was a potter, the run was a stroll and the swim had more in common with bathing than exercise. Given the distances involved in an Iron Man, our day probably constituted a Cotton Wool Man but it still helped partially negate the consumption of a curry later that night.

In fact I might as well fast forward to the main meal of the day because the preceding events aren’t going to be all that interesting to listen to. Not that they weren’t fantastic. The 10 mile bike ride along the river was incredibly picturesque with the Southern Colorado Rockies providing the constantly breathtaking backdrop and even though it was basically flat, the fact that we were already about 6000 feet above sea level made us wheeze like 40-a-day Cuban cigar smokers. I even managed to find not one but two ways to turn the leisurely ride into a x-treme sport as we stumbled upon a skate ramp park and a BMX dirt course that both begged to be ripped apart…although in reality I rode through them both with all the caution of someone with Osteogenesis Imperfecta as I can still hear the screams of my brother when he broke his wrist early one Saturday morning attempting a 9-Bricker. Even so, I feel fully justified in throwing the word ‘radical’ into a few sentences over the next couple of days. That will be radical. I’ll say less about the swimming because you may be reading this close to (or, god forbid, during) a meal time and I’m assuming you don’t want the imagery of me, in my zebra print thong, flailing around like an epileptic drunk…oops, too late.

The walk, however, I can expand upon because it gives me a good opportunity to wax lyrical about this town that we have grown very attached to in a very short space of time. The only review of Durango that we had managed to pull up on line was someone’s rant that all the bars contained wannabe, super-cool ‘droids’ and that there were no ‘real people’…but with the exception of everyone between 17 and 19 having the same car (a black pick-up with 6 foot suspension and dual vertical exhausts), the place is overflowing with charm and uniqueness. In reverse order of importance, it’s close to skiing, every other shop is a pub and there’s a Cold Stone Creamery. I just need two of the three of Hef’s ex-girlfriends to move here (any two, even Kendra assuming we could have her vocal chords removed) and Belinda Carlisle will be proved right (Heaven IS a place on earth). There was even a shop selling Durango T-shirts which meant that Kate could continue to make this blog unnecessary as simply arranging her 135 strong T-Shirt collection in chronological order of purchase will provide an accurate summary of our journey.

Just as Day 135 did, I’m saving the best for last. There are certain times when only a ruby will cut the mustard and tonight was one of them. And when that ruby turns out to be a golden one, well does life get any better? We had spied the Himalayan Kitchen the previous evening whilst bar crawling (assuming two bars makes a crawl) and been drawn back to the smells wafting from the entrance way much like the Bisto Kid in the pre-CGI adverts. Whilst this place claimed to specialise in three genres of food (Tibetan, Indian and Nepalese), I am neither from, nor have visited any of these countries so I can’t accurately comment on whether or not they were authentic but I can resolutely confirm that they were lip-smackingly tasty. Kate, being from Essex, ordered a Chicken Tikka Masala (it’s in their genes…much like a dung beetle will only eat dung) and I went for a ‘typical Tibetan dish’ whose name I couldn’t pronounce at the time and have no chance of correctly spelling now so I’ll not even bother trying. What I can tell you is that it was much like a Lancashire Hot-Pot…only with Yak meat, hods of cilantro/coriander and less jokes about Coronation Street. Similar to hot-pot (repeat to fade) it was tasty, filling and warming and the yak meat was reminiscent of goat or very lean beef. Despite my ridicule, Kate’s CTM was fiendishly good and I’ll admit to wiping her bowl dry with the remaining wheat flat-bread and paratha. Even the accompanying beer (it’s the law you know) was better than the average beer and Old Monk (from Chennai, India) is my current favourite tipple…although at 8% alc vol, I’d better not start pouring it on my Cheerios.

It’s not often I’m sad at the end of a meal but this was one that I could have eaten until I was physically sick…I guess that means I could eat yak ‘til I yak. I’m pleased I managed to find a subtle way to get that line in…

Westbound to Mexican Hat tomorrow. No, really, it’s a place. Look it up. Told you.

Day 134 – Paddies In The Rockies

Author – Grant
From – Taos, New Mexico
To – Durango, Colorado
Via – Pagosa Springs, Colorado
Miles Driven – 202

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615430027183/

After being settled for a week, the prospect of packing all our worldly belongings into Bridget is about as enticing as a red hot poker in the eye but the promise of a super-scenic drive through the planes of northern New Mexico and into the Southern Colorado Rockies provided enough of an enticement. In fact, just a few miles into the journey, barely minutes after I had finished sweating from weight-lifting Kate’s Imelda Marcos shoe collection, we were rewarded with a crossing of the mighty Rio Grande. Over the years, the river has cut a deep canyon into the New Mexican landscape that makes for an awe inspiring sight off the bridge that spans it. Molly, however, didn’t share our enthusiasm as we found out that we can add vertigo to her list of un-dog-like attributes alongside sneezing when you rub her belly and loving cherry tomatoes. She must be the world’s weirdest canine. With a tip-off from a Texan Jock, just a few miles further down the road we came upon the Earth Ship village which contained a couple of dozen houses made completely from natural, ecologically friendly materials that harness the abundant New Mexican sun to completely power each house using solar energy. Clearly it’s a very admirable project and their hope is that their template will be copied across the globe but unfortunately Manchester gets an annual average of just 14 minutes of direct sunlight which is barely enough to recharge a stolen Game Boy, let alone an entire drug den.

The requisite mid-journey food stop was taken in Pagosa Springs which luckily has a self explanatory name so I don’t have to bother with a description. Still, I can report that it’s an exceptionally picturesque town although, given the number of people lining the river bank to watch a digging machine move rocks around, I’m assuming the nightlife isn’t exactly on a par with Ibiza. Who cares though as we were only there to take advantage of their burgers, waffle fries and urinals. Mission accomplished.

Our final destination was Durango which is conveniently located in the heart of the Southern Colorado Rockies, providing a ski resort base in the winter and a hiking/biking base in the summer. Today, however, was St Patrick’s Day so it was a base for excessive drinking. Being old, we only managed to hit a couple of boozers but it was enough to ensure we got a good dose of the craic. Carvers was the first destination where an Irish Band that rivaled The Polyphonic Spree and UB40 in number of musicians (but unfortunately not in quality thanks, presumably, to 12 hours of boozing) left room for just a handful of punters. They only served their own micro-brew beers but their Chocolate Stout was excellent and, judging by my increasingly non-sensicle conversation, clearly had a bit of a kick. Our second and final stop was the Irish Embassy which, despite its name, had very little to do with clerical immigration issues. As the only Irish bar in Durango, obviously it was packed to the rafters and walking through the door made us regret not starting drinking at 8am that morning because the average client was annihilated and it was clear that no amount of speed drinking would allow us to catch up. A pretty feeble effort on our behalf but we’ve made a resolution to celebrate St Patrick more vehemently in 2010 as it would be a travesty not to salute his…erm…OK, I have no idea who he is or what he did but I do love a good drink.

It’s an attempted return to a healthier Team MacNaughton tomorrow as we plan to navigate the vomit strewn streets of Durango on bike and foot. There’s even a swimming pool in our hotel and that’s technically a Triathlon. Boo Yah!

Days 127 to 133 - Shkee Shkhool

Author - Grant
Based In – Taos, New Mexico

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615520501886/

Relax, we’re back. How’ve you been anyway? Did you lose weight? You look great. Now that’s quite enough about you – back to us.

We’ve been living in the relative lap of luxury for the past week which, for us, means that our accommodation had more than one liveable room. In order to get some space in the budget boxes we usually frequent, one of us is forced to retire to the bathroom but our “executive” room in the pueblo themed Sagebush (think Mexican restaurant circa 1973) had a whole separate living room meaning that we could have a week off from living like the grandparents from Charlie & The Chocolate Factory. In addition to having a living room, we were also blessed with his ‘n’ hers bathrooms (although the shower didn’t work in one so, by default, that became the number-two-orium) and a fireplace with slightly dodgy ventilation that required both the front window and back door to be open which resulted in more icy breeze than the fire could negate but that didn’t stop us lighting it most nights. But I’m saving the best ‘til last – one of the bathrooms had a padded toilet seat. At first I thought this was to reduce the dreaded cheek-to-chair chill factor but by day seven it became clear that it more of a medical necessity…but more of that later.

So the reason for being in Taos for a whole week was to allow us to rip up the slopes but a visit to the doctor for Kate on the first day confirmed that she should be resting her foot rather than throwing it down mountains. Still, resting is something that she excels at and she still doesn’t understand the irony of reading a book on climbing Mount Everest when she didn’t expend more than 30 calories per day. Actually, she did go to water aerobics one day but apparently she was the youngest participant by a clear five decades – from above, the scene must have looked like a wet ash tray.

Anyway, this left me free to snowboard at my leisure in Taos Ski Valley which isn’t the biggest resort in the world, but it is one of the toughest with over half of the runs classified as black or double diamond. It turns out that this is the first season they have allowed snowboarders to join the skiers and it really feels that way as the mountain is clearly set up for skiers. For a start, some of the mountain isn’t even accessible to boarders unless you’re willing to hike…and where’s the fun in that? Furthermore, anything black or above is guaranteed to be plastered with more terrifying moguls than 16th Century Mongolia. And to top it all off, it is well known that this mountain is incredibly steep meaning that a blue here is probably a black anywhere else in the world and, as a result, even the greens are littered with fallen comrades. So after a few days of punishing snowboarding, I decided to fulfil a resolution and give skiing a bash. As such, with two days left in Taos, I enrolled for a one day lesson hoping that it would teach me the basics on the baby slopes in order to attack the mountain properly on my last day. Unfortunately the lesson was like every other group lesson I’ve ever had the misfortune to be a part of – painfully slow and a complete waste of time. I knew I should have gone with my original plan of hiring a pair of skis, asking someone how to put them on then throwing myself off the top of the mountain but Kate assured me that this was irresponsible.

What I did learn is that anyone who tells you that skiing is harder to learn than snowboarding is a complete liar as it involves much less falling because there’s a whopping four points of contact with the snow (two skis, two poles) rather than just one with boarding. Still, it’s clearly not without risk and I did manage a fairly spectacular fall down a steep mogully slope that left my skis, poles and goggles some 20 metres uphill from my final resting place and it was this incident that made me realise the real purpose of our room’s padded toilet seat. For the rest of my final day I was a little worried that I had suffered concussion as I saw a 6 foot chicken and a 300lb bunny rabbit alongside me on the slopes but it turns out there was a scavenger hunt in progress and these characters were part of the competition.

Taos nightlife is fairly non-existent which further hammers home the fact that this is seen as a serious skier’s mountain. In fact, there’s not a single lively bar and evening entertainment revolves around eating. I can cope with that. The trouble is that there’s a also a lack of decent eating establishments and the fact that the Applebees parking lot is packed to capacity from 5pm every night speaks volumes. In fact, by night four, Kate was positively excited to visit here but either popularity or stupidity resulted in them running out of chicken which meant that at least 75% of their menu was missing…just the excuse I was looking for to have the massive burger I desired and, quite frankly, deserved. A trip to Pizza Hut (a brand that I ashamedly love) turned out to be even more disappointing as the salad bar was more bare that a Penthouse centrefold and the thin crust pizza we ordered had the consistency and taste of a water biscuit topped with ketchup. Still, we did have a couple of good meals courtesy of two local restaurants. The super-friendly Graham’s Grill dished up some outstanding calamari, lamb and trout and Hunan Chinese whipped up some killer Sichuan Beef and Curried Chicken. I guess the moral of the story is to stay out of the chains and go local.

So that’s how we managed to while away an entire week in Taos – boarding, skiing, eating and choking on smoke. It did, however, give us time to do some quality trip planning and, as a result, we’ve modified the route. In the short-term, we’re heading west into Utah to see monument valley, south into Arizona to see the Grand Canyon and west into San Diego where we hope to bask in the sun for a while. The long term plan after that is to drift up the west coast, eventually hitting Seattle and Vancouver. Then it’s back towards New York although exactly what happens then is still a mystery.

Eating America Spring Break

We're in Taos, New Mexico right now where we'll be spending the next week snowboarding. Well, I say "we" but I really mean "me". Kate's foot is still giving her gyp and the doctor has recommended resting it for a couple of weeks. Still, she seems happy enough chilling out over two miles above sea level and Molly is glad of the company.

So as the days are taking a pretty repetitive (yet fantastic) routine, it seems pointless to publish a daily blog and I'm going to join the kids of America in having a not very well deserved Spring Break.

See you in a week!

Day 126 - Show Me The Way Out Of Amarillo

Author - Grant
Based In - Amarillo, Texas

Today's Photos - Nothing Interesting Enough To Take Photos Of...

Hands up who wants to hear me talk about how Kate's migraine kept us in Amarillo for an extra 24 hours? Or about how I took the opportunity to do deeply unexciting things like get my eyes tested, have the oil changed in the car, post a bunch of stuff to the four corners of the earth, try to find documents I need to complete my tax return, have surpriingly good sushi (considering we're in the middle of the Texan Panhandle) and visit the pharmacy no less than three times?

No? Fair enough.

Day 125 - Kicked In The Tendergroins On Route 66

Author – Grant
From – Tulsa, Oklahoma
To – Amarillo, Texas
Via – Route 66, Sort Of
Miles Driven – 364 (excluding distracting tangents, wrong turns and loop-backs)
Words Kate Has Challenged Me To Exclude From This Blog – “Route”
Number of Times “Route” Is Mentioned – 12

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157615011217771/
The bonus of having such a quiet Saturday night was ensuring that we awoke with the larks on Sunday morning, raring and ready for a day exploring The Mother Road. All was going swimmingly until, after about an hour of driving, we realised that the clocks had gone forward and our early morning wasn’t so early after-all. I guess this is one of the disadvantages of being so far removed from the real world but luckily that list is extremely short and clearly the benefits outweigh the pitfalls. It also depends how you view these things – the pessimist glass-half-empty characters would complain of an hour lost, but to us ever-cheerful optimists, it just means we’re an hour closer to lunch. Or, to be more accurate, lunches.

The legendary Route 66 was commissioned in 1926 and stretched from LA to Chicago. I use the past tense because these days, much of it has fallen into disrepair and is undrivable thanks to the modern Interstate motorways (mainly the I-40 and I-44) which have been built either alongside or over the old road in order to replace it. Whilst this means many of the quaint Route 66 businesses such as road-side diners have been forced to shut down or relocate thanks to the lack of passing trade, it’s tough to argue against a road that takes 4 hours to cross a state rather than 10. As unromantic as it may be, progress is progress and there’s no avoiding it. People rally against this development not because their journey time is shorter, but because the new road inevitably has become like a chase scene from Scooby Doo with the same generic, chain (and mostly terrible) food stops repeatedly passing by every few miles…McDonalds, Starbucks, Burger King, McDonalds, Starbucks, Burger King, McDonalds, Starbucks, Burger King, McDonalds, Starbucks, Burger King…repeat to cardiac arrest. The simple economics is that property leasing rates at interstate junctions are only affordable by big corporates and hence the little, unique businesses suffer…unless you’re willing to take a 3 minute detour to hunt them out. Herein lies the problem…we aren’t willing to spend those 3 minutes hunting. So as easy as it is to slate the convenience of Modern America’s fast food chains – we do have a choice and maybe we should be happy to spend some of the 6 hours journey time the I-40 has saved us seeking out more worthy recipients of our dollars and avoid a polystyrene box of processed crap as a nice little sub-reward.

Oklahoma is lucky enough to have the most drivable miles of the original Route 66 of any state it passes through and is littered with attractions (all conveniently pointed out to us by the Oklahoma Route 66 guide we picked up) but the road is generally in pretty naff condition and subsequently it was incredibly quiet despite being a beautiful, cloudless Oklahoman day. But with the radio tuned into non-stop 60’s hits and a little imagination, it was easy enough to understand why this road has so many fans as the mere sight of a historic Route 66 sign had us screeching to stop for photos all day. Admittedly it detracted considerably from the authenticity when we changed the radio channel to listen to the Everton FA Cup Quarter Final commentary but luckily Route 66 provides enough visual stimulation to compensate. In fact, if there is one thing this road isn’t short of, it’s photo ops. We have Route 66 memorabilia photos behind car cut outs, of old diners, motels, restaurants, hotels, museums, bowling alleys, soda bottles, factories, souvenir shops and a mini-golf course…anything, in fact, with the first two digits of the devil’s phone number got a cheesy grin and a snap.

Now I mentioned lunches (note the pleural) so let me explain. Breakfast was a really drab affair of soggy-even-before-being-milked cereal so when we came upon ‘Pops’, we thought we’d treat ourselves to a pre-lunch snackette. But when faced with the menu at this ultra-modern museum to all things fizzy, greed took over and a Strawberry Shake, a Chocolate Malt and PB&J Toastie and a BLT were accidentally and almost unconsciously ordered. Oops. The sandwiches were made using Texan Toast (i.e. the bread was think enough to provide adequate storm roofing) and were pretty good but the shake (which actually tasted like strawberries rather than chemically derived strawberry milkshake taste) and the chocolate malt (like a tub of barely melted Hagen Daas Belgian chocolate ice-cream infused with liquefied Malteser honeycomb centre) were truly outstanding.

Back on the road and time to check the next “must-see” on the list. Oh dear, it’s a burger place and it’s only 15 minutes away. Ah well, time to man up…and gout is a cooler way to go than being hit by a bus. Established the same year as Route 66 opened, Robert’s Grill is a little off the beaten track and more than a little off the FDA recommended food lists. Their speciality is the onion burger which, unsurprisingly, consists of a handful of ground chuck, shaped into a patty, thrown on a grill and a handful of thinly sliced yellow onions pressed into it. And that’s it – no seasoning, no binder, no filler. They serve theirs in a soft bun, with or without cheese, mayo, ketchup or American mustard. The technique to eating them is a) make sure you’re not on a first date b) check your hair and make-up (if applicable) in the shiny, reflective layer of grease that covers the bun and c) nail it. This may sound heathenistic but they taste great and not a long-way off how a McDonalds burger is probably supposed to taste but, of course, with less lips, nose and scrotum.

Originally we were to stop somewhere in western Oklahoma but, as were seemed to be enjoying the driving, we decided to plough on into the Texan panhandle and, specifically Amarillo. The thing is, 364 miles is a hell of a long journey so, for the last quarter, we played an in-car full blown game of Trivial Pursuit. I don’t think the highway code permits the rolling of dice and reading of questions at 70mph but it sure made the last 100 miles fly by. It consumed the supposedly Catholic Kate so much that whilst visiting the largest free-standing religious cross in the Western Hemisphere, she seemed more interested in getting back in the car to get her pink question for a cheese than studying the 13 phases of Jesus’ execution. By the way, she got the question wrong AND she booked a place in hell…probably not her best 3 minutes on this planet.

Our chosen accommodation just happens to be attached to the most famous restaurant in the panhandle. The Big Texan has been dishing out whopping steaks for decades and their particular quirk is that if you can eat a 72oz steak dinner in under an hour then it’s free. Whilst this might already sound like a hideous and impossible task, let me add that “dinner” means that your Flintstones steak comes with a breaded shrimp appetiser, a baked potato, a side salad and a bread roll. As we arrived, six silent and ashen faced people were up on the stage with 20 minutes left on the clock and not a snowball’s chance in hell of finishing so they would all be paying the meagre $50 for their public humiliation. Our waiter reckoned that one in nine people finish this challenge but I just can’t believe it. Apparently the record time for completing the challenge is…wait for it…8 minutes and 52 seconds. That’s just not human.

But before you think “I wonder how Grant fared?” – I did not and would never take on this challenge as it can only be incredibly detrimental to your health. Whilst getting ready to go to dinner, we had a program on in the background called Half Tom Mum (after being cut out of her house here in Texas, she had a gastric bypass and eventually died) which kind of hampered our appetites but even without the timely reminder, it’s clearly a no-no. Instead, we were to skip appetisers and just dive into a more human sized steak. But what is this I see on the menu…Mountain Oysters…haven’t I been challenged by Haddock to eat these? Lovely. For the more innocent among you, mountain oysters (aka Rocky Mountain Oysters, Prairie Oysters, Montana Tendergroins, Cowboy Caviar, Swinging Beef or Calf Fries) have nothing to do with seafood. If the nicknames haven’t given it away, they are buffalo, boar or bull testicles…usually breaded, deep fried (of course) and served with a dipping sauce; cocktail in this case. To be honest, they were so heavily battered that the taste of the offal barely came through and only when I performed some impromptu surgery could I isolate the testicle to get a more concentrated, iron flavour. Even Kate’s inappropriate and intentionally off-putting comments couldn’t stop me polishing off my plate of balls. Bring on the next course.

I seem to have eaten and therefore written about an awful lot of steaks over the past week but this one probably goes down as the finest. I had a ribeye (shocker) and Kate managed to steer away from her usual Fillet in favour of the more flavourful Sirloin and both were excellent. Mine was cooked to medium rare perfection and came in a puddle of jus which was clearly made from actual pan drippings rather than that processed pre-made rubbish containing nothing more than salt and caramel coulouring. I was, yet again, in meaty heaven yet I felt surprisingly slim compared with our surrounding co-diners whose trousers could have doubled as medium sized tents. A few more beers followed in the whacky, souvenir and tat filled bar before needing to retire to concentrate on digestion once more.

We are due to leave Texas tomorrow as we continue westbound into New Mexico. Well, that’s the plan.