I am not a Las Vegas person. The older I get the more I want nature. And calm. and quiet. No shade to the people who like Vegas, but the obvious need for continual maintenance on all the man-made structures and amenities, coupled with the sense that I’m surrounded by many people who are on the verge of making regrettable decisions, puts me on edge. By contrast, nature and the wide open road relax me.
How lucky that the South Rim of the Grand Canyon is a few hours’ drive from Vegas and Route 66 is one way to get there!
When we made our plans, though, I had not thought a lot about the ways in which Las Vegas raises my cortisol. I’d been in Hawaii for an extended visit with friends, relaxing in the slow-paced countryside of the North Shore. Mitch didn’t join me for that trip but we’d decided to meet in Las Vegas on Valentine’s Day – which sounded romantic when we planned it. Mitch had never been to Vegas, so he went a day early to play golf and explore. I’d been once on a trip with my besties in 2013 – the year we turned 40 – and what a fun trip that was! I was thinking of that kind of energy. But girl’s trip energy is different from 30-year married couple energy. Also, we’re not gamblers, but I remembered the food in Vegas to be uniquely delicious. I was not wrong about that part.
To make it short, I arrived and joined him. We walked around and absorbed the nervous energy, had a decadent dessert at the Aria, a lovely French meal at a Mon Ami Gabi, . . . and decided we’d get out of Vegas as fast as we could and head to the Grand Canyon the next morning – with a side trip to The Hoover Dam.
At the Hoover Dam, we sang The Highwayman song in our heads – the part Waylon Jennings sings about a guy who “slipped and fell into the wet concrete below” while helping build the Hoover Dam. It was an impressive feat of engineering, but we were itching to get to the Grand Canyon, where we had dinner reservations at 8pm (more on that below), and I wanted to see as much of Route 66 in the daylight as we could, so I don’t think we enjoyed the Hoover Dam as much as we otherwise might have. It is objectively impressive though.
Interstate 11 will take you to Interstate 40 where you can choose to remain on I-40 or drive Route 66. You will have that choice again in Kingman and in Seligman and the two roadways are almost parallel from there. But when you get to Williams, you’ll take Exit 165 and head to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. There is a lot more of Route 66 to see, but this is the exit to The Gateway to the Grand Canyon – and it’s about half-way through the route in Arizona.
We wanted to see the sunrise on the South Rim in Arizona the next morning, so we booked a room at The Grand hotel (not the Grand Canyon Inn pictured here – that’s just a cool photo). The Grand is about as close to the entrance to the Grand Canyon National Park as you can get, without being inside the park. And we were very lucky to get a room there. But don’t expect luxury. The luxury is that it is clean and comfortable and friendly and CLOSE to the Grand Canyon. Close beats luxurious hands down in this scenario and this place is a five-star hotel in our books because of its location.
And I would not dare complain about the The Grand Hotel when I saw the food quality at the “upscale” restaurant El Tovar. Mitch booked us a sunset dinner at El Tovar, an alleged fine dining restaurant inside the park. First the good: the cocktails were good, as well as the garlic butter for the rolls, and the butternut squash bisque. But then the entrees. . . . Oh my goodness! Mitch had the lemon garlic pasta, which lacked both lemon and garlic and looked like a “kids meal” in a mid-grade eatery. I ordered the trout. It also lacked flavor, but the showstopper was the dry thing under it called a “blue corn pancake.” I took a photo of it just because at that point, it was comically bad. The side carrots had the unmistakeable cut of the GreenGiant Steamers. We are typically so easy to please, but we didn’t eat much of these entrees and the server didn’t ask how we liked the food. I have a feeling she’d heard it all before. We weren’t going to let a bad meal ruin an otherwise lovely day, so we enjoyed the best parts of it and chalked the rest up to a memorable story. If you do find yourself in El Tovar though (it does have a very pretty dining room), I recommend making a meal of the appetizers and desert. But if we could do it again, we would have opted for a picnic in the car in a parking lot with a good sunset view.
We got up in the dark that next morning and headed out. Mitch bought a National Park Lifetime Senior Pass, which is a great value for people of a certain age. And we followed the dozen or so cars to the appropriate parking lot. And then we followed the two dozen or so friendly adventurous people on foot through the paths to the lookout point. On the walk through snow in the dim blue light of early morning, we saw several moose up close. They didn’t seem to mind us, and by the time we saw them, it was too late for us to mind them. We walked on and staked our spot at the rail, and we waited for the sun to light up the canyon.
We had so much space… and then the crowds came. It seemed like they showed up all at once. I was glad we got there when we did. A late-comer man in a red jacket took a spot beside me to my right. There was more space to his right, but he got up against me and after a few minutes more people started filling in the open spaces and he began pushing me with his left arm. I guess he thought my spot at the rail was the best because we had gotten there first and chosen it. And it wasn’t enough to be *next* to my spot. He wanted to stand exactly where I was standing. I guess he thought I’d be passive and let him push me away. Well, he didn’t know me. I stood firm and pretty soon he started yelling that *I* was pushing *him.* It felt comically ridiculous because (1) it was not true, and (2) we were in this majestic place where lots of people had assembled in quiet reverence to one of the great miracles of this amazing earth. I told him, “I’ve been here all morning and haven’t moved from this spot. You’re getting upset because I won’t let you push me out.” He got louder and I was joined by others in staring him down . . . and he left and went to the other end of the overlook. I wonder about people like him. Has that kind of energy been working for them in life? I have to assume it has or they wouldn’t be doing it in adulthood. Oh well, he was not going to steal my joy. In fact, he kind of added to my joy because – on top of seeing one of the most incredible wonders of nature – I could be proud of how I stood up for myself and refused to be bullied. I am always mindful of the fact that I am my closest friend and the only person in this world whom I’ve known my whole life. I have to stand up for my friend. And I’m proud I did.
And then the sun came out. And we were awestruck. And red jacket man was gone, so Mitch and I could enjoy it fully with a crowd of good hearted people all around us. There are just no words to describe something as beautiful as the Grand Canyon at sunrise, so I am thankful for photos.
We returned to The Grand Hotel and took a wonderful and blessed nap and then came back to the Canyon for another walk before heading back toward Las Vegas via Route 66. This time, coming back in, there was a long line of cars at the entrance.
We had made a few stops on Route 66 on the way there, but those only made me more excited about the many places we could visit on the way back. So let’s now get into it. Note this is only about half of the Arizona Route:
Route 66 is hard to put into words—it’s a feeling. Running parallel to the interstate, it moves in the same direction but at a completely different, unhurried, country pace. But the speed isn’t the real difference. Clearly, things are valued on Route 66 that are not valued on the faster routes in life. It’s old world nostalgia. It’s memories of childhood. It’s not discarding things because they are rusty or worn – or weird. Route 66 is the *opposite* of Las Vegas. Route 66 is my jam. I am definitely not a Las Vegas person.
Hearing the Whispers 
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