Smoggy SoCal, and other tales

Welcome back, dear reader! We last left our intrepid heroes in Albuquerque, New Mexico, as they turned in after a positively canyon-ful day in Oklahoma and Texas. We return to them the next morning, they bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and we mildly curious, as friends are so often wont to be:

Day 4. Miles 2,387 – 2,815: Albuquerque, NM to Williams, AZ

It was cold. We had had nothing but perfect weather so far, and the forecast was continuously sunny and blue all the way to San Francisco. But it was cold. It had snowed overnight in Albuquerque (not much – 1.5 inches, maybe) and, as such, when we woke up to a temperature in the general vicinity of 20° F, it was the most winter-like situation we’d yet been subjected to. We had a relaxed breakfast, which involved an extensive chat with the owner, who claimed to be a former millionaire from real estate and construction and who had acquired the hotel not two weeks prior. To this day we’re not sure whether we’re inclined to believe him (perhaps you had to be there to understand our hesitation), but he was very nice, encouraging, informative, and generally supportive of our life decisions. He was a talkative fellow, and it took more than a little effort to extricate ourselves from the conversation, but we were in something of a hurry to get on the road.

The parking lot was slippery, but the roads were plowed, and soon we were driving west past downtown Albuquerque and back out into the desert Southwest. Before too long, we noted a sign for El Malpais NationalMonument—a stop which we had hoped to make, but which proved more stressful than most. There are two primary roads that go through the Monument: NM 117 and NM 53. 117 traversed much more of the park, but 53 was more or less on the way to our final destination for the day. The signage at the exit for 53 was nearly nonexistent, so we left the highway with nothing more than our map’s word. We had also assumed the small town at the exit might have some sort of establishment fit for filling one’s gasoline tank. This, however, proved not to be the case, and we found ourselves traveling the 20 miles or so into El Malpais on slightly less than a quarter of a tank of gas. This will come into play later.

After winding through a small village, we found ourselves among the basalt grasslands and plateaus of El Malpais, which, I must admit, I previously had no idea existed. Neither of us made eye contact with any kind of visitor center or helpful hiking signs along the way, so when we saw a one-lane dirt road that looked promising (that is to say, it didn’t have a gate across it), we took the left and found ourselves in a small dirt parking lot with an outhouse and a pavilion with some maps and hiking information. We soon discovered that El Malpais, being part of the Zuni-Bandera volcanic field, or the second-largest volcanic field in the Basin and Range (so says the Brochure, anyway), was rife with not only basaltic badlands on the surface, but numerous lava tubes below. This was very much to our liking and we set off immediately. A short hike through some old flows (old enough to have given way to substantial tree growth – it made me consider what Hawai’i might look like in a couple hundred years) led us past several small craters to El Calderon cinder cone, which rose upwards of 200 feet above the surrounding lava plains. Active beginning about 11,500 years ago until just 2,000 years ago, the cone was responsible for lava rivers nearly 20 miles long, including their subsequent collapses to form extensive lava tube and trench networks.

View from the top of El Calderon cinder cone looking east

After hiking the rim of the cone, we were fortunate enough to find ourselves among some of these trenches and tubes, though some of the caves were closed due to bat hibernation. We encountered very few other people and, with what meager lights we had (a small car flashlight and Matt’s iPhone, we were not able to delve too deeply into the cave systems, but we did clamber down a decent way into the (perhaps not aptly names) Bat Cave, which, from a small opening only 8 feet tall and not much wider, opened into a cavern over twenty feet high before closing again into spaces so small that neither Matt nor I could fit with much of anything in our pockets.

Me and Matt trying to be still for a 20 second exposure in a relatively spacious section of Bat Cave

We had decided early that day that we also wanted to see Petrified Forest and Painted Desert national parks, so we limited our time in the caves and even somehow managed to pass up exploring the Double Sinks—two massive collapsed tube sections (above)—to get back on the road. 

Matt standing atop one of the sinks

In the interest of seeing new things and not relegating ourselves solely to the find U.S. Interstate system, we took a left instead of a right out of the dirt road and thus continued west on 53. It was shortly after this that we remembered we were verging on only an eighth of a tank of gas and the nearest town was Zuni Pueblo, almost 50 miles away. Matt had faith in the Camry, so we went for it.

Being away from the highway (and at least 50% on Native American land), it truly felt like the west I read and heard about growing up. Nothing but rock, scrub, and the occasional shack, pueblo, or ranch. No billboards, no tourist traps. It was exhilarating, invigorating, and simply stunning. It would have been even more so if I was not being subjected to mild stress related to our fuel situation, which was only exacerbated when the first couple gas stations we passed were closed (it being Sunday). With the fuel gauge resting comfortably on “E”, we encountered a gas station a mile or so up NM 602 and immediately took advantage. It was rather an interesting experience, simply because we were the only two non-Indian members of the clientele, and it was rush hour, or as close as it could be in that part of the world. You must understand that this is not a common situation in either Ohio or Maine (the two places where I have spent the majority of my time). We were also the only sedan in a parking lot full of pickups. This was slightly less uncommon to my experiences.

Fully fueled, we fired up the engine and continued west. More confident in our range, and taking advantage of the fact that there was, quite literally, not another soul on the road, we began experimenting with speed. I mean velocity, of course. We found ourselves in Arizona on some of the straightest roads (191) I have ever seen (different from Midwestern-straight, though, because of topography and scenery and other such things), and, as a consequence, we felt emboldened to break some personal records, the details of which I will not share here. We also discovered that cruise control still functions near the top end of the speedometer, and that Toyota suspension is pretty darn durable.

A stretch of Route 191 in Arizona

A half an hour ahead of our GPS’s estimated time of arrival, we approached the gate to Petrified Forest National Park. The entry sum was a hefty $10 and the park ranger was quite adamant about making sure we took nothing with us out of the park. The park, I might add, was a bit of a letdown. The petrified wood was fun to look at, and the interpretive displays were quite informative, but it honestly seemed as though, over time, they had just collected all the petrified wood they could find throughout the park area and scattered it about in a few concentrated places accessible by the thin ribbon of roadway that winds all the way from the south end to the north. The place was essentially geologically homogeneous, and none of the hiking trails were more than a mile or two long, despite the vast badlands within the park bounds. I assume hiking off-trail was permitted, because otherwise I can’t imagine what the point of having so much land would be, but we didn’t have time to check in and so we were relegated to the paved, tourist-ridden pathways through the mazes of coffee table-sized (and smaller) fragments of petrified wood. Even the agate bridge, one potentially exciting feature, had been reinforced with concrete. I understand the idea behind this, of course, but in my opinion it somewhat negates the purpose of the park.

A large (note lens cap for scale) petrified Triassic conifer

Painted Desert was a park. A real one. Despite being substantially smaller (the park, not the desert) than Petrified Forest, it had much more to offer. We crossed underneath the highway and came around a curve to discover before us the vast, empty, red and yellow hill-covered southern edge of the 7,500 square mile Painted Desert. The colors were beautifully accentuated by the setting sun, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the view was similar for the Spanish explorer who first looked upon el Desierto Pintado and named it for its warm hues. We removed ourselves into the cooling open air at the first opportunity.

Looking northwest into Painted Desert

The park closed at sunset (another point which the park ranger who admitted us had seen fit to stress), so we were unable to linger, but we tested the clock by quickly getting out at each overlook until we were finally told by a roving ranger picking on stragglers that we needed to leave. So we did. But not before snapping another picture or two.

View northeast over the Painted Desert after sunset

From Painted Desert, it was a straight shot to the small town of Williams, Arizona, the “Gateway to the Grand Canyon” (the Grand Canyon, we had decided earlier in the day, was to be our primary destination the following day). We found ourselves on a main drag abuzz with activity due, we later discovered, to the local Polar Express festivities on the Grand Canyon Railroad. We were unable to get a table for dinner at any of the Route 66-themed establishments (and, for a town of 3,000, there were so very many of them), so we meandered to an intriguing looking public house by the name of Pancho McGillicuddy’s, where we found a couple seats at the bar and had a nice long chat and a few drinks with the bartender over some unexpectedly delicious burritos and enchiladas with potatoes and cheddar cheese. After a couple of hours, we retired to our lodgings, the Royal American Inn, which were a bit smelly and thermally awkward, though not altogether uncomfortable.

Day 5. Miles 2,815 – 3,322: Williams, AZ to Barstow, CA

We woke up before sunrise hoping that we would catch it on the way up to the Grand Canyon.

Sunrise over mountains to the east from Route 180

We spent the golden hour heading up Route 180 and arrived at the Grand Canyon visitor center shortly after sunrise. It was closed, but there was no shortage of tourists already milling about. My first impression of the park, therefore, was one of chaos and overcrowding, and I found myself counting the number of people who had warned me against the south rim and told me to go north instead. But we meandered toward the edge of the canyon anyway, and as we approached, my jaw dropped lower and lower and lower.

Dear reader, I have spent much time in what I (and many others) would consider to be some of the most beautiful places on this wonderful planet of ours. I grew up not far from many people’s number 1. But never have I been so stunned by a landscape as when I first looked upon the Grand Canyon. Even separated from my geologist tendencies, I was simply astounded. I had convinced myself that it was overhyped, crowded, and unpleasant if not downright sordid, much like Niagara Falls. But let me tell you now that it was no such thing. I have never looked upon a more awe-inspiring natural sight. To stand at the rim was to be put in my place as a speck of history, overwhelmed by the billions of years and millions of generations of what came before me. It was to see the inspiration for human achievement and the cause of its constant hampering. It, solely, represented to me the entirety of the world and nature and all the power contained within. It was beauty beyond compare. Forgive me if I’m waxing cheesy, here, but you get the point. If you don’t, try this:

Looking west up the Colorado River (aka the Grand Canyon)

We wanted to be out of the canyon by early afternoon so that we could reach California by the end of the day via Las Vegas and the Hoover Dam (which we didn’t discover was on the way until we passed by the first highway sign), so we searched for hikes that purported moderate to strenuous exertion and low mileage, and we found our route at Hermit’s Rest, a trailhead at the far west end of the drivable park acreage accessible by vehicle only during the winter months. It was cold (below freezing, in fact), so we donned layers and began our descent into the Canyon at the trailhead, which warned us to be wary of the time that we took to get to the destination, for it would take longer to get out. With this in mind, we set off down the steep switchbacks which, though now less frequented, were an original fixture of the early, luxurious Canyon improvement efforts spearheaded by the Santa Fe railroad. The switchbacks have been heavily eroded and the gradient is much steeper now than it was then, and our trail descended roughly 2000 feet in 2.5 miles into a "side canyon" (it could have swallowed that little Red Rock thing from Oklahoma whole) created by the quiet but powerful Santa Maria Spring, a tributary of Hermit Creek, which in turn feeds directly into the Colorado River.

Matt overlooking the side canyon

We descended rapidly and found ourselves at the base of the Santa Maria Spring ravine in relatively short order, where we had a brief reprieve from the relentless downward climbing. Instead of heading immediately back up as originally planned, we decided to follow the stream bed a little further. We came to a rather precipitous drop, and nudged ourselves to the edge only to find that it was infinitely more precipitous than we had initially suspected, dropping straight into a lower canyon at such an angle that we could not see the bottom from where we were standing. A short jaunt along the canyon wall expanded our view, but we were unable to go too far before our time was cut short by the day’s goals.

Santa Maria Spring just before the precipice. I overexposed this one by mistake and didn't notice until long after it was too late. I tried to salvage it as best I could...

We quickly retraced our route back to the top, and (in your face, Grand Canyon staff) it took us less time than it took to get down, though this was undoubtedly due at least in part to fewer photo breaks. At this point the temperature had increased at least 30° since our descent, and we were shedding layers and I was sweating away the majority of my body weight. But we made it to the top, indulged in a snack and some water, and made our way out of the park, stopping for lunch in Tusayan before making our way once again west.

We found ourselves before too long at the Hoover Dam, which was incredibly crowded and a rather stressful experience. We had some lovely lighting due to the proximity to sunset, the dam itself was certainly an engineering marvel, and the setting was lovely, but to this day I’m not convinced it was worth the half hour it took to get across the dam, the parking troubles, and the overwhelming number of people. Either way, it was photogenic.

Hoover Dam intake towers

When we left the dam, we headed for Vegas, of which I have very little to discuss. Just for kicks, and to say we had, we parked in the downtown district and explored a few of the casinos, touched a few slot machines, and had dinner at a relatively inexpensive and rather large but quiet pub called Hennessey’s. It was pleasant to experience Las Vegas the city, rather than Las Vegas the gambling hub, although it was rather exciting seeing the strip on the way out of town, just to affirm in my mind that it’s not just a place of myth, legend, and casino heists.

A little ways out of Vegas, we passed over the border of California and hit the edge of the Mojave Desert and took a random exit that our map professed would take us a little ways into the desert where I might be able to take some nice star trails. However, we found ourselves at a dead end just a few hundred feet off the highway. I tried and failed to take some nice shots of the night sky, but the stop was not a total loss. It was peaceful, despite being so near the highway. At least it was, until a number of other vehicles started gathering on the on-ramp and we were afraid we were either going to be arrested or killed. (Neither of these things happened)

I-15 toward Barstow from the edge of the Mojave Desert

We continued driving until we reached the first major stop outside (their classification, not ours) the desert. We found a Travelodge in Barstow and got a decent night’s sleep in preparation for the morrow’s drive to our end goal, San Francisco.

Tune in next time for part 3 in this continuing series: Oakland is next to San Francisco, and other realizations by an East Coaster in California