February 10, 2005 - Drive to Grand Canyon National Park, AZ

Pulling the trailer back out of our narrow space proved to be much easier than backing it in, thank goodness, and we were on Interstate 17 heading north by around 9 o'clock. Phoenix lies in a valley surrounded by highlands, so we had to first climb out of the valley. During the next several hours we gradually gained altitude in fits and starts until we were up to 6,000 feet. We had driven up onto what I believe is called the Mogollon Plateau, and that made a world of difference because we gradually left the desert entered forests, mostly of Ponderosa Pine.

As we continued to climb to around 7,000 feet, we started to see first patches and then the entire landscape covered with snow, and suddenly we were driving in a Winter Wonderland. We found it a pleasant change after the previous couple of weeks in the southwestern desert, but it was also a sudden enough change to be slightly jarring. I wondered why more folks were not retiring to this high plateau district rather than concentrating in the Tucson and Phoenix areas. I suppose the retirees were looking for year around warmth, but personally I thought I would prefer the 4 season aspects of the high plateau, especially if the summer temperatures would be more moderate. I recalled from our previous pass through Flagstaff on Wanderung 3 that the summer temperatures were indeed at least 10-20 degrees cooler than Phoenix, and that difference would be very welcome to folks like us who tend to overheat in hot weather. Besides, we both prefer mountains with real trees and the top of the plateau definitely had that.

At Flagstaff we turned west on Interstate 40 to Williams, Arizona, and started looking for lunch. I was all set for a baked potato and side order of chili at a Wendy's, but we didn't find any in Flagstaff or in Williams. At Williams we turned north to drive to the Grand Canyon on state route 64, which we thought would have gentler grades than the slightly shorter route directly through the mountains. As we arrived just outside of Grand Canyon National Park I saw a Wendy's beside the highway and I thought my prayers had been answered. I bellied up to the cash register and hopefully ordered my baked potato and chili, only to be informed that they had just run out of baked potatoes! Quite disappointed, I gave up and had the grilled chicken with French fries. The problem with ordering French fries is that I tend to eat them-can't stop myself it seems-and that is a big strike against my low fat diet. I must admit the chicken was good, but still it was not the same as a chili baked potato.

Delayed a bit by lunch, we finally drove into the park around 2:30 and set up camp in space 265 in Mather campground, only to find out from a maintenance guy we managed to corner before he could run off that the loop had been closed to camping! After 5 hours of driving I had been looking forward to kicking back for the rest of the day, and I was definitely not happy about having to jack the trailer back up, retract the levelers, hitch everything back to the truck, and then pull it back out of the campsite. There was, as is usual nowadays in the National Parks, no one at the campground entrance to give us any advice about that, but they could have at least posted a sign saying that only the Oak loop was open for camping.

We next tried the trailer campground around the corner, and had another unpleasant surprise-they did not honor the Golden Age passport. Apparently the trailer campground has been sold to Xanterra Parks and Resorts, and they can of course charge whatever the traffic will bear. The price for a shower even after we paid for a campsite was, for example, $1.50 extra. Although most of the campers apparently paid extra for their showers, we, being rather Scotch, elected to do without until we were in a campground that offered them for free. We did, I'll admit, get a bit whiffy during our stay at the Grand Canyon, but fortunately we didn't see any of my friends, relatives, colleagues or ex-students so we were just offending strangers and that was all right!

Xanterra, by the way, had taken over two of the largest buildings in the center of Grand Canyon Village for their corporate offices. In contrast, I saw all the Park Service vehicles parked at a building in the town outside the park, so it looks to me as if the Park Service has moved out and Xanterra resorts has moved in. We also saw many adds for the commercial helicopter and plane tours of the canyon while we drove in, so it looks like privatization and commercialization is occurring in the Grand Canyon just as in Yellowstone as we saw on Wanderung 3. The Park Service's motto for national parks is something like "Preserve and Protect", but it looks to me like Xanterra's motto is probably closer to "Plunder and Profit". If you ever get to the Trailer Village at the Grand Canyon, take a look at the housing off to one side of the village that Xanterra lets their employees live in-I saw one tent being used as a residence at least and many of the others were very shack like.

The political strategy seems to be to cut Park Service funding so that they cannot properly run or maintain the parks, and then use that fact to justify the privatization and "outsourcing" of different park functions like the campgrounds. So if you want to see these parks while they are still (mostly) government property and available to the public rather than to the highest bidder, you might want to do it quickly. If the U.S. government decides it can no longer afford to have National Parks, I can see why they would want to privatize them, or to use the current business phrase, "spin them off". Maybe we as a people will decide that publicly supported National Parks are an idea whose time has come and gone. But I do wish the government would at least be honest with the labeling by, for example, changing the name to something like "Grand Canyon Xanterra Park". At least that way the visitor will know to expect market based pricing and commercial exploitation rather than government subsidized prices and environmental protection.

Too tired to try to find yet another campsite, we coughed up the $26 camping fee and set up the trailer in what looked like a typical private RV park with the trailers spaced about 20 feet from each other in many rows. Our campsite had all the scenic quality of a gravel parking lot with a few trees scattered in, but at least we were settled for the next couple of nights. As we worked on our computers that afternoon, we hoped for the layer of clouds that had hidden the sun all day to break up so that we could see the canyon we came to see, but the sky remained stubbornly overcast. We finally gave up and drove over to Yavapai point overlook. The wind was cold and blustery to the extent that I found it difficult to keep my footing on the patches of frozen ice lying around here and there. Ordinarily I do not think I would have been so extra cautious, but being next to a sheer 5,000 foot drop seemed to make me more cautious than normal. Despite the fact that the overcast sky muted the amazing colors of the canyon, the scenery was as breathtaking as I had remembered it from a brief visit with our kids about 25-30 years ago.

Probably due to the inclement weather, we were alone on our perch except for a busload of intrepid (determined? desperate?) Japanese tourists who were busy taking each other's pictures. I felt sorry for them in that they had made such a long journey and would probably go home without seeing the canyon in its full palette of colors. We, on the other hand, had the luxury of staying an extra day or two in the hope that the weather would clear up enough for us to see the canyon at its best.

The cold wind discouraged us from hiking along the rim trail for more than a short distance, but we were rewarded with a nice view framed by the trees and bushes growing on the southern rim. The southern rim where we were camped is typically opened all year around, whereas the northern rim, which has colder weather and more snow, is closed for the winter season.

On our way back to our campsite, we stopped at the local grocery store and were pleased that they had a good selection of food at reasonable prices. Given my frustrating experience with Wendy's, I decided to just buy the potatoes and chili myself and heat them up in our microwave to make our own chili-baked potatoes the following day. It was, I thought, at least worth a try.

Returning to camp, we had a light supper of bacon and eggs and then settled in to work the rest of the evening on writing our patented photo letters. Monika had put together a great photomontage of the 3 types of deserts we had just seen: the Sonoran, Mojave, and Colorado, each with their distinctive type of vegetation, which was the Saguaro cactus, Joshua Tree, and Cholla cactus, respectively. I thought she had done a great job with it, so we decided to use that montage as one side of the photo letters. Of course, that left us with the pleasant chore of actually writing the letters. Not a lot of folks write letters anymore, much less photo letters, but I still enjoy taking the time to compose what I want to say to each of my friends and relatives, and then attempting to write it well enough that it can be read by the recipient!

Back home I have a letter writing ceremony that is so ritualized that it resembles a Japanese tea ceremony. I recline in the love seat in the family room during the late afternoon when sunlight is streaming in through the windows and making the stained glass pieces we have mounted there glow like the inside of a church. Then I open the beautiful cherry writing box that Monika gave me and select just the right type of paper for recipient and the intended letter. I love the feel of the thick, textured types of writing paper on my fingertips, so I take a minute to hold the piece of paper up to the sunlight and check for the watermark and to make sure it has no flaws or stains.

Next I take out my favorite fine-point Montblanc fountain pen, uncap the front end, and then unscrew the back end to inspect the ink level. Doing this gives me a lot of pleasure because I have fond memories of all the letters I have written with that pen over the decades. It's like an old friend, really, and exists for one purpose only-to hand write a fine and elegant letter for a friend or relative. If necessary, I will use the inkbottle to refill, being careful to insert the nib into the ink fully before operating the pump. This particular pen had a screw-type of refill pump that I've never seen on any other fountain pen but it works like a charm. Over the years I've used both Montblanc and Pelikan brand inks and had good success with either one.

Finally I sit down to write, and usually the words flow freely while the sun shines in to lift my spirits. I just think of what I would like to talk to them about, but always seem to forget to say when I'm on the phone. Of course, I also tell them about anything important that is happening in our family (like Peanut!) and comment on world events if they seem relevant to our kith and kin

In the trailer, of course, I can't go through the usual ceremony, but I still prop myself up on the couch (i.e. the "living room") and watch the world just outside our window as I write. Most pens don't write well on coated photo paper, so for the photo letters I have to use a fine-pointed felt-tip permanent marking pen. We used Daddy to print off copies of the desert photo montage, and Monika and I took turns writing the actual letters. We were interrupted when the printer ran out of ink, but I had prepared for that eventuality and went into my cartridge-refilling routine. Unlike the serious letter writing ceremony I just described, the ink cartridge filling procedure is more like a slapstick comedy skit, and I often end up as colorful as Bozo the clown. The first step is to uncover the vent holes so that you can inject more ink. For the Lexmark printer we carried in the trailer, I had to pry the top off the ink cartridge using a penknife. So with creaks and cracks the top gradually gave way and finally snapped off. Then I had to use little plastic squeeze bottles of cyan, magenta, and yellow inks to carefully inject ink back into the cartridge through the vent holes. These bottles have thin metal, syringe-like tips on them and it's a tricky business at best. While trying to squirt ink through the vent holes I often squirt myself, the furniture, and anybody else in the vicinity. This time I ended up with my normal set of stained fingers but Monika escaped unscathed and the refilled cartridge did work (saving us $25 thank you very much), so we could continue with our printing and writing until 10 when we finally fell into bed.