The Grand Canyon Trip

 Journal of Our Journeys

Chapter 18 - Big Hole in the Ground

In June of 1977, we took off for Arizona and the Grand Canyon. This was the first, and well, only trip that I remember Mom asking for my input. All the other years, Pat and I just packed our stuff and jumped in the camper when it was time to go. I am sure they told us where we were going, but I don't remember ever being asked where we wanted to go.

Maybe it was because Pat graduated from high school that spring and wouldn't be going with us on this trip because she had to work. Here is the crazy thing – guess where she worked that summer, as well as the summer before? A campground. Isn't that ironic? Her science teacher, along with his wife, ran a campground just north of town, and he had asked Pat to help out there. After all the camping we had done over the years, you would have to believe that she had at least some of the qualifications required to do the job.  

Whatever the reason, Mom asked me that spring where I wanted to go on vacation. And I came up with the Grand Canyon. So, a week after Pat graduated, we left her home to have her own shenanigans and headed to the southwest.

It was a different trip. It was our first major trip in the new fifth wheel and the first one without Pat. I must admit that I got pretty lonely. Maybe Dad sensed that I would be, and that was why he gave me the task of being the keeper of the camper log. I kept track not only of the towns we stayed in, but also the mileage and the cost of campgrounds and gasoline. I even had a column for comments on the campgrounds.

This trip cost us $269 in gas and $75 in campgrounds. Hmm? In this day and age, you can't get a one-night hotel stay for $75, and on this trip, we were gone for two weeks. Dad kept track of the MPG, and we averaged just under 10 miles per gallon. I suppose that's not bad, towing that 26-foot trailer with the old pickup. I don't think a similar rig 30 years later would do any better.

The Grand Canyon was indeed awesome. It is one of those places that you can't wrap your mind around. It is just so big, immense, kind of like Niagara Falls. Your eyes can only take in so much at one time. The colors are constantly shifting; if you only stopped at one scenic overlook and spent the day there, you would feel as if you had seen several views because the light is always changing.

          On the way home, we drove through the Four Corners area, where the states of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah meet. A 30-mile drive into Colorado is Mesa Verde National Park.

From the year 600 A.D. to 1300, the ancestral Pueblo people lived here. Their homes were often built into the overhangs of the many cliffs in the area. The largest such dwelling, Cliff Palace, has 217 rooms and is estimated to have accommodated 250 residents. As large as Cliff Palace was, it was hard to picture an entire village living there.    

Our next diversion was the Black Hills of South Dakota. As long as it was on the way, we couldn't resist visiting again, even though Crazy Horse still looked the same.

A problem sprang up when we encountered a detour in Lead, South Dakota, and took a wrong turn. We ended up driving up a narrow city street that grew narrower and steeper the further we went. We soon realized that we had to be on the wrong road, especially when the road suddenly ended at a dead end.

Well, Mom was not too happy. Remember the episode with the railroad tracks when we were smelt fishing? Remember that I couldn't recall Mom's reaction clearly? Well, I remember her reaction to this miscalculation, and it wasn't to compliment Dad's navigation. 

It wasn't anyone's fault except for the highway crew, who couldn't accurately mark a detour. Mom had a few words, and Dad just slowly, cautiously turned around. I don't know how he did it; the driveways were all only wide enough for one compact car, and the street wasn't much wider. 

I started feeling that I preferred the pickup camper. I had rarely ridden in the truck's cab, so I never heard any of the arguments between Mom and Dad, and I'm sure there had been others over the years. From the bed above the cab, I would also have had a better view of the turning, although it would have only been half the fun with the much smaller rig.

Of course, thinking about the driving skills Dad employed to park the fifth wheel in the Red Barn, I don't know how I could doubt his ability to navigate it around a dead-end street in Lead, South Dakota.