Tuesday started before dawn. At 7300 feet, the desert temperature fell to the high thirties. My sleeping bag stopped being cozy somewhere in the forties. I had been up about 3:30 to add extra socks and was rewarded with a beautiful meteorite whose brilliant arc covered most of the sky from south to north.
We watched the sun's first rays glint over the buttes while we broke camp. I was a little surprised when a pair of dogs trotted up to check us out. It turned out they were running companions for a young native woman out jogging the rutted trails around the lake. We muscled the bikes back over the earthen berm that concealed us and we headed southwest 80 miles to Chinle.
We stopped at the Best Western for a hearty (and perhaps heart clogging) breakfast. At the table next to us, a white haired man spoke with a woman in their native language. He wore the sort of hat that VFW members might wear, but his read "Navajo Code Talkers." These were men who were assigned to forward units during WWII to communicate in a code the Japanese could never break: the Navajo tongue. These Indian soldiers endured the very worst of the Pacific island battles. As I paid our check, I asked the hostess; she confirmed that he was indeed a code talker. She kindly let me pay for his meal.
We detoured into Canyon de Chelly National Monument whose centerpiece is a deep, narrow, and terra cotta colored canyon whose walls contain what remains of cliff dwellings. These were built by the Anasazi (Ancient Ones) who thived in the area but mysteriously and quite suddenly vanished 700 years ago.
These photos give a good sense of the scale of the canyon and cliff dwellings.
At one of the overlooks, I bought a necklace from a tiny and hardworn woman. When I told her it was for my girlfriend's 49th birthday, she smiled with her few teeth and said she too will turn 49 next week.
The next four hours were spent riding another back roads adventure toward the Grand Canyon. Along the two lane Desert View Road leading the last twenty miles to the park gate, I was surprised to see a steady stream of sixty or more vehicles heading the opposite direction. Around the next bend, the reason for the cluster of traffic in the middle of nowhere stood in the middle of the road holding a stop sign. The Arizona Department of Transportation was spraying a coat of oil on the next 13 miles of pavement. Groups of vehicles were being led through the stretch by a pilot vehicle and we'd have to wait 30 minutes for the next caravan.
An impromptu party sprang up in the desert as people poured out of their cars to mingle. The RV behind us held three young men from the Netherlands. A guy from North Carolina gave me advice to get a circular polarizing filter to sharpen distant scenes in full sunlight. A group of cheerleaders formed a human pyramid.
Eventually the pilot truck returned with its string of eastbound travelers. The party ended and we followed the ADOT truck westward.
After our bone chilling night on the ground the night before, I checked for cancellations and we got a room at a Park Service lodge. After hot showers and two hours of sleep, we had a late supper at the El Tovar lodge's fancy restaurant.
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