Grand Canyon III

I’d fully intended to kick off this post with my latest enchantment at the Grand Canyon, but in between my day there and today’s arrival in Santa Monica, I spent last night in Sin City.  And it left me speechless!  So I have to get it out of my system right away.  Yes, I was here once before, ever so briefly:  Ricky the Beagle and I did a super-quick stopover on LA/XC-1 (2011).  We were heading from the G.C. to L.A., and how could I go through life without seeing Las Vegas even once, was my thinking back then.  Obviously,

in Ricky’s company, I couldn’t comfortably go into any of the night spots or casinos for a sampling of the scene, so we settled for an obligatory stroll up and down the Strip.  He pooped, I cleaned up after him . . . and we were on our way.

But on the current swing I was in the company of Robby and Brianne — and Robby, stemming from his USC days, pretty much considers Vegas his home-away-from-home.  He confessed last night that during one seven-month stretch while he was at school in L.A., he made five separate “business trips” (his term) to Las Vegas.  So

yesterday, as we approached the city driving north on Route 93 from the Grand Canyon, Robby got increasingly giddy, bouncing up and down on the shotgun seat like a little kid — quivering with excitement.  And when I left him last night to head back to the hotel, he was still socked in comfortably at his friendly blackjack table at the Venetian.  He’s promised me he’ll guest-blog in the next day or two or three, so maybe he’ll tell you how he made out.  (Hint:  This morning, he couldn’t scrape together enough cash to tip the valet as we pulled away from the Westin Las Vegas.)

This carnival of a city is just so freakin’ weird!  You can’t tell day from night, you’ve got mammoth towers made to look like European palaces, fireworks, fountains — glitz overload wherever you look.  So we’re sitting at an Italian restaurant amidst all the opulence, and in strolls this dude with a belly out to here, dressed like he’s heading for a pickup game on some street corner in the Bronx, with an open bottle of Corona in his hand, and makes himself comfortable at a nearby table.  Didn’t order anything, as far as I could see.  And he was one of the classier specimens I picked out in the teeming humanity!  Total freak show.  Truly mind-bending.  Please, may this be the last time I ever set foot in this place!

The Grand Canyon.  Now that’s another story!  This was my third visit, and I’d say the third time’s the charm . . . except that

every time is a charm.  If anyone ever comes to the Grand Canyon and tells you it was no big deal, that person is flat-out lying.  A cousin of mine (who shall not be named) says his family really wants to visit, but he tells them, who needs to see a big crack in

the ground?  Well, Cuz, get your butt out here — and then I dare you to say that.  There’s the immensity and scale of this gash — the Colorado River winds one mile below the edge, and the distance from the South Rim to the North Rim ranges from 10 to 18 miles.  There’s the other-worldly rock formations.  And then there’s the colors — the absurdly gorgeous southwestern palette of pinks and purples and coppers.  Even my millennial sidekicks were blown away, and these are people not easily moved by anything they can’t pull up on their iPhones.  The three of us ventured

down into the canyon on the hiking trail from Grandview Point —  and it was both awesome and terrifying!  The Colorado River loomed 5,000 feet below us, and there wasn’t a whole lot to keep us from swan diving down into it.  (I flashed back to that time some 40 years ago when I climbed the cliff trail of Huayna Picchu to get my photo of Machu Picchu on a narrow slippery path after a rain — with the Urubamba River beckoning below.)  But the panoramas from the trail were that much more stunning, owing to the proximity, the lack of restraining rails, and probably the

adrenaline rush!  I was also on a high from getting us all admitted free using the senior lifetime National Parks pass I purchased for 25 bucks back in 2011, on my first visit to G.C.  I’ve used it on more than a dozen park visits since, and have saved at least $300.  #benefitofgettingold.

Am writing now from my perch in the Loews Santa Monica, familiar stomping grounds for both Ricky the Beagle and Kemba the Duck Dog.  As I make plans with the group — Carol met up with us here today — to watch my red-hot Jets (one-game winning streak!) take on the Redskins tomorrow at Barney’s Beanery on the Promenade, it occurs to me that I still haven’t covered last week’s Sunday Miracle in Indianapolis.  (Jets win!  Dolphins win!  This never happens!)  Also behind on some other stops from earlier this week.  Having too much fun on the Epilogue Trip to stay current.  Indy, St. Loo, Albuquerque — sorry!  You’ll get your shout-outs in my next post, and that’s a promise!

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