The Grandest of all Ditches

Grand Canyon Helicopter
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Barstow - Grand Canyon

The day dawned in Barstow and it was still baking hot.  we got up at 5:30 ready for a full day driving across Caliornia and Arizona to reach the Grand Canyon.  The passengers were all grumbling about the heat and the early start, but I knew they'd forget all that as soon as they saw the Grand Canyon.  It was hot though - the  sun wasn't up but the temperature was already up to about 28 degrees.  There wasn't much scope for an early morning dip or anything to cool down, so I ate my breakfast outside and watched the sun turn the distant hills a brilliant red colour.

Grand Canyon Sunset
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Then it was pretty much 7 hours straight driving on the I-40 interstate.  Not exactly thrilling, but I don't mind the desert - it has a beauty all it's own.  Where some people see flat expanse and desolate hills I see interesting geology and strange desert plants and animals.  And that includes the desert dwellers, who usually live in a type of mobile home, and surround themselves not with gardens but discarded Chevy's, Caravans and Massey Ferguson tractors.

Eventually we arrived at the Grand Canyon Airport for our scheduled helicopter flight.  We had to be there by 4:30 but due to my zealous planning and contingency making we arrived by 1:30 instead.  Oh well, anything could have happened in 360 miles worth of driving in one morning. So I decided to have a snooze instead, and I did manage some shuteye, but trying to sleep in the top bunk of a motorhome parked at the landing end of a runway next to a helicopter terminal isn't exactly ideal.  The only good thing about the helicopters was that the rotor-wash blew cold air in the roof vent while I was trying to drift off.  Eventually I gave up and went and sat in the air-conditioned terminal and played 'pick the tourist nationality'.  Hint : Those who look like they have been into the super size fries are American, the sunburnt ones are either dutch or british, and the ones with the bad shorts are usually German.  Australians can't resist wearing Wallabies jerseys.

Grand Canyon
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Then came the alloted flight - we marched out onto the landing pad, and were given our assigned seats.  I tried to ascertain if our pilot looked like he had kids, or at the very least a new wife.  Y'see I was more interested in getting back in one piece - a previous helicopter flight in NZ had left me a little wary of joy flights - in NZ the only joy I got was getting back on the ground in one piece (it was great but the pilot was clearly a sadistic, suicidal maniac with a glacier fetish).  But it was not to be in sue-me-for-looking-the-wrong way USA.  The flight couldn't have been more gentler if it was a cotton wool throwing contest.

We took off over the forest and flew towards the canyon - my parents were facing backwards towards me.  I could see the edge coming but my Mum couldn't - the look on her face was priceless as the ground beneath us dissappeared and we shot over the edge of the canyon - one minute youre 40 metres above the ground - the next minute your 1,040 m above the ground.  She nearly twisted the arm rest off the seat.

The flight was beautiful - perhaps marred only by the amount of haze in the sky - a factor of being summer - there was thunderstorms around but thankfully they all stayed a healthy distance away.  We crossed the canyon, circled around the north rim and re-crossed back again.  A truly memorable experience.

The day was ended with a walk to the rim to watch the sunset, and a dark and slightly edgy trek back through the bush to the campsite, where my trusty beer-man John had a cold beer with my name on it.  Great days are thus ended this way.