Durango, CO to Sedona, AZ via Monument Valley – 135 miles
The previous night had been a late one – that’s if you call 1130pm late in Durango. We’d managed to grab the last two seats in the bar at the Strater Hotel just as a local Country and Western band took to the stage. I say stage, but it was more like a raised pallet, just enough to give some height to the musicians so those at the back of the room who weren’t paying attention, could hopefully see them perform.
Built in 1881 at the peak of the silver and gold mining era, the hotel retains many of its artifacts and indeed some of the characters still seem to be caught in a time warp. However, everyone is having fun as the band stomps out another country tune, and the one doing the most stomping is the sole lady musician, clearly the leader as she is dictating which songs are sung. When they do take their break we get served by a cheerful young waitress dressed as an old-time saloon girl, but she fails the test as her sparkly black tights are torn. She apologises for her carelessness, having caught them on one of the bar stools earlier. She takes our order and wanders off. Two minutes later a young cowboy is trying to unhook her tights from another pesky bar stool that attacked her. This gallant act takes some time, much to the amusement of the locals and as the band plays on, there is a surreal look to the scene as the young lad is leaning over the girl, her leg pointing towards the balcony, and pints of beer being passed over the two of them from the bar. Maybe this is exactly what it was like in the 1800’s? Apart from the two Ford mustangs, three Chevvies and a bunch of trucks lined up outside. Horsepower is some-what different these days.
With heads still sore the following morning, daylight arrives with a crash or so it seems, and we leave our accommodation reluctantly as the birds are out in force, begging us to stay. Heading back into town for the day, we pass by a forest fire cloud billowing its way skywards from one of the high hills beside the main road. We decide not to alert the fire services, as we assume there are better qualified people than us to determine whether this is a serious matter or not. So much for the “citizen awareness programme” then ? In the centre of Durango, we spot a branch of Subway, the sandwich bar. Now, I’ve never entered Subway before – ever, but this was going to be a familiar sight on our month-long trip. It’s a quick and easy meal for us adventurers on a road trip……..and expensive – and please don’t mention the required tip ! We take our hard-earned sandwiches to Santa Rita Park beside the river to eat. It turns out not to be the best park to lunch in. A vagrant turns up and asks us for a spliff, which I had to decline as I wouldn’t know one if the smoke went up my nose. Not knowing what to else to offer him, other than a half-eaten Subway which he would no doubt turn his nose up at anyway, we are interrupted.
Apparently by his mother and father. Having driven up to the grass verge in their car, they make no attempt to get out of the vehicle to greet their son. I’m now wondering if they know something we don’t. Now they’re talking through the car door window. At least they’re on speaking terms which relaxes me a little. His father passes over a pair of pants to him through the open window, and he promptly takes off his own trousers and throws them into the trunk, noticeably not handing them to Ma and Pa. My sandwich is hanging out of my mouth as I gawp at the state of undress this unfortunate is in. He steps into his newly starched Levi’s, and with a quick wave from Mum and Dad, the car speeds off while the lad walks lazily into the distance down the river path, admittedly with a slightly easier and more definitive spring in his step. You can always rely on Mum and Dad. Only up to a point though. They clothed him, but obviously weren’t going to go the whole nine yards and invite him home for the night.
We leave our newly clothed riverside resident so our own adventures can continue, and we move further downstream to the white-water rafting area, a cool facility in the middle of town offering canoeing, rafting and boarding. It’s great to watch for a while, the highlight of which is the confident “expert” participants then falling into the frothing waters on a regular basis. We all admire skill, but what we really like are moments of incompetence because that brings it down to our level where we feel much more comfortable, instead of trying to impress the many onlookers on the riverbank.
I want to get a better overview of Durango, so we head up past the University and find a look out area called Lions Den, more by chance than design. Here we meet Derek, the manager of the local Ranger Station who seems to be just hanging around. It turns out he’s keeping a close eye on the hillside opposite where the fire we saw earlier today is still burning. I feel some disappointment when he tells me it’s a controlled burn and he has a team making sure it doesn’t spread. I had hoped for something more dramatic like a raging, untamed inferno chasing some wild animals and furious residents out of the forest. However, I put that thought away quickly, half wondering whether I have tendencies for being an arsonist. That’s how it all starts I suppose. Scary. This thought is interrupted by a scream from my partner, who is sitting on a wall and finds a snake squeezing its way out of a gap in the concrete between her legs. It’s harmless of course, but for a Brit it’s a surprising experience. For our fellow hillside gazers, it’s a big laugh although to be fair, Derek takes the situation seriously and explains what it is and how to deal with it. Like walk away.
We thank our Ranger friend who has spent a good deal of time with us explaining about how a Ranger’s work is never done. He obviously hasn’t heard about painting the Forth Rail Bridge back home. We say our goodbye’s as we head back to our hosts, Walter and Jodi for a rest and re-pack again. 157 miles today
Morning breaks, and we’re on the road again, via a little trip to our new friends at Subway just so I can check out that they really are asking for a 20 per cent tip for doing not a lot. Yes they are, but I still buy a foot long tuna sandwich as they’re actually quite good. It’s only a half hour drive to the Mesa Verde Visitor Centre along route 160, but we need to drive a further 20 miles into this huge park to get to the first vantage point. We chat to a nice lady from Florida who is pulling a relatively large SUV and trailer. She seems to be on her own and having driven from the Sunshine State I offer my admiration at the long-distance excursion she’s taking. This immediately sounds patronising, but she laughs it off and said “that’s why I have a trailer”. That’s me told. Florida Lady kindly takes our picture with the spectacular view, and as we part I see a weasel sitting on the rocks, which I thought was rather appropriate in the circumstances.
As we approach the cliff houses of the Pueblo people, carved out of the rock somewhere around 1190, the view of these dwellings is incredible. We work our way from Spruce Tree house to Balcony House and on to Cliff Palace which originally had a mind blowing 150 rooms.
As we walk back up the steps, someone shouts snake ! However now being experts in this kind of animal environment, we hardly flinch. When I eventually see it, I flinch several times. It was large, striped and extremely…..well, snakey. Photos snapped, both us and the snake slide off in opposite directions.
With Mesa Verde ticked off, we move on to Monument Valley, passing through wonderful the exquisite Mexican Hat. Well, the name is wonderful, the town less so. However, the Hat itself is wondrous. Just for a minute, I’m minded to climb up and tip it over. It was only a minutes thought……….
I’ve been in the States over 50 times, but for a variety of reasons I’ve never made it to Monument Valley, so this is a truly exciting part of the trip. So exciting, I had rashly splurged out a fortune to stay two nights at the world famous (in America) Goulding’s Lodge so we could rest within sight of the huge rocky monuments themselves. As we came over a rise in the road, the late afternoon sun was creating a raft of colours across the landscape, with rustic reds and deep purple patches sitting against the backdrop of a misty pink sky. Laid out before us lies Forrest Gump’s highway disappearing into the far distance, with one or two headlights shining like little lonely stars in the vastness beyond. Our room has the most iconic view we could wish for, and I sit on the balcony drinking beer and munching on a sandwich. We savour the setting sun and the changing shades colouring the magnificent monuments, with names like Mittens, Elephant Butte, Totem Pole and North Window. I go to bed very happy, but only when it’s pitch black and I can’t see them anymore. 212 miles today.
Woke up at 602am this morning somehow sensing I’m missing something. I am, and when I open the curtain I can see why. The magnificent sunrise over Monument Valley has to be one of the great views in the world with the pink and purple hues embracing the desert sand, then up onto the already red rocks. We sit and watch until it’s time for breakfast. Yes, food wins again.
Unusually for America, we get cold coffee in the breakfast room, send it back and get tepid coffee in return. At least it’s improving. Maybe tomorrow it’ll be hot. In full daylight, the view from the hotel towards Monument Valley is only spoiled slightly by a gas station strategically placed in the middle of the desert. We have a couple hundred miles of space around us, so I’m curious why the planning person thought this was a proper place for their monstrosity. Maybe they felt the view was compensation for the poor cashiers stranded in the middle of nowhere. Who knows ? My curiosity wasn’t curious enough to ask anyone the question. We had better things to do.
By midday the weather turns, and a huge dust storm rolls in from afar, obliterating our precious view of the valley. Nonetheless it looks spectacular, and as it quickly as it came, it goes. We had booked a shuttle tour rather than drive round the valley, and they suggested we would be driving 17 miles around the reservation, however we probably only do about half of that. The guide is pleasant, but pretty useless. Either that or they think there isn’t much to talk about around here. I’m sure John Wayne would have something more definitive to growl about. I would even sacrifice the air conditioned shuttle bus for a rattling old stagecoach. To be fair it didn’t distract from the sensational, and I have to say, emotional feel about the place. Dwarfed by the monolithic rock formations, you can just see all those iconic scenes from just the dozens of famous movies filmed here. Stagecoach (of course), Easy Rider, Back to the Future, Westworld and Mission Impossible to name just a very few.
Earlier in the day we had visited John Wayne’s Cabin and the museum on Goulding’s property. It’s so small you’d be hard pressed to get John Wayne’s leg in there, never mind the rest of his body. But the museum was fascinating.
The following morning Sedona was calling, so again we reluctantly leave another iconic scene behind us and drive off through the run-down communities of Tonalea and Tsigi. Scattered with broken buildings and graffiti ridden abandoned motels, they exude a bizarrely attractive quality in their desperate and derelict state, highlighting the dying breed of small community America.
Tuba City, Cameron and Gray Mountain follow, before we arrive in Flagstaff, where the town website proudly suggests there are 21 “must do’s” in the area. Since eight of them involved bars and coffee shops it’s not difficult to see the attraction. There are a couple of could-do’s though, including Lowell Observatory, Walnut Canyon and the Flagstaff Brewery Trail which takes care of all those bars they mention. In reality though, Flagstaff is just a stop off point for the Grand Canyon some 80 odd miles away. After refreshing ourselves with a couple of local beers, waiting in vain for the old timer to strum his guitar, and the obligatory trek round the limited number of shops, it was back on the road for a quick 30 miles drive south to Sedona.
Our AirBNB in Sedona had been described as a “Million Dollar View” which to be fair, pretty much described the extraordinary Red Rocks of Sedona seen from the property. Our room was lovely with some nice extra touches, a cool-water dispenser, milk in the fridge and so on. The hosts, Lou-Anne and Thomas, were very hospitable but kept themselves to themselves, probably because they couldn’t understand my Scottish accent. Ach well…… We were too tired to go looking for a decent restaurant, so it was tacos and salad at some forgettable eatery in town before an early night.
135 miles today