I could write a lengthy article on the Hoover Dam. But I recommend you travel to where Arizona meets Nevada and see it for yourself. More than eight miles of tunnels, countless man-hours of work, thousands of tons of concrete, incredible genius and ingenuity resulting in the harnessing of the mighty Colorado. I always thought it was done to provide electricity for millions of people; it turns out that was just a byproduct of the real goal: water management. All-too-frequent floods and, conversely, devastating droughts held large portions of seven states hostage. Now this same destructive power is used to provide electricity for those states and part of Mexico.
Having learned all these facts, what did I find most amazing? This mammoth dam is floating, held in place by the water itself. Somewhere in there is a life lesson. The water is holding itself captive. Think on that for awhile and I believe you will grasp a truth about our own captivities.
My brother John and I climbed to the new bridge above the dam, so high above those eight miles of tunnels, the people scurrying below looked like ants running about. Big rigs hurtled across the span on the new bypass, causing the entire structure to shudder. Incredible rock formations towered even higher into the bluest of blue skies, confirming my own status as a microscopic speck in the universe at large. Time to move on to the next adventure.
It's always fun to see places I've heard so much about and Route 66 was no exception. We stopped for ice-cream mid-afternoon at a quaint establishment in a small town whose name I can't remember. The entryway was covered with business cards, ceiling, walls, and I suspect the floor would have been had it been logistically possible. Our own card now resides there as well.
The eatery's owner had aspirations as a comedian and I have to admit he made us laugh. He offered Paul mustard and shot yellow silly string all over, getting the desired result. He kept a running stream of silliness going until our cones were ready and we retreated outside to the brightly colored, appropriately shabby tables and chairs scattered about under a 50s metal awning. Old cars and trucks were tucked amongst the trees, many of them painted with eyes to look like the characters from the movie Cars. The town itself looked like it was straight out of the same movie. And everything appeared to have been there, virtually untouched, for decades. I suspect that may be the case.
We reached Flagstaff, cold, crisp, and judging by the ear-popping, much higher in altitude than Phoenix. Arizona is a state full of contradictions. Desert expanses with dry riverbeds, stark, hot, and arid. Elevations with snow, towering pines, green hillsides and pastures. Cities teeming with life and wilderness with no sign of habitation for miles.
After a good night's sleep we were ready to see one of the few natural wonders visible from space: the Grand Canyon. We stopped at every pull-off and over-look. We oohh-ed, we ahhhh-ed, we gaped, we acknowledged repeatedly there are no words to describe what we were seeing. And it was true.
Why is it there are always people who have to prove they can dangle off the edge of overhanging rocks, a mile above the canyon floor? Do they really think we are all impressed? We're not. My first instinct is to get away quickly, before they fall and I feel obligated to do something about it. Fortunately we did not witness any deadly endings to the actions of idiots.
Paul and I hiked a short (very short) distance down one of the trails cut into the edge of a canyon wall. And I have an addition for my bucket list. I want to hike all the way down and, of course, back up. From the burning in my chest on this little trek, I realize a major conditioning campaign needs to proceed this effort. And Paul has assured me he will not be joining me in the conditioning nor the hike.
We drove through miles of barren territory, close to the Navajo reservation, contemplating the decision of our forefathers to so generously give the Native American people only what land the government could find no possible use for. Empty booths were set up at frequent intervals, most likely used for flea market stalls during tourist season. From the barren look of the desolate landscape and the run-down buildings that passed for homes, income prospects in the area would seem to be bleak.
Spying yet another turn-off, miles outside the park, we pulled in and strolled to the edge of more canyons, dropping with frightening suddenness, thousands of feet to the rocks below. Bordering the precipices, more booths were set up and a few displayed wide selections of turquoise jewelry with Navajo women creating original pieces as they waited for the few buyers that straggled by. I left with several beautiful works of art to remind me of a proud nation, virtually destroyed by the greed and avarice of my own race. I felt shame for us. I felt sadness for them. I felt admiration as well, for the fierce survival instincts and strength of will that have kept them from extinction.
Miles down the road we stopped at an isolated outpost for coffee. I was leaving when I heard my name. Relieved to know I wasn't hearing voices that weren't there I saw my cousin Dorothy from Ohio, also in Arizona for the upcoming reunion. We hugged, we laughed, and we exclaimed over the strangeness of life that chanced our paths to cross so many miles from home and in such a remote location.
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