Driving through the desert on a two-lane road in what is the Navaho Indian Reservation, we pulled off where the sign read, “Scenic View.” The Navaho woman who greeted us from the small window in her white booth said, “There’s no charge, but we accept donations.” I gave her a twenty, and she told us to enjoy ourselves.
The unpaved parking lot was hard earth, of sand and gravel, the standard terrain for these parts. We stepped out into the bright sun, also pretty standard. There was a strong wind, and we walked through a light dusting toward the scenic view.
Many of the scenic views in this part of Arizona are canyons. There is Canyon de Chelly National Monument, which was another 100 miles, give or take, to the east, Antelope Canyon, also a ways off, and Oak Creek Canyon in the Coconino National Forest, just north of Sedona, where we spent two nights at the Junipine Inn, a truly beautiful spot.
Oh, and there’s that other one called the Grand Canyon, which I can’t seem to quit thinking about. Let’s just say they don’t name you one of the world’s natural wonders without pretty good credentials.
So we walked toward the scenic view, which was indeed the overlook to another canyon, surrounding the Little Colorado River. We stood there for about five minutes, which isn’t long, but in Chevy Chase time, it was an eternity. It was an impressive view and a decent little canyon, but after you’ve come from three hours at the Grand Canyon, it’s hard to get excited.
We walked back through the booths where the Navahos had their artistry displayed. I bought a little horsehair piece of pottery that I liked. The lady selling it wanted $37, which seemed fair.
We drove on, going east and then south back toward Flagstaff. Along the way were mostly desert views, with more Navaho pottery sales every ten miles or so. We passed a dead horse on the side of the road Kathy said didn’t have a head. In Arizona, road kill isn’t armadillos and possums; it’s horses.
At a nice rest area at which we stopped, there was a sign that said to beware of poisonous snakes and insects, which I minded. There was a graphic of a scorpion. I told Kathy about the time after a football practice when I proudly wore the purple and gold at Catholic High. When we walked up the hill from the field, one of the guy’s dads standing beside his pickup called us over. About ten of us gathered around the bed of the truck and looked down at a six-foot long rattlesnake. We oohed and aahed as we bent in as close as we could for a good look. We weren’t watching the dad, who had grabbed the snake’s rattle and given it a good shake. Some of those guys are probably still running.
Before heading back to the hotel, I drove over to Mt. Humphrey, whose summit rises to 12,633 feet, making it the highest point in Arizona. There was still quite a bit of snow up there. I had seen ads for a ski lift and wanted to check out the views from the top, but when we got to the entrance, it was closed. But we drove the seven miles up to the ski lodge, through the Aspens and Junipers. We could have hiked the rest of the way, but the trail was labeled as “Strenuous,” so we cruised back down, toward the end of another memorable day.