(Two women from England rented a motorhome to vacation in Arizona. Here is an account of their experience.)

Don’t do a Thelma and Louise!” This was the cry from our friends in London when we told them we were off to the Grand Canyon. The film had warned us of the dangers of picking up strange men in roadside bars, killing them, going on the run, blowing up trucks, and driving off the edge of the Grand Canyon. Arizona seemed to have a lot more to offer than saguaro cactus and UFO sightings.

Arriving in Phoenix fresh off the plane, we headed for a one-night compulsory stopover before collecting our RV. We decided to try to get on U.S. time by having dinner and going to bed around ten o’clock. A time difference of seven hours made it five in the morning in the U.K.

The Gringo—a Mexican restaurant two blocks from our hotel—was overflowing with sombreros and straw donkeys; it was also full of families enjoying portions served up with giants in mind. We settled in one of the booths and ordered two tequilas over crushed ice, complete with lemon wedges and salt, and tried to make conversation over the mariachi music playing at full volume.  

Early next morning we were whisked off to the Cruise America headquarters south of Scottsdale to rent a motorhome and were given instructions on how to use the effluent pump and hitch up the water and electricity. 

The RV that would be our home for the next two weeks was enormous, and it suddenly hit us that neither of us had driven on the other side of the road nor handled an automatic.  It was to be a steep learning curve. Taking our lives in our hands and with Yorkie bars on the dashboard, we drove out into the Phoenix rush hour.

We had consulted the map and decided that we would make the short hop to Black Canyon City for the first night.  The route looked simple enough. We just had to take U.S. 60 to Interstate 10, and then go on Interstate 17 straight to our destination.

What we had not taken into consideration was a seven-lane motorway seething with trucks the size of five-story blocks of flats, and cars that made our four-wheel drives look like dinky cars—all driving hell for leather.

When in doubt stick to the slow lane had always been an adage when driving in a strange country but nobody had told us that the two inside lanes always peeled off, and after going round the block twice, we headed into the fast lane to play with the big boys.

Not as Advertised
Black Canyon City turned out to be a city in name only.  It was a one-horse town out of a cowboy film with one dusty main street complete with hitching rails for the horses, a general store and a saloon.

The old-fashioned general store doubled as a café, and we pulled in and bought blueberry muffins and a sarsaparilla to wash them down. Sitting on a mounting block in the warm sunshine, we noticed that over by the Old Saloon was a barrel that had a notice on it: “Beware Baby Rattlers.” Wandering over to look into it, we found exactly what it said on the notice. Baby rattlesnakes writhing about in the gloomy darkness gave us quite a shock.

We spent the night in a campground that had well-spaced campsites, with little gardens and barbecue sites alongside the effluent dump hole, electricity hitch up and the water supply. The warden showed us around and warned us not to be concerned about the wild peccaries that came out at night and to avoid getting close to the jumping chollas.  This advice did not convey anything to us but we subsequently found out that peccaries are the small wild pigs of the region and chollas are a type of cactus that when touched shoot their spines into the faces of unsuspecting tourists.

Back on the Road
Returning to Interstate 17, we made our way north toward Sedona. Wanting a break for coffee, we pulled into the car park for Bell Rock, which is an area of spiritual significance to New Agers. This gave us our first taste of the red sandstone rocks carved into magical shapes, and we brewed up and sat gazing at the spectacle all around us.

Sedona was the next stop—home of the New Age communities and the vortex sites.  We found a lovely leafy campsite beside Oak Creek and could see why this is the home of the rich and famous. Even the McDonald’s arches in Sedona are a muted shade of pale green instead of the usual bright yellow. 

Red rock cliffs sculpted by the winds surround the town and had been given wonderful names such as Coffee Pot Mountain and Chimney Rock. Shops selling crystals, New Age music and life-affirming literature abounded.  Tours were offered to the vortex sites, with guides to help you get the vibes. 

Sedona’s airport is above the town on a plateau, and one of the main vortex lines goes through the middle of the runway. It is worth the drive up to have a drink in the airport restaurant just to see the spectacular sunset views that this high point affords.

We were sorry to leave such a pretty place and head up toward Flagstaff. Climbing up the steep Oak Creek Canyon we were overcome by the views and quite forgot the hairpin bends.

Flagstaff sits astride Route 66, but it did not look like the sort of place where you would get any “kicks”—they must be found on some other part of the famous highway.

One of the World’s Wonders
The long drive to Grand Canyon National Park was a surprise. The Grand Canyon approach is over flat land with nothing much to see except scrubland with tumbleweeds blowing in the wind. The highway is so straight we felt as though we could have put the RV into automatic drive and sat in the back with a cup of tea. The sun shone down on us, and the temperature was in the low sixties.

Arriving at the gates to the national park, we handed over $25 and drove for another three miles. We had arrived safely with no mishaps, and we were going to see one of the major wonders of the world. 

The Grand Canyon is 10 miles across and one mile deep, with the mighty Colorado River thundering at the bottom. Pictures do not do it justice. The sheer scale was breathtaking. The magnificent strata of reds, yellows and golds constantly change as the shadows pass overhead. Each moment the view is different, with the sun catching towering rock formations and the shadows accentuating the deep crevices. You felt you could stand in the same place for a whole day and see different things.

The following day we watched the reaction of tourists getting out of the endless stream of coaches. Five million visitors come here each year. The reaction was always the same, chattering and laughing on leaving the coach and utter silence when confronted by the view.

The crimson and scarlet dawns were worth getting up early for, and the incredible velvet blackness of the nights was magical. Shooting stars lighting up the sky added to the mystery, and you made wishes on each falling star. 

Unexpected Weather
We spent several days on the rim and each time saw something new, but then came a massive shock. Heavy snow had fallen in the night, and we were not prepared for it. We kept thinking that snow in the desert was impossible, but there it was, big white flakes settling quickly. We inquired at the rangers’ office and were told that we should get out now or we might be stuck there for up to three weeks.

We packed up and joined the convoy on Route 180 heading back to Flagstaff. The snow was unexpected and the road clearers had been caught out. It was a nightmare drive back to Flagstaff. Cars slipped and slid on the icy roads and we were lucky to get back unscathed. The driving time was nine hours for a journey that had taken us three hours to complete five days before.

Detour to the Moonscape
With our holiday nearly over, it was time to head back to Phoenix, but not before a visit to Meteor Crater. This is a gigantic hole in the ground caused by a meteor crashing to earth. The first astronauts trained here and you can see why when you look at the dead lunar landscape in the massive crater.

We could not resist one more night in Black Canyon City and found a real cowboy bar and restaurant with original swinging doors and long bar. We imagined ordering a foaming beer and it sliding down the whole length to stop in front of us. The men leaning on the bar were wearing cowboy hats and chaps but they had arrived in pickup trucks, so there were no horses hitched to the rail.

We ordered our favourite tipple—tequilas—and were not surprised when they were served up in half-pint dimple mugs. So much for drinking and driving, but at least we could sleep in the car park as we had our home with us. The steaks when they arrived were just like those eaten by Desperate Dan in “The Dandy,” but we tucked them in with gusto. In America, big is beautiful.

That night we dreamed of gunfights and baddies riding off into the desert, card games and dancing girls, but it was now back to England, pension books and traveling on our Freedom Pass. Unlike Thelma and Louise, we had survived and would go on to many more adventures we hoped.

Jay Cassie lives in London and is a member of the Society of Women Journalists and Writers.

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