The Du Beau International Hostel in Flagstaff is highly recommended. Apart from the nearby railway line with trains constantly honking in fear, it is very quiet. For $19 a night, a good breakfast is included, plus free WiFi and billiards. I find a second passenger. Today we are finally travelling cheaply and individually.
We head north along the old Route 66. After an hour, we arrive at the first tributaries of the Grand Canyon. Entry for everyone is regulated with my annual pass. There is only one road to the rim. There are several viewpoints off this road. That’s about it. A thunderstorm is brewing. We stop a few times, take a few photos and reach Grand Canyon Village after another hour.
It’s just one o’clock. A lightning strike has caused a power cut. My second passenger has been offered a job in the kitchen of a lodge. We test the offer anonymously beforehand. Frightening. He’s a bit down, plans to rideshare back to LA with me. We drop him off and try to get a seat on the free shuttle bus along the edge. No chance. The whole place is completely overcrowded. The shortest trail to the bottom of the Grand Canyon takes 4 hours one way. Too long, and definitely too wet today. Grand Canyon. So that’s it then. As always with the “big” things.
On the way back, we find a dirt track that winds for 40 miles to the Havasupai Indian Reservation at the bottom of the canyon, which is described as a paradise. But the condition is so bad that even I don’t dare go any further. Next to the dirt track, a vulture tears pieces out of a dead cattle in the rain. The storm gets worse and worse, wild clouds and showers paint a crazy panorama. In between, sunshine again and again.
In the middle of a road construction site, I find something really beautiful. Red volcanic soil. A rusty abandoned house. Holes of sunlight shining past storm clouds. Much more beautiful than the Grand Canyon. I take photos like a fool. We climb up to 2700 metres via Highway 180. At best, it feels like 1500 metres here. There’s snow on a mountain 4000 metres high, in Arizona, in the middle of August. Another lesson learnt.
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.