The mountain for which the resort is named

The Mormons, it seems, had cleared out early, since the parking lot was nearly empty when we got up. After tarrying a bit over our complimentary breakfast at the diner next door, Patrick and I hit the road again, headed for the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. Scott, by the way, had driven straight through Friday, all the way to Vegas, thus abandoning altogether the caravan (really, more of an elaborate game of leapfrog).

On our way, we paused briefly to gaze upon Big Rock Candy Mountain, and further down the road were teased - but never fulfilled - by signs promising the hideout of Butch Cassidy. We were, however, finally convinced to pull over by the series of sequential ads promising "REALLY GOOD!" elk, beef, and buffalo jerky. (Our stash was getting low.) We only bought one package, though - elk, the novelty - since it was lacking no less in price than in quality. (We would have to find additional suppliers to satisfy our cravings.)

The jerky stand, it turned out, was parked right next to Moqui Cave. Once a bar and dance hall, the cave has since been converted into a museum of sorts, housing various artifacts from both Native Americans and the infamous American West, as well as some fossils and a collection of fluorescent rocks. We discovered all this, of course, by venturing inside, though only after I had given up scaling the outer wall, when the sandy rock started to crumble beneath my fingertips.

Left: Eve climbs Moqui Cave Above: One of many fluorescent rocks on display Right: Patrick regrets that he missed the venue's bar and dance hall days

On our way out, Patrick struck up a conversation with the owner, a very nice guy who mentioned his religion LDS a few times in the course of the discussion. Since I initially assumed this was some variation of Lutheranism and was trying to figure out what the D and the S were for, I was oblivious to the great restraint Patrick was demonstrating throughout. It after we'd left, as we were heading back to the car, when Patrick bemoaned how sorely tempted he'd been to make fun of the fellow's religion, that the acronym finally clicked.

How to tell you're leaving Utah	How to tell you've left Utah

Our next stop was just past the Arizona border, where a guy by the side of the road had tables and tables of huge chunks of colored glass and rocks. I selected two pieces of petrified wood to purchase, though only after sorting through every single specimen there, while Patrick eyed the Nigerian art longingly. (Doesn't everyone buy their Nigerian art in Arizona?) On the way back to the car, we took one last look at the marquee for the gas station across the street (which we'd already photographed), and pressed on.

Nearing the North Rim

Patrick portrays his panic

Traipsing along the ledge

The Grand Canyon is incredible. (The minutia that led up to our first view - approaching and entering the park , the reindeer in the road, the cow crossing signs, etc. - seem too petty to detail, by comparison.) The breadth and depth are so immense as to be almost surreal. It seemed to me to be just on the border of what my brain could recognize as being three-dimensional.

Patrick, however, who is not especially fond of heights, was acutely aware of the distances involved. At one point, he even admonished me not to bound up a set of steps (which, though wide, were not shielded from the drop-off by any sort of railing). He explained later that this was because I was in possession of both car keys. (He had, by the way, been very relieved to learn of the second key earlier in the trip when we returned to the locked car after visiting a gas station mini-mart and I calmly instructed, "Notice how my keys are still dangling from the ignition...")

Having finally arrived at the Grand Canyon rather late in the day, we visited the two best lookouts on the North Rim (which wasn't crowded at all, validating my decision to visit that side of the canyon). First, we took in Point Imperial, then we rushed along the narrow, windy roads to get to Angel's Window and Cape Royal before sunset at 7:45 p.m., hoping that we wouldn't run into any deer, elk, reindeer, cows, or other wildlife on the way.

Our haste seemed to pay off, as there was still plenty of daylight by which to admire the view when we arrived. Patrick, much to his credit, followed me out onto all of the ledges, despite the nagging conviction that at any moment, a sudden earthquake might fling us into the canyon. This included even the last ledge we visited, which happened to lie on the other side of a slightly pesky and very unnecessary railing.

When I was a child, I routinely engaged in "dangerous" pursuits (most of them somehow involving heights) and routinely challenged the validity of that classification. Finally, my parents stopped trying to be precise or logical, and reduced their mandates to, "Don't do anything that scares your mother." Naturally, I interpreted this to mean, "Don't let your mother know about anything you do that would scare her." To some extent, I still observe that guideline to this day (e.g., I had a motorcycle license for a year and a half before breaking the news to my parents). Therefore, the photos of our Grand Canyon visit might require some censoring before being shared.

Admiring the sunset

Around 8:15, as the sun began to approach the horizon, I remembered that Arizona doesn't observe Daylight Savings Time. No matter, we simply had that much more time to drink in the panorama as the shadows lengthened and the bright patches turned golden, until the sun set at last.

As the last of the light faded, we walked back to the car. After managing to trace our way out of the park in the dark, we drove to Vegas. It took a few hours, and the state highways we were navigating made for somewhat tense late-night driving, what with lanes ended suddenly and tumbleweeds abruptly crossing the road in front of us.

There was also the nontrivial matter of getting directions to Scott's house, particularly the part that involved Scott knowing how to get to his house, though spotty cell phone reception didn't help the matter. Finally, after multiple dropped calls and Mr. and Mrs. Tesmer's intervention, we knew (more or less) where we were going.

We arrived in Vegas during the very early part of the morning; after hours of driving through the dark desert, we crested a hill and saw a triangle of dazzling brightness between the mountains ahead. So our first view of Vegas was at night, as we passed all the neon and flashing lights on our way to the Tesmer house. Thanks to Scott's parents' directions, we made it there successfully, then chatted with Scott and his older brother Jim for a bit, until I began to fall asleep sitting there and everyone else decided to go to bed, too.

I woke up just long enough to apologize for being drowsy, but was soon asleep again, nestled against the arm of the couch. I vaguely noticed someone lifting my foot up onto the couch and covering me with a blanket, then drifted off completely.