Day Six: Grand Canyon to Zion National Park, Utah

The helicopter ride

I decided that since I was here, I might as well do the whole thing, and the whole thing at the Grand Canyon has to include a helicopter ride. You can tour the Canyon on a plane, but I had never flown in a helicopter, so I coughed up the $200 for a 25 minute ride, got the the heliport at 7:15,and waited impatiently in the neatly appointed heliport boarding room.

Outside were 7 Bell 206 helicopters painted in bright colors. The pilots, all in their twenties, went about getting the birds ready  while i lined up by the gate with French family that would share the ride with me.

With the engines started and the wop-wop of the big rotor above your head, we headed for the chopper, and since I was alone, I got to ride left seat with the pilot.

The kid was busy with his check list, so he could (nor did he bother) to acknowledge my coming aboard. For him this was just another ride, another group of tourists. These kids, most fresh out of Flight Instructor School, are hired by places like this and are paid pathetic salaries to fly. They do it because it is a way to get flight time, which will allow them to get better paying jobs down the line. This is common across the flying industry in the US. The only pilots that make real money are the captains and first officers on long haul flights for the big companies.

Anyway, despite his attitude the kid was really sharp. We got off the ground ever so gently, and in reverse. I have many hours as a pilot flying Cessnas, so I know how you are supposed to get off the ground. And going in reverse is NOT how you do it. Yet there we were, flying backwards very slowly, like pulling a car out of a parking spot, before he pointed us out, dipped the nose of the craft and accelerated towards the tree tops. With the glass cockpit, you can see down, above and to the sides, a great unobstructed view out of the Bell's cockpit.



With some soothing music pumping into our headsets, we headed over the forest some 100 feet above the trees. And then the world below dropped out and we were over the chasm, while in the headsets the music had appropriately changed to the theme from 2001 Space Odyssey . And my God, what a view. in the early morning air there were still layers of haze inside the canyon, giving it an even more incredible look. We flew across the 15 miles of space between the two sides of the Canyon, heading into what looked like a box (dead end) spot. We were flying slightly below the rim, inside the canyon. He made it through a passage between two peaks, the great rocks of ages rising to our right. This was a most wonderful, almost spiritual experience.

We flew back across the Canyon and headed back to the heliport. The pilot put us down on the ground ever so gently, a perfect ending to the perfect flight. Note: if you do this remember to do it early in the morning, before it gets how and windy, or you may not enjoy it as much as I did :-)

Into the Desert, and the adventures that followed

Back on the ground I went to the hotel to get some breakfast, packed up and headed down into the desert floor. " Floor" around here is a relative term, since this is a high desert and you are at 5,000  feet (1500 m) above sea level.I made a few more quick stops along the Rim before leaving the park, took a few more pictures, then headed East on Highway 64, and down into the desert. Temperatures can change very rapidly in an area like this, and you can go from desert to forest in 30 minutes or less, with a corresponding drop of rise in temperature from the 90s (30s C) to the 80s. as it turned out, as I headed down into the desert, the air temperature gauge on the dashboard began moving into the high 90s (above 36 C). One moment you are in a high plateau with trees and deer and elk walking around the next you are in a sea of nothing, with cliffs and canyons that look like mean, dark scars on the face of the earth.

What goes down must come up.

As I was riding into what seemed like a featureless landscape I saw a dark, deep cut into the desert floor, a small canyon that look really interesting. Spotting a " scenic view ahead" sign, I decided to pull over, the place marked by yet another Indian jewelery stand and the traditional American flag waving in the desert wind. Now, this road was narrow and going downhill. One thing you never do is park a motorcycle pointing downhill, because in a motorcycle you do not have reverse, and there is no way you are going to push 600 pounds (270 kg) up hill. Well, as I head down I notice that I will not have space to turn around, what with the cars lined up on the side of the road, what with the dirt  and rocks and such. The only way out is to go down where the asphalt ends and take my chances on the loose gravel and rocks and sand.

Bruce, who got me out of the hole

One thing about the FJR 1300 I don't like is that it is top heavy, meaning that moving the bike at very low speeds requires that you keep a solid contact with the ground. If your feet slip, there will be some breaking of expensive stuff, or worse. Now I am pointing downhill on loose rocks and gravel, my boots are slipping, it is 96 degrees (35 C) and I am terrified the bike will go down. that is when Bruce showed up and knew immediately what was going on. "I have an FJR, i can help you get out of here". Bruce was touring with his wife, although they had decided to drive this time. He helped me figure out the best way to get the bike around, helping to steady it from behind while I easy the throttle ever so gentle and make sure my feet don't slip. After what seems like an eternity, I am able to put pick up some forward momentum and get the bike onto the tarmac and park it. I went down the road again to thank Bruce. Between his confidence and and his help, he really made a difference. As we talk he tells me he lives in Ventura, CA, an old neighbor of sorts. And that he is a merchant marine pilot. At the time I did not see the beauty, but his job is to make sure ships get to port safely, and there he was, helping me get Blue out of a tight spot. We talked for a few minutes under the scorching sun until he left. Trips are made of chance encounters and of the kindness of people you find, and this had been one of those moments.

You name it, they've got it.

I went to get my hat, some water and get rid of my ridding jacket, then walked the half mile down to the canyon, a deep, dark sort of crevasse in the desert floor. I took some pictures, then went to see what the Indians were selling. There, in the middle of nowhere, was one of the many shacks I would see that day, some place with shade and a few tables covered with jewelry and the American flag waving lazily in the desert heat. In the back and old man and an old woman sat stringing beads together. I wanted a souvenir from that place, so I asked him what I could get for $10 and he showed me some pretty beads on a string and I gave him the 10 one dollar bills, all the cash I had,

then headed up to where Blue was parked, put on my gear and headed down the road as the mercury continued to rise.

A few miles down the road I joined the road heading north through the desert, made a quick stop for gas and water, and got on my way. Here I was going to ride through one of the most amazing places, the Painted Desert in northern Arizona, so called because of the deep red hue of the towering cliffs that you first see in the distance, and then appear before you as an impenetrable barrier that forces the road westward. It was truly an amazing site, to ride down this great plain towards these crimson giant walls., through a land so alien and vast it might as well be Mars.

Among the many wonders I have seen on this trip, one things that does not cease to amaze me is how quickly the landscape can change, desert giving rise to forested hills and then alpine meadows, temperatures dropping quickly as you transition from one zone to the other. In a car you may not be aware of this unless you stop, but on a motorcycle you are flowing through the landscape, so you feel, smell, sense every change around you.

I stopped briefly to take in the scenery at a viewpoint that afforded a view of the great desert below, Again you are nearly crushed by the size of this land, and in awe of those who crossed in covered wagons, who settled it, built it, whose lives gave rise to this nation, both in virtue and in sin, but who lived hard and conquered spaces that still us today with awe and no small amount of apprehension.

The road, which until now had been a long, stretched out ribbon of asphalt that lulled you into a sort of hypnotic state, began to demand my attention as I headed up the mountain. With increased frequency I began to notice slight slips on my front wheel, making my heart skip a bit as the bike lost traction for a slip

second. The road bed as covered in tar snakes, patches of asphalt used to cover cracks on the road. With the high temperatures the asphalt melts and becomes slippery. The snakes, so called because they look like black, flatted out reptiles, are only a few inches wide, not enough to cause problems for a car, but on a motorcycle, where your only contact with the ground is a few square inches of rubber, things can get trickier. The hairpin turns also did not help, so I made my way up the mountain as slowly as needed until the forest rose around me, the temperature dropped, and the dreaded tar snakes vanished.

Gas, lottery tickets, guns, ammo and beer, all basics covered.

On the other side of the mountain I made a quick stop at a vista point and took a look at what the Indian vendors had to offer. A pendant with a silver gecko with turquoise inlays caught my eye. " The gecko is the survivor, the one who can adapt", the lady said. $20 later the little solver gecko was part of my journey. I know a thing or two about those things myself.

A few hours later I made it to Zion National Park, where more wonders awaited me. I will tell you all about it  tomorrow, although I fear that once again words, even pictures, will do it little justice. But it is the best I can do.