ciaranz.com

We arrived at the Grand Canyon International Hostel in Flagstaff pretty mongtastic and took the day off before our planned trip to The Grand Canyon the next morning.

There were just three others going; a middle aged couple from Leeds and an Australian woman. A young guy called Michael lead the trip. We bundled into the red minibus and Mike drove us the 1.5 hours to the Southern Rim (ashamed to say rim jokes were exchanged). We were surprised at all the snow en route.

The Australian woman only stopped talking when she fell asleep.

On reaching the canyon Michael lead us to the edge whilst we closed our eyes to maximize the effect. It was impressive, but as veterans of the spectacular we weren’t totally blown away. Perhaps after a few months of Finglands buses and defaced phone boxes I’ll be ready to be impressed again.

Mike drives us on further stopping at a lookout to explain how the canyon was formed. He gestures into the canyon. “And the layers have been gradually eroded over millions of years by tributary’s which is why,” he splays his hand to demonstrate “you have these finger like structures going into the canyon”. At this point the Leeds woman sighs and shakes her head as if little Michael has forgotten to tie his shoelace. “Of course, the Earth isn’t actually that old” she says. Yes, it turns out that the geologists have got it all wrong with their crazy theories on ‘erosion’ and ‘plate tectonics’; God made the canyon only a few thousand years ago. I’m glad she cleared that one up.

Coupled with the fact that Leeds womans’ husband suffered vertigo and never ventured more than 15 ft from the minibus I felt their addition to the trip to be very valuable.

We drove on again stopping at a lookout by a Native American market. We were surveying the drop when Michael calls us over. “Here guys, I’ve got some rocks” he points to a pile he’s assembled, “see how far you can throw them.” You’ve never seen three ‘adults’ become so excited. Lew, Rosey and me each grabbed a rock, but I paused. Throwing rocks off cliffs is like playing near a railway or not following the green cross code. Something that’s been deeply ingrained never to do. “Are you sure?” I ask. “Yeah” he said, “I’ve done it for years. I doubt anyones down there.”

Good enough for us. The stones made a satisfying crack when they hit the bottom of this canyon.

Tags Flagstaff The Grand Canyon

The first thing you receive on release from an American correctional institution is a Greyhound pass. We thought with all those freshly reformed individuals it’d be like sharing a bus with cake laiden nuns en route to the village fete. Well, a young Irish guy we met told us stories that suggested this may not be the case (the bus getting shot at, a guy sitting next to him earnestly explaining his progress constructing a Flux Capacitor). We were slightly apprehensive.

We left Yosemite at 6:30am to get the Greyhound from Merced to Las Vegas. It’s true there were some interesting characters on the bus but they were friendly enough. The 2 drunk guys offered Lewis and me whiskey from a flask (we politely declined), the guy on the row opposite snored mostly but then suddenly began bouncing and singing when a Rod Stewart song came on the radio and the spaced out guy behind us was probably too concerned that the bus was flying to bother us. We pulled into Las Vegas at 9.05pm.

Vegas rises out of the Nevada desert. An oasis of neon, buffets, roulette, men with tashes, women with tashes, where whatever is lost in money is made up for in weight. A place where every whim is indulged and everyone thinks they feel lucky. We stayed at the Stratosphere Casino Hotel, the one with the ruddy great tower sticking out of it.

It’s the first hotel we’ve stayed in since Singapore so it was kind of a big deal. We didn’t get a whole lot of sleep for the following three nights, Vegas is a 24hr kind of a place. Things got off to a good start. Lewis ‘Lucky’ Adams absently stuck a dollar in a gambling machine and a minute later it coughed up 60 big ones out. Woah I thought, it is possible. We dabbled in a little roulette, some blackjack and found out that gamblers get free drinks. Genius we thought. You wait until a waitress is in the vicinity and stick a dollar (about 50p) into a gambling machine and ask the busty lady for a JD and coke. Works a treat but of course in a country where people opening doors are tipped they expect a little something. From us they got sod all. We heard some coarse words uttered in our direction.

Guns are a bad thing. No doubt about that. But there’s a voice in your head (I call him John McClane) that says they’re cool. In Vegas I listened to that voice. Whilst Rosey ‘Dead Man’s Hand’ tried his luck in a poker tournament, Lewbob and I headed downtown to The Gun Store.

From beer to buses, you need ID for most activities in the states. We preemptively took our passports along. It was unnecessary. You don’t need ID to shoot guns. God bless America!

“You boys here to shoot?” said the guy. “Just choose what you want.” The wall behind him was a positive armory of heavy weaponry. Lewis chose the ubiquitous AK-47 whilst I went for the MP5. The guy gave us paper targets, the magazines and off we went to the gallery.

A large guy calls me over. “You ever fired a machine gun before?” I wanted to tell him about my action with a Super Soaker but opted instead for a “No sir”. He hands me the loaded MP5. “Ok bro, just squeeze the trigger, 5 or 6 shot bursts”. I pressed the stock into my shoulder and squinted down the sight…
BRRRAAARRPPP!!

Crikey.

Even with the ear defenders I could hear the deadly chatter of Lew’s AK a few booths down. Quite an experience and it really makes you appreciate how bloody powerful and dangerous the things are.

Vegas medley. The MGM Grand.

Vegas is full of slots!

The Strip.

Las Vegas was an unforgettable, surreal experience incomparable to anything else we’ve done. But after 3 nights we were paggard and ready for another spectacle of the desert…

Tags Las Vegas The Gun Store Travel

Stop… carry on.

After a long journey with only the walkman as company (thank you DJ Stu’s December mix for the eighteenth time) we arrived. San Francisco, the setting for Steve McQueen’s 1967 picture Bullitt. And famous for other stuff I spose. There are a few things tourists need to do in San Francisco else they run you over with a tram.

In at number 3. Look at a tram! Bonus points if it’s on a hill.

Hey you, it’s number 2. Visit Alcatraz.

Bonus round. How did Alcatraz’s infamous prisoner Al Capone die? Gunned down in a shootout? Choked after a drug overdose? Nope, it was syphillis. That’s right kids, wrap it up before you slap it up.

And the number one thing to do in San Francisco… go see the Golden Gate Bridge. Yes, we hand a camera to a stranger and give a cheesy ‘full endorsement’ to another of the world’s famous structures.

After San Fran we headed to Yosemite. We stayed at the Yosemite Bug – a ‘rustic mountain resort’. Within half an hour of our arrival we’d been roped into some photographs to show off the newly built health spa. We knew the drill, plus you never refuse a free sauna.

They put us in the dorm housing some of the employees. A German guy whose softly spoken articulate words betrayed his sizeable bulk and some Ukrainians. The German – Bastian – was a nice guy but from his bunk below me snored like a trooper. Every night his rumblings would start causing the 2 Ukrainian girls to hiss “Bastian!” and shake my bunk. This in turn set me and the guys off laughing. I guess you had to be there.
We fished out the walking boots for the first time since NZ. The Half Dome.

Yosemite Falls – the highest falls in North America.

The top of the falls just before it plummets.

A squirrel.

A Ford Mustang.

Huzzah!

Tags San Francisco Travel Yosemite