Do not feed the squirrels, sucka.

We're driving across a plain bordered by mountains to the north and south on our way from Flagstaff to Vegas, the penultimate big journey before we finally reach Santa Barbara and the Pacific coast.

We stayed in Flagstaff for two nights, using it as a base for a day trip to the Grand Canyon. The first night was mostly uneventful; we've barely stopped moving since New Orleans and there was a general lack of enthusiasm for going out again. Instead we went to see Batman Begins (hmph. 3/5. Edited to within an inch of its life, but still mostly entertaining) and had an early night.

The next day we set off, via a trusty Wal-Mart to pick up some all-American sandwich ingredients (Kraft cheese slices! Squeezy mustard! Reformed ham! Rolls with sugar in! Good times.) and as much water as we could carry, to the Grand Canyon.

The terrain just north out of Flagstaff reminded me a lot of the highlands of Scotland, except with rather more yellow in the green of the undergrowth. The drive to the canyon went by quickly enough and we loaded up with rolls and water and found the nearest path. We'd parked on the South Rim - the North Rim is ten miles away as the crow flies, but something like two hundred miles by road - and we got our first sight of the canyon almost immediately.

It's an odd feeling to see it. Initially there's a "Wow, that's big," moment, followed shortly by "Surely it's can't be that big," as you read that such-and-such a peak or valley is a good eight miles away and around a mile straight down - it's hard to appreciate such dramatic geography on this sort of scale.

As I walked back along the path to take a picture of Dave standing on a suicidal-looking promontory jutting over the rim, a guy walking next to me said: "Is this your first time here?"

"Yes," I replied.
"Somebody told me it's like looking into the stomach of God," he said in hushed awe.

Not sure if he or I got our wires crossed there.

We walked and bussed our way to the far end of the accessible South Rim area, noticing signs along the way warning us not to feed the animals. "Rodents in the Grand Canyon can carry rabies and plague," they said, "and animals used to humans can become aggressive and bite."

We stayed away from the rabid, black death-carrying squirrels. How exactly are there any squirrels left? Surely some kind of cannibalistic/bubonic plague squirrel armageddon should have wiped the disease-ridden buggers out by now.

After a bit of very light hiking, we headed back to the car. It's definitely heating up as we head further west, but at least the humidity is less oppressive. We left Flagstaff the next morning (after a repeated, Groundhog Day-style failure to get into the only interesting bar in town the night before, but that was so irritating I can't be bothered to write about it) for Las Vegas. Westward ho!

[This entry is a few days old - we've been out of internet contact since Flagstaff until now, having arrived in Santa Barbara.]