SPAZNEV: The Grand Canyon

The waffle incident and a few pictures from the last leg of the trip.


Boy, did I ever crap the bed on finishing this road diary webdiary. It’s been like six months since we went to the desert and there’s snow all over the place and I decided I’ve earned these three beers over the past hour so what better time to write about hot hot heat?

Update: out of beer.

The problem with being out of beer right now is that I don’t really have any mix, and my other option is switching to scotch. But scotch is 1) delicious and b) expensive so I don’t really want to get into it. But I may have to.

Irregardless, let’s continue the adventure where it left off. We slept in Flagstaff, Arizona at a place with a continental breakfast. Unfortunately, this is where the funniest and racistest thing happened from the whole trip. First, let’s have some waffle royalty-free stock photography:

Don’t drink and dumb. I’m listening to Dance Gavin Dance’s new album “Mothership” and think it’s pretty good if you like screamy music.

Ha ha, that’s what you get when you google search “waffle stock image”. Let’s all imagine the dude in the chain mail is Mel Gibson and forget that ever happened.

Okay, so here’s what happened in the continental breakfast kitchen. There’s a make-your-own waffles station. I think, “shit yeah, waffles” and wait my turn behind some dude and get excited for imminent waffles. I use the machine (it’s like a soft-serve ice cream thing) to pour myself a cupful of waffle mix and pour it into the waffle iron and seal it shut.

While my waffle is cooking I fill up my tray with like eight muffins and some apples and six yogurts and some cereal; all the usual continental breakfast shenanigans. As I’m doing this, I notice a super-asian, “no-speaka-da-english” kinda guy eyeing up my waffle. He’s definitely encroaching on my territory, so I move close and say, “that’s my waffle cooking in there, just so you know.” I’m a no-bullshit kind of guy. He looks at me and says “sank you, sank you” as if he’s getting my waffle. But he’s not. So I say, “no, it’s my waffle in there.” Point at myself, say “my waffle.”

He is unfazed. “Arrigato,” says the man, “sank you, sank you.” By this point I know I’m getting PO’d because I know he’s going to snake my waffle. “NO. NO SANK YOU,” says I in a very F. U. sort of way as I wedge my body between his greasy little mitts and the hot part of my breakfast.

He is unfazed.

At this point I decide I’m tired and cranky and this guy is really not getting my excited about waffles so I walk away. I don’t totally remember what happened, but my imagination tells me that the waffle burned and a motel worker had to peel it out as he tried to motion me over to take the waffle. “No sank you,” I tell him.

And with that we loaded up the RAV8 and start driving to Gramd Canyon City, Arizona.

I’m think due to lack of waffles, sank you very much. Also this is how Madman likely remembers the trip.

We rolled in to the Grand Canyon and Madman dropped a deuce while I went to the edge of the rim (ha ha) and mentally laughed at tourists with selfie sticks. Am I cynical? Yeah, a little. But the downside of showing up at the Grand Canyon in the middle of a sunny day is that sunny days make things look shitty. The light is bad, air pollution is at it’s worst. So we went to our campsite and set up. It turns out you can walk to the edge of the canyon from our campsite, which is neat.

Thanks, visitor’s center: if the Grand Canyon was made of wood, it might look like this. They didn’t even bother to use wood that changed in age by millions of years from bottom to top. That’s just shoddy workmanship.
Madman said, “hey, can you take a picture of me on my phone so I can send it to Doback?” and I was like, “sounds kinda dumb but okay.”

Let’s get things straight: by this point in the trip we were both tired as the day is long and a bit adventured out. We did a lot of sitting around and reading and looking at a canyon that was impressively carved over millions of years by nature and not necessarily accomplishing very much.

It’s called a self-portrait if you’re not a dick about it.

So we read books and played with our cameras and we went to this old hovel where some native people lived before the white man realized there was money to be had.

Then we had a bomb fire! Why do they call it a bongfire? No one knows!

Apparently it’s hoodie weather.

On our last real day, we did some hiking down into the canyon. Not all that far though, it was like the green-circle hiking trail, but it was sunny all over us and we were tired and just happy to get back up to the edge of the dang thing, as Madman will gladly show us now:

“One day, I will walk to the bottom, stick my wang in the river at the bottom, and return to the rim. Ha ha, rim. ALL IN ONE DAY.”
I enjoy cactuses.

I guess that’s really it. Anything else would be filler. But here’s the thing: ages ago I edited together the video for this trip, and it’s kind of awesome. I’m developing my video editing radness and it’s working for me. So keep your pants on and soon: video.

Thanks for reading this. I think I’ll have a scotch after all. If you can guess which distillery in the comments I will link to your facebook page whether you want me to or not.

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