Grand Canyn to Las Vegas: Las Vegas to Zion

April 25th Day 37. Vegas

After our South Rim summit, marking the end of the AZT for us, I celebrated in the same way I usually do when reaching civilisation after any amount of time away:

We walked from our finish point back to the hiker biker campground and on route, bumped into My Best Friend, who’d returned a day early from his trip to the canyon. He went to collect our bag of crap we left with his pal, and we went to purchase him, and us a camp spot at Mather Campground.

We commenced shower and laundry tasks and while we waited Snakes planned our minute by minute Las Vegas itinerary. We had no town clothes as they were in that bag of crap we were waiting on, so we dried ourself on our ‘tub time’ buffs and donned waterproofs while our clothes were in the machine. Always glamorous, sticky and uncomfortable, but a necessary evil when all garments need a wash.

From here we went for a taco salad and met Octane and Always (the Spreadsheet Twins). They were prepping for a 5 or 6 day adventure through the canyon and hope to hitch a ride on a raft to cross the Colorado River, before bushwhacking up the other side. Octane bought paracord so he could attempt to possibly fashion snow shoes with sticks and elk bones.

We ate dinner with MBF and stayed on for a drink with the Twins. A sort of sense of completion, on a trail we had a turbulent relationship with. This wasn’t exactly the plan, it wasn’t exactly the trail we’d set out to do and we had to change tack a few times, but it was still and adventure. We’d met good and great people and along with Grand Canyon, our Saguaro cactus pals, the Super bloom of wild flowers it was all quite possibly, worth the ridiculous faff, logistics, sidestepping, bloody rocks and old lady knee issues. I think.

We slept soundly, our last night in a tent on the AZT.

In the morning we woke and had a leisurely coffee on the campsite. Octane bought us breakfast before he and Always departed on the last leg of their adventure. We wished them well.

Snakes and I had the remainder of the day to mooch around the gift shops, walk another section of the rim, mock the rodiculous signage within the canyon, eat ice cream and board our bus to Vegas.

Our bus turned out to be an empty space on a tour bus of the canyon, returning to Vegas. 2 other hikers were at the back, by the loos, sat next to us, which made us feel more like home. Especially with that hiker musk highly pungent from one of them..

We booked this trip through Greyhound (national bus service) and I was strangely disappointed it wasn’t an actual Greyhound bus as these rides have provided me some great entertainment over the years. On once such journey, my pal Emma and I had a 10+ hour overnight ride across Canada, sat behind the driver. The bus had a malfunction in which, every time he turned the steering wheel slightly to the left (which was all the time), his horn would go off. Part way through this journey, one of the 16 year old students in our charge, came to let us know she’d been offered some crack, but that she hadn’t bought any. Good times.

The jounery was 4 hours. Our tour guide chose the film ‘San Adreas’ for the wobbly pot hole filled journey. If you’ve seen it you know the Hoover Damn explodes during the first 15 minites. The hoover damn, which we drove over not so long after witnessing it bursting its banks. Excellent choice Mrs tour guide. 

A good few hours driving through the arid sky island filled desert, the sun setting on our day, we were met with an immense glow of civilisation ahead. Las Vegas.

Or, The Meadow as it translates. Named by the Spanish scout Rafael Rivera, the first European to discover the spring after he rode ahead of this party in search of water in the early 1700’s. Of course, it had been known by the Mojave and Paiute people for more than 13,000 years of their occupation, but no one worries too much about that any more.

After years of rinsing the natural aquifer,  the demand of water grew with the city and could not be sustained by this alone. Today, 90 percent of Las Vegas water is imported from lake Mead, the reservoir on the Colorado River formed by the Hoover damn.

The demand on the natural watertable threatens the stability of the ground in Las Vegas, and after years of growth and abuse, people are trying to back peddle and fix the problem to prevent further subsistence. So Las Vegas may soon become one big sink hole, which may be the best place for it.

Dump me in the middle of the desert, or mountains and I’ll feel pretty comfy. Dump me in the middle of a city after dark, or, even in the middle of the day actually, and ill be pretty uncomfortable. The safety of my backpack and grimey hiker gear though, brings some strange comfort in a strange city. I like how my backpack explains my situation, and smell.

We were released onto the strip, or, into Disneyland and we needed to transfer to our hotel which was the other end of town. Downtown. Seedy by day and all lights and circus by night. Our pal Judith tells us we’re entering the armpit of the universe, I don’t disbelieve her, but I have Snakes in my other ear telling me to embrace it. I wonder if ill manage that for 2 full days.

Cities are a personal nightmare of mine. I try to avoid them wherever possible, but, this is a theme park, and a circus at that, and I like circuses.

Our Uber is a Teslar, and, once I’ve worked out how to open the door we climb into the immaculate car and are transported to Downtown. Big fat family thanks to my most favourite parents in-law for the gift of our Vegas hotel, we managed to stay front and centre in the Golden Nugget, rather than our usual style of the grimey motel 6 on the freeway, because of them.

We checked in and left for Freemont Street. Through the casino, with gormless ghosts piling money into the slot machines and bored looking souls sat at the tables, throwing money at the wall.

Freemont is loud, colourful and a lot to take in. It was 9pm and we were hungry. This is where the helpless homeless mix with the aimless rich and the line between the two is fine. A dark parallel exists between the two and, its hard to bare. Especially when we see a small dog being pulled around the crowded masses by its owner, scared and unsure, the drunk crowds didn’t seem to notice.

We struggled to find anything worth eating, the same old offers of burgers and cheese layered beige carbs. Eventually we found some vegetables and devoured them. With eyes wide and with the brash glare of lights and noise a little hard to take after the glory of the canyon, we returned to hotel and hid until morning.

April 26th. Day 38. Vegas

We were up and out by 9, Snakes had planned an exhaustive itinerary that even when she read it to me it took a while to get through. It began, as I was happy to hear, with coffee.

We walked to the dark side of town, where people, especially tourists don’t seem to walk (I could tell as there were no longer pavements). Over the railroad tracks, the other side of town over 1,500 homeless people live in the extensive labyrinth of flood control tunnels. Many people a year drown here after surprise rainfall traps them in their sleep. There are many hundreds of kilometres of tunnels here and most of them are inhabited.

But, we weren’t here to play Sue Perkins in Vegas. (I love Sue Perkins). We were here to buy clothes. As we usually do at the end of trail life, we kit ourselves out with a new outfit. Second hand of course, and today, purchased from the thrift store of all thrift stores. Las Vegas Rescue Mission.

The mission has been in operation since 1970. Those in need can get a free outfit here, shelter, evening meals, food donations and sign up to a recovery programme. Pretty impressive and , a most worthy place for us to spend our cash, not least because of the excellent, vibrant selection of wares.

Kitted out with new threads, Snakes and I walked back to the other side of the railroad tracks, avoiding a plethora of human poop and a network of wee on the streets as we went.

After our sweaty walk across town, we’d earned a hearty breakfast. Finding a breakfast establishment so close to Freemont Street, that was open (most people won’t surface until midday after a hard night on the slot machines) was tricky. But we found one in MTO cafe and it was a hit.

We walked to the art district from here, which was full of vibrancy, much like Camden. Vintage shops, tattoo parlours, curios and the like, all tarted up with a smatterings of graffiti to keep one entertained as we walked.

An $8 day bus pass that Snakes discovered online got us full use of the buses for the day. We took one of these driven by the sassiest bus driver, to the Strip. Here all the celebrity hotels line the streets with their own unique attractions. There appears to be no dress code and anyone can wander around any of them. Lucky for us.

The Venitian is complete with a network of canals running through it, on which you can purchase a ride on a gondola. The Bellagio sports its world famous fountain display, which costs between $10,000 and $15,000 per day to operate, and a laughable botanical garden in which 90% of the ‘plants’ are plastic. The Mirage has a ‘volcanoe’ which erupts daily, the Cosmopolitan, the newest and most expensive casino offers a lavish $1,000,000 crystal bar, featuring 7 million crystals in its signature chandelier. A replica Eifel tower, statue of Liberty. All of them are massive hotes, all of them have massive casinos, shops, bars, food and all of them want you in their hotel spending your money, and all of them are on average, occupied at 70% capacity, all year.

Luckily for me, I was happily entertained by the visuals and was full satiated by all the wandering around.

Before long it was evening and we were watching all manner of humanity walk by us from the safety of a bar. People watching is often listed as Vegas’ number 1 free attraction.

We boarded the bus back to Downtown, found vegetables other than potatoes to eat and retreated to our hotel. Pooped. As in ,tired.

April 27th. Day 39. CDT reunion.

Today, we reunite with two of the main stars in the cast of our 2019 CDT hike. First to arrive in the lobby of the Golden Nugget was Cliff. Ex-lover of margaritas and being anonymous in Dive Bars, hater of planning logistics and generally happy floater through life. We hadn’t seen her for almost 4 years and not a thing had changed since waving goodbye in a wintery Calgary.

We went for breakfast to catch up. It was a sweltering day in Vegas.

To escape the heat, we commenced the only input I had to our Vegas itinerary and cooled off in the nicely air conditioned ‘Mob Museum’. In three well constructed floors inside the immaculately restored neoclassical 1930’s courthouse, we’d be taken on a journey through the history of Vegas and its inextricably linked connections with the mob.

After your mental excursions with a multitude of information plaques and interactive exhibits, you land in the basement where a ‘Speakeasy’ bar whets your whistle. Though disappointingly you don’t pass through a secret bookcase or knock on a featureless door to get there and it was also unfortunately much like any other bar, the thought was there.

We returned to the hotel for a refreshing dip in the Golden Nugget pool, who’s centrepiece is a giant shark tank through which you can slide down a water flume. Animals in captivity, for no other reason than ‘entertainment’ is always going to rub me up the wrong way, as is a lot of elements of the exessive nature of this theme park. But, I’d promised Snakes 2 full days of not looking at everything with a very evident look of disgust on my face. I let this slip on a few occasions, but on the whole was doing OK, I think.

We refreshed, and returned to the lobby to meet the main character of the CDT (asides from us, obviously). Maps was in the building and that was very exciting. The band was back together. Only this time, there was a 5th member, as, Maps was a way through growing a small fetus. Maps junior was half way baked.

We walked down the mayhem of Fremont to the best Thai in town. We chatted like no time had passed at all.

April 28th. Day 40. Zion.

We began our reunion road trip, checking out of the Nugget and boarding the Jeep Maps had booked off ‘some guy’ who loans it out for cheaps.

We began with breakfast, out of town at a mighty fine establishment. The 2.5 hours to Zion didn’t fly by, but, in the nicest way. We had a leisurely resupply in Walmart, the girls explained that whenever they go shopping now, its a resupply. We stopped a plethora of time for loo breaks. I was satisfied that Maps’ pregnant bladder was hanging out with my pathetic bladder and we could stop often.

Slowly, big towering rocks appeared and the road began to wind through them as they grew around us. Before long we entered Zion canyon. And, unbeknownst to us, entering Utah from Nevada meant time leapt an hour forward and we had 4 minutes before the visitors centre closed.

Naturally, I nipped for a wee, and was therefore locked out of the visitors centre after it closed and categorically NOT allowed in to join my friends, who managed to be the last customers of the day, acquiring maps and chatting to the rangers about our hiking options. Jobsworth rangers. The worst kind of rangers.

From here, information required, we drove out to find a place to free camp out of the park. Ex-ranger Cliff had a plan, and we were to camp a ways up a hill on a dirt road.

It was continuously questionable, as to whether we’d make it up the road in our 2012 Jeep with seemingly no suspension a clunking noise and definitely no 4 wheel drive. Maps, ever pragmatic remained calm and confident that the Jeep was hardy enough, wheels spinning as she spoke. Stage by sage the Jeep span up the steep gravel hill and we made it to the top. Half a mile on, without popping a tyre on the multitude of prominent rocks, we got to the BLM land and the spot where we were now permitted to camp. And what a spot it was.

The Bearau of Land Management, manage land that no one owns or necessarily wants. Some of this is designated for specifics, and some is land one can camp on, wherever. I understand the difference in sizes between the countries, but I wish we had some more of this ‘no man’s land’ in the UK. A big part of the reason I love these trails is that you can just drop and sleep wherever. I’ve wild camped a lot in the UK and while I’m usually up for a good bit of trespassing (thanks to my ever keen to trespass Dad) to do so, it does add another layer of stress to the activity. And there are some places and some situations where it would be impossible.

We unpacked the Jeep, walked a short ways to a viewpoint and flat spot and picnic’d to our hearts content. Reminiscing about the plethora of dirt spots we’d camp together in a continuous line from Mexico to Canada, the dive bars we’d spent time in, the people we’d met, places we’d been and the many time we’d been in hysterics at the expense of eachother.

We lay out to cowgirl camp as the night was clear and dry and we chatted into the evening.

April 29th. Day 41. Zion

We’d  agreed on a 5am start, so I could have coffee before packing up and we could get to Zion before everyone else. But, since we’d lost an hour when we travelled into Utah from Nevada, 5am was the old 4am and the light didn’t wake us. The moon was refilling itself and had kept all of us awake for a lot of the night. When I did wake at the old 5am, but now 6am, the sun was just rising. I let off a vocal alarm to the girls to wake them and Maps responded with “snooze”. So we did.

We had, what felt to us like a lazy start. Relaxing in our bags I boiled water for  everyone and we drank coffee and ate breakfast from the comfort of our homely patches of earth atop this hill.

We descended the hill in our rickety Jeep without incident. Much to my surprise. Maps did a fine job on the driving front. Having never been driven by Maps before I had no reason to doubt her skill level here, except for the fact one of the first things she’d said when we all got in the car was “I’m surprised how happy you all are to let me drive”. I’m not great at relinquishing control generally, and especially not in moving vehicle (hence hating flying, and progressively, boats and trains too). Maps assures me that “when I let go of control, what’s left is trust”. Though, trust feels an awful lot like fear right now.

We entered the park, with no one to check our $35 permit from yesterday. It was still early and decidedly quiet. We sorted day packs, somehow ours was still loaded with equipment for all eventualities, namely hunger, and we hopped on the shuttle.

Happily cars can’t drive into the canyon, they’re all left at the visitors centre and a shuttle takes you to one of 7 stops up the canyon, all leading to various hikes. Some require permits and some don’t.

Cliff is injured and Maps is heavily laiden with Maps jnr. so today was about slow paced sauntering. Joyful. Angels landing is one of the most popular hikes in Zion and, while we didn’t have a permit for it it turned out you only need that permit for the very last section on the hike, so we went until we could go no more. Steeply up the canyon on well maintained trail to the top outlook. I’ve never hiked with these gals when we’ve not been on a schedule of 20 miles or more,  so it was a pleasure to sit at the top for as long as we wanted and break.

The Park was impressive, the canyon was created by erosion from the raging Virginia River below and all layers of different rock created a striped effect. The valley was lush and green and the contrast in colour was magnificent.

After we returned the valley we turned up the next trail to the emerald pools. Not particularly emerald but pools nonetheless. The day was sweltering.

From here we went to Zion Lodge. The lodges in National Parks have become a real attraction for us. They’re often beautiful and atmospheric, and sell beer. Even though the day was getting busier and it was lunchtime we still managed to swiftly get a shady table one which we ate tacos at the all you can eat lunch buffet. I ate all I could, then needed a lie down on the grass.

We caught the shuttle back down the valley then back to the car we drove up and out to the east through the mile long ‘Zion Mount Carmel Tunnel’ to the other side of the park. This was a total spectacle. Like being on the moon. We stopped at checker board mesa which was an impressive lump of rock with lateral and bilateral scaring.

After this impressive tour we descended back to the valley. The bar at the bottom called us in.

Everyone is ID’d on arrival. Our uk driving licences wouldn’t do, so passports were requested. Weird. The hostess at the door looked at my passport then said “I’ll be right back” and walked swiftly off with it. Feeling pretty uncomfortable with this, I chased her down and asked where she was going with my most important possession, she didn’t respond and gave it to another woman behind the bar who started noting details down from it, I asked, more agrievously now what she was doing. Utah, is the centre of Morman influence, 66% of Utah residents are Morman. Just like drug dealers don’t tend to be addicts, Mormons don’t drink. But seemingly they do owns bars, and they owned this one. My passport details were taken to track internationals. Why, the bartender was unclear. The bagged bottle of wine I’d just bought next door, was to be kept behind the bar and we had to order food in order to have a drink. Depending on how many drinks we intended to have, the amount of food we were obliged to order would vary. Sounds like the Mormons are making a meal of running a bar.

Snakes wanted to leave as all of this was oppressive, stupid and made us uncomfortable, but the friendly Californian not Morman server who agreed this was all very unnecessary, stupid and objectionable, was enough that we ordered salsa in order to be able to drink a beer. I asked him if turning off the terrible music blaring from above would be un-morman, and he agreed it would be fine on account that the music was “god awful”, which was accurate.

After our sinful beer, we left he park boundary for another BLM site Cliff found for us. Nestled by a creek in desert shrub, we laid out our tyvek picnic blanket and feasted on yesterday’s picnic food and noodles. We chatted until dark and retured to our tents, which we only pitched on account of the Moons light.

April 30. Day 42

Our last tent morning in the American West was warm and sunny. Our last coffee at on the dirt floor, the last wild poop, were all most enjoyable, more enjoyable so, to be entering a deep and serious conversation with great meaning before 8am (as was always the case with Maps around) was priceless. To end our tumultuous trip with two pals we’d experienced so much with, to recount the funny times, to remind eachother of our highly entertaining personal nuances, to reflect on the time spent on trail, the four years off the trail in which we’d all pined for that time, and those relationships which are so immediately important, was definitely the best way to end.

We stopped for a bagel breakfast enroute, and went to a dinosaur museum, in which the girls went to the loo, while I bought cactus socks before we all left having not been into the main exhibit.

To round off the whole trip, we popped into Las Vegas REI. In the 4 years since I was last in one, prices have rocketed to an extortionate amount. My sole purchase was a freeze dried meal of sticky mango and rice, as its Snakes’ favourite ever desert. There’s every chance it will be awful.

It was 35 degrees and uncomfortable.

We headed back into the Vegas armpit now, back to ‘The Strip’ and after at least 8 miles of walking through the maze of casino we made it to the front desk of the Luxor Hotel. It being a Sunday night, rooms were at an all time low price.

The girls came up to our room for sneaky showers then departed. Cliff to continue her visit in Nevada with a friend, and Maps back home to Denver.

Snakes and I washed our filthy carcasses for the first time in 3 days, donned our snazzy thrift store purchased outfits and headed out onto the strip for cocktails to celebrate our last night in the armpit.

We finished up in an Irish pub, with an Irish musician playing Johnny cash. We had the best Mac and Cheese of my life, and turned in to bed for 10pm, only waking to the mayhem of notification of our flights home being delayed…. Which is pretty much how we began this roller coaster of a trip.

Thanks to all of you lot for reading, much gratitude for the notes of encouragement throughout. Your reading keeps me writing. And a HUGE special thanks to our ever supportive and most favourite sets of parents for the constant love, and dog sitting. Next time, Hadrian’s wall, with Winnie in tow….