Top of the World

The morning in Monticello (UT) draws a thin orange layer above the horizon and through my window’s frost. I run away from the desert’s wind following both the sun and the moon’s path, soon discovering the Mesa named white because it looks so clear compared to surrounding scarlet, soon discovering new red land-forms. Round and pulpy like a bun, completely red with no snow to strike, bouncing with green bushes. I cross San Juan River which, like any stream here, is cutting its own canyon. Then, I get a glimpse of the famous and majestic Monument Valley. It almost looks like Canyonland sculptures from here.

The sky is perfectly blue and I can’t believe I am facing those big large formats in front of me. I can’t believe I am facing what I have pictured so many times in my mind now in tiles and rocks near me. After I have read Navajos’ history, I ride the bumpy road to get closer, I follow the Earth’s pieces of art trail, sculpted by the rain in giant and red spirits, I wind through Totems and Rain Gods, cheering my three sisters. And I keep going on my two legs in order to put my steps in the wild cat’s prints. My day has started so early, it is now ideal outside, desert has gotten rid of the night cold. I feel so little near the giant pair now. Full of peace and perfection.

My visit finishes here at 2 pm and I already can reach my next stop, I already can drive towards Lake Powell (AZ). Only a semi has collapsed on the middle of the main road, the only other solution being dirt roads advised by locals. I then get bold, I jump on those half snowed, half melted trails. They told me it was feasible, but as I am rushing into cows, I realize we definitely don’t have the same definition! I wish some could ease my enthusiasm sometimes, I wish I could simmer my own recklessness, in order for me to stop jumping in front of danger. I am unscathed in the end though. At least, I think so…
I happily join the concrete again, toward South-Western America. I gaze at other red monuments. Then at Navajo Mountain on the ridge. But I soon get upset; the heater is on strike and I foresee my impossible upcoming sleep. If I can’t warm the car before my night stop, I won’t survive my frozen sleep.
Arrived at Page (AZ), feet in my cold socks, I think quick, I find a $30/night motel, I don’t have energy for another solution, I decide to figure out my car’s mood another day. I cherish my burning shower, the comfy place where I can write and my cozy night in a real bed.

I linger as long as I can when I wake up but finally try to find a solution for my broken heater. Shorten joy and real cooler leak, Colorado River dam sends me from where I come. Stuck in the library’s four walls, I wait for the end of lunch break, my assumptions are taking over my reason.
I should be on the Lake Powell edge, my ass on the red soil and my face in the blue sun. Instead, I catch up with my delayed adventures diaries in Page library dark shelves, far from any light because I need a plug, a thin sunbeam on my notebook. Here we go, I changed into a stunt woman yesterday, surely bumped one of my pipes and the car needs to be fixed a second time!
Once the diagnostic is said though, I can relax: it is only an age repair, the water pump needs to be changed. Waiting for the end of the surgery, I am standing in a provocative Trump heaven where other upsetting figures strike, I am living a unique but very expensive experience that I would have rather getting out of it!
I eventually can escape with my holey purse, hoping that I might save my day next to Antelope Canyon, after a quick and enchanted tour above Lake Powell, gazing at its winding to Utah.

It is weird how certain destinations become a unique but little wanted experience. It is weird how my two example had everything and yet little by little disintegrated.
When I reached Field (BC) a couple of months ago, I was full of my beautiful walk around Emerald Lake, eager to discover O’Hara Lake the next day. Except my hopes were soon crushed, I soon learnt the lake was unreachable by foot or car during winter time. Then the car joined my disappointment and stuck me for two days, in a magnificent but frozen landscape.
As for the Lake Powell, yesterday was promising as well, with its blue water in the red cracks, with its stunning surrounding. This time, the process is working reversed: the cars betrayed me first and landscapes ended the disappointment… The canyon is completely closed (for today? for the season?), only opened to guided tour anyway. This detour was for nothing then?!

Not completely for nothing of course, the few looks I got were still breathtaking. If my peace is not jeopardized, if frustration would be too big of a word, I still get to bed a bit unfinished.

The next morning, I hit US 89 road again, the one that blew my wandering from North to South, the one I left a bit before Salt Lake City, the one following Colorado River meanders today, bumps and detours towards our planet’s heart, towards its bigger canyon. I think it will keep me company all the way down but I lose some altitude too soon and the river gets invisible.
That loss is balanced by the strange day’s light; foggy, hazy and cloudy towards the valley, the atmosphere gets mysterious.
I finally move towards the West in order to face my first American dream: the Grand Canyon. What a show at my first stop! Emotions are so peculiar in front of the green snake that has drawn that unbelievable creation for thousands of years; later on indeed, the tumultuous water vanishes in the cracks, unreachable to the eye from above. I then wonder how different the scenery might have been when the first humans settled here… Less deep? Less drawn? And to think the water would have run to my sides in the beginning of the world, I feel dizzy!
And I lose my words to describe this landscape even betrayed by my pictures… I can guess the different materials. Colors confuse me. And I feel paradoxically giant! It is weird, for once the size doesn’t make me shy, it builds me, it impresses me and I feel gigantic.

I make a windy and sunny stop at the Grand Canyon Village library, surprised actual people are living here. My day still ends on the cliff and in the cold as the canyon takes sunset colors. Topped with my inadequate but necessary chapka, the freezing wind blushes my cheeks and my heart. I am fully here, I amazingly gaze at the giant wilderness. At this puzzling scenery. Because, if I get how rocks got to cut deep down – sometimes even to the bottom of the earth -, I don’t really understand why it took this shape on the way down. Thankfully, Mister Geological Museum explains it to me: the rain has finished the river’s job, it has refined Colorado’s draft.

It is unbelievable to think about how the Grand Canyon – or any other American scenery actually – affects you when, in a super-connected world, everybody has seen a picture of it at least once. We are all absolutely mesmerized. I can’t imagine how first humans, first Europeans reacted in front of such an unseen landscape, centuries ago, thousands of years ago! I would almost understand why so much blood was shed for this land, it is definitely worthy of a fight. America tore so many hearts, she was a cruel lover. Elusive. Giant. She didn’t surrender to anybody, she gave herself to everybody. All were torn apart to touch her, to possess her, to foolishly adore her, to love her with no reason nor border.

As my mind gets lost on the edge of history, as my steps meet the ridge, the sky turns as red as the rock. Unreal. Bright to the moon. And Arizona sunny flag – perfect picture of its beams running to the sky – makes sense, sun always rise or set on a flat land here.

After a bit more of wandering, I meet my bed, my bad movie and fall asleep, exhausted by my dream come true.

When I awake, some light flakes, almost icy, covers my wind shield. What a disappointment! I hoped a beautiful sunrise…. I therefore drive to town in order to wait for the snow to end and finish my historical works in my usual Starbucks shelter.

As promised, once I am done, the sun is ready for my hike. I start dreaming to reach Colorado River deep down and to spend the night there, with no sleeping bag nor tent! Foolish idea, but I long for the river. I find my way down through that dilemma, finding a compromise: I will turn back if I get a glimpse of the water from my walk. I thus stop at Skeleton Point. Of course, I don’t hear the river’s tortuous echo, only the wind keeps company to my after solstice song. It is still something, I feel full of life; making a promise to myself: some day, I will walk the entire hike to the North, sleeping under the sly, crossing the devil or the angel bridge, I don’t remember.
I have to find my way up now, rationing water and food. Focused on my muscles, I am only a walking body, exhausted, with no wanders, I can’t let my mind fly to my dreams.

As I am done with this stretch of hike in four hours – quite proud of myself I must confess – my car goes back North, I won’t go further South this time. And I give a last adoring glance at the desert where the River makes the scenery.
Standing among strangers, I look at the sun blushing one last time the canyon. It is so weird, we are all here, international and mute, longing for the same look. Unable to be together though.