No end to rugged country. Monument Valley next: from SW Utah to SE Utah.
It’s out through a tunnel and onto the 2 lane blacktop world again.
There’s an answer, man-made: Lake Powell, although it’s pretty darn low.
Page is the town the workers on the dam lived in. It has at least dozen churches like this one, plus MacDonalds, plus the Blue Buddha, recommended but also closed.
Time marches on. I wound up eating at a cantina that had its own power supply.
These monuments take the breath away, even if you’re but one of hundreds pouring in. I headed over to Goulding’s Lodge where I had a room and jumped on the 3.5 hours “deluxe” tour, departing at 4pm, close to the magic hour.
I’m glad I didn’t take my car on the tour. It’s all dirt, deeply rutted, standing water in places, and lots and lots of bumps, jolts and bangs. But worth it. The more remote sites had a profound silence and magical aura of nature’s supreme power and the patience of milennia.
At dinner I surrender. Good good overall so far, but the preponderance of menu items features beef. I order the filet mignon, am not disappointed and compensate with oatmeal for breakfast.
Tomorrow it’s on to Durango. Still looking for John Ford, though Robert says the local people invited him back after he retired for a banquet tribute as someone whose films remain iconic reminders of the sheer beauty of this country.