Grand Canyon, Death Valley and Yosemite National Park travel diary

Grand Canyon

The following morning, after packing our bags and scrounging a poor breakfast, we set off for West Rim, the west side of the Grand Canyon, which everyone told us was the wildest and least touristy. We had all the necessary directions written on a slip of paper, filled up the car, and said goodbye to Las Vegas with one last pass along its main boulevard. From there we took the highway and headed toward the desert. Our mood was sky-high, and it could only be that way, surrounded by a hostile but damn fascinating nature. The road turned out to be longer than expected, perhaps because of some uncertainty on our part in interpreting the road directions. The fact is that in the blink of an eye darkness fell and we found ourselves alone in the middle of nowhere.

Fortunately, suddenly, in the pitch black, an immense billboard popped up reading "West Rim, fifty miles." It seemed done; we just had to take that little road on the left heading into nothing, and we would be at our destination. Buoyed by optimism, we decided to stop in the last town before the entrance to the national park to have our dinner. More than a town, it was a sparse group of houses forgotten by everyone, with a single open inn. We stopped the car, went in, and took our seats. The place was certainly characteristic, typical of a Far West movie, with a counter where you could guzzle beer and coffee and, farther back, slightly apart, a saloon where they obviously played country music.

The place could not be called crowded; in fact, besides us there were only two cowboys, in tank tops, jeans, leather boots with an absurd pointed toe (the spurs were missing!), a snakeskin belt, and the inevitable regulation hat (even while they were eating!).

While we were having dinner we asked the friendly owner for some information on how to get to our destination, after which we weighed anchor and set off again quickly. The road before us had no lighting of any kind, but fortunately it was sufficiently illuminated by an incredible full moon. The only forms of life besides us were insects and numerous hares that we nearly ran over several times. At a certain point we spotted on the right a tiny sign indicating the entrance to the Grand Canyon park. And here came the hard part: if the road we had just traveled could certainly not be called easy, the one now before us probably could not even boast the name of road. It was a strip of dirt carved out of the desert, crossed by streams and of course devoid of any form of lighting.

It was practically impossible to travel above twenty miles per hour; the hares we encountered went much faster than us, and it took us more than an hour to cover the few miles separating us from our destination. Arriving at our destination around one in the morning, we found ourselves in front of a miserable building, without any information about where we had ended up. The suspicion of having taken the wrong road began to grow in our minds. We had little choice but to park the car and wait for the first light of dawn, trying to doze off. No sooner said than done, we reclined the seats of our Taurus, and like seasoned campers we immediately fell into a deep and restorative sleep.

Grand Canyon

As usual, awakened by the first light of dawn peeking over the rear window, we realized that fortunately we had ended up in the right place: after gathering the necessary information, we opted for a tour that took us to visit the most striking viewpoints of the Grand Canyon West Rim. What can I say, the view offered by this corner of the world is hard to describe in a few words. It looks like an immense wound plunging toward the heart of the earth, into a depression several hundred meters deep. Right in the middle of this great wound, like a trickle of blood, the Colorado River flows imperturbably. The tour lasted no more than two hours, including a delicious little lunch offered by the local Indians, since it is precisely they who manage the entire Grand Canyon National Park reserve. We still had half a day ahead of us and with it yet another decision on how to continue our trip.

The alternatives were essentially two: continue east to visit another part of the Grand Canyon (South Rim, the most touristy of all!) or head west and more precisely toward the "infamous" Death Valley. After a quick consultation, the cultural association Return to Parallel Zero decided by an absolute majority to head toward Death Valley.

Death Valley

We had already heard about it before and had seen a few glimpses of it on television, but it was hard to imagine what was really waiting for us. The road to reach it seemed fairly simple (at least on the map), but in reality it did not turn out that way. We had to retrace the miles of asphalt in reverse to Las Vegas and then turn north. In an instant we were enveloped by darkness, lost on a tongue of asphalt crossing the desert. We arrived in what could be called the tourist center of Death Valley when it was already late evening. The tourist center looked like a sort of cathedral in the desert, and as such it kept very high prices, at least for us. The only place where we could get something to eat was a supermarket, also with frightening prices.

Our dinner was a glass of hot chocolate and lots of good intentions! Having swallowed our dinner, we went looking for a little spot to park our home... in an instant we were already ready for yet another night in the car. The next morning we were awakened by an unusual heat, which we were no longer used to feeling. Indeed, we were in the middle of a sort of desert, which the previous summer had recorded a record temperature of 51 °C.

After tidying up the car, we headed toward the tourist center and, with the help of the Rangers, identified some of the most striking spots the valley could offer. It was time then to set off for Bad Water, our first destination. This is a lake with a high salt concentration, in which much of the water had already evaporated and had left a notable layer of very white salt in the ground. With the sun beating straight down, it was practically impossible not to wear sunglasses, and moreover the temperature was so high that just ten minutes were enough to get a headache. We then set off again for the Natural Bridge, our second stop. It is a rock bridge carved by the power of water, which over the centuries created a striking natural bridge that rises above a large canyon (a watercourse by now dried up).

The last major stop was the Golden Canyon, namely a canyon with the particular characteristic of having ochre-yellow earth that, with the reflections of the sun's rays, took on a golden color. Time is a real tyrant... without realizing it we had already passed midday and there were truly many things to do. First of all we had to head toward our next destination, Yosemite National Park, and along the way we had also planned to stop and take a look at other points of interest in Death Valley. We headed back toward the tourist center, where we found time to munch a quick breakfast, and then off to new shores. As we racked up miles, the landscape changed suddenly; within a couple of hours we went from desert to snowy mountains. Night was approaching rapidly and we had to cross the Sierra Nevada to get as close as possible to Yosemite...

perhaps caught up in excessive enthusiasm, perhaps by the road that invited speeding, the fact is that in the middle of the journey some nice little red and blue lights appeared behind us, accompanied by a familiar sound of sirens. Salivation suddenly dropped to zero and a lump formed in my throat: it was really him, a very stern sheriff with uniform, baton, and big gun. He leaned toward the window in a menacing manner to ask us for identification documents. We had committed the most classic of violations: speeding. After a few moments of terror, the sheriff proved accommodating and allowed us to resume our journey.

The route continued among very tall fir trees and flurries of snow until Lake Tahoe, where we stopped to have dinner at the usual fast-food place. Actually, the idea was to cross the Sierra Nevada through a mountain pass that would take us immediately to Yosemite National Park. Unfortunately, however, to our extreme displeasure, the pass was still closed due to snow, and the only way to reach our destination was to go around the Sierra Nevada passing through Carlson City, Lake Tahoe, and on to Sacramento, and then come back to the south entrance of the national park. But let's get back to our little dinner at the fast food... we then continued to the outskirts of Sacramento, where we stopped to sleep in the parking lot of a service station.

Yosemite National Park

Waking up as usual early, just the time to defog the windows of our little car, and we were on the road again. The day was excellent and the road to reach the park was even more beautiful: a gentle up-and-down among very green hills, ranches, and grazing herds. Our goal for the day was to reach a hostel located just outside the park to finally get some sleep on a real bed and above all take a healthy shower... we hadn't been able to wash for five days and by now a worrying oily layer was beginning to form on our skin, impermeable to water and weather. Once we entered the hostel reception, they took us to see the room and told us the price... fifty dollars to sleep under a sort of fairground tent!!! It seemed definitely too much to us, and besides, by now we had grown attached to our little car. But unfortunately our traveling home, however comfortable it might be, lacked a shower.

We had a few moments of indecision and then decided to do something sneaky... the hostel showers were slightly set apart from the main building, just enough to carry out the perfect crime: one after another we slipped into the underbrush until we reached the showers, and there we cleaned ourselves thoroughly, shaved, and put on cologne... we were new men!

After gathering our things as if nothing had happened, we set off again to reach the now nearby entrance of Yosemite. The natural spectacle offered by the park was truly impressive, even though to tell the truth it looks very much like our beloved Dolomites. Majestic yellow pines as far as the eye can see, among which footpaths wound their way, invariably ending at the foot of spectacular waterfalls and crystal-clear little lakes. Unlike our Dolomites, the park provided first-rate service, starting with efficient public transport, an information office, and accommodation facilities. We did not miss the chance for a free tour that allowed us to visit much of the park and brought us up close with some of its main inhabitants, such as deer, squirrels, and birds of various kinds.

Evening was beginning to fall and we were facing the same problem as always: where to spend the night? The park offered the possibility of camping inside it, but as usual the price was not for us; there was nothing left but the usual car, and so, after starting the engine, we began our descent toward milder temperatures so as not to risk freezing overnight.

The next and final stars-and-stripes destination was San Francisco, too far to reach in the evening, so we decided to gallop as far as possible toward it, stopping at the usual fast-food place as soon as we got tired.