Flagstaff is a really cute little town. The Grand Canyon is not cute. The road there also is not. Everything is impossibly huge. Seems a lot of European tourists visit the Grand Canyon—heard French, Italian, and German frequently—and I really wonder how Wild West the experience is or is not for them. We went along the South Rim and got to see rain from afar and up close and the shifting of the light over the course of the afternoon—it sometimes appears almost a solid thing, and I’m sure there’s a bad quantum physics pun in there somewhere, but I prefer watching it to quantifying it. I felt a great sense of peace at Navajo Point, as if I could lay my whole self out over the entire canyon and feel the immensity of it. I wished I could stay there for a long time.

Instead, we drove late into the night to Las Vegas. We drove through the Hoover Dam, since they are repairing the bridge that would normally go over it. It was like driving through a Dr. Who set in the dark (current Dr., not the old ones). It was a bit creepy, actually, despite being intriguing, probably because we couldn’t entirely see what was going on in the dark. By the time we got to Vegas, it was quite late, and we were quite tired, but we drove the Strip and attempted photography anyway. We stayed at a casino hotel a bit on the edge of the whole shebang; we got a room for $18, but they added an $11 “resort fee” when we got there. We did not appreciate the misinformation, but still—not an expensive room. And it was a big suite with lots of space, which we thoroughly took advantage of for yoga in the morning.

Today we went to one of those giant lunch buffets and felt a bit shamefacedly like delighted greedy little piggies. I don’t think I’ve had sushi and enchiladas at the same sitting before. We perhaps overstayed our welcome slightly, since we picked a quiet corner for me to do some editing, but we had so much fun laughing at everything, and we didn’t think we were keeping anyone from a table or our waitress from her tips, so we indulged our guilty pleasure. Afterwards, we wandered around and looked at the slot machines for awhile before picking one to put a dollar in. They are so complicated looking. How weird! We did not win.

Things got interesting after we left. We were heading west again, out across the Mojave Desert, but did not get too far before being rear-ended on the expressway in Vegas. I was driving, but it was not my fault. Really. Nevadans drive like maniacs. I suspect someone was trying to merge onto the expressway, but things did not go well, and everybody in front of me slammed on their brakes. I did, too. The young woman behind me, unfortunately, did not. She mentioned something about “looking up”—I suspect a cell phone may have been involved. Nevertheless, the Rabbit has a bit of a dent and the trunk is a little sticky to open, but everybody and everything else is fine (shaken, not stirred?).

After the requisite calls and forms and conversation with the police, we did indeed cross the Mojave and go through Barstow and all and are in a slightly stuffy little room in San Bernardino. Can’t say I’m too happy with the drivers on the freeways in California, but I suppose that’s to be expected.

The highest temperature the Rabbit registered was 109 in Las Vegas.