Thursday, September 27, 2012

September 25, 2012

AFTER BREAKFAST, WE MANAGED to avoid the “gun fight” staged for the tourists, and jumped on the train. To make sure that no one slept or read on the 2 hour and 15 minute train ride to the Canyon, a “car man” was stationed on each car. Our car man was 103 years old and kept up a constant line of jabber for most of the ride. Complete with a “by cracky” accent which sounded more Kentucky than Arizona, he acted much like an interlocutor in an old minstrel show with an inexhaustible supply of jokes, most of which were a cut below cornball. He was interrupted once by a banjo player who played such western standards as the "Wabash Cannonball."  A little later a  picture lady appeared offering to take peoples’ pictures for a “nominal fee.” When the picture lady reached us, she said: “Would you like your picture taken?” I replied: “No, I wouldn’t want my wife to see it.”  She left us alone after that.


Carole had scheduled a bus tour which met us at the train. When I saw the guide, I was ecstatic. He looked like a double for Curly in the Three Stooges. He even had some of Curly’s gestures. I half expected him to say “woo  woo  woo” and start performing his famous Curly shuffle. Within minutes of the start of his spiel, Carole began complaining that he was worse than the old guy on the train. Like most women, Carole detests the Stooges, and I assumed that her problems with the guide were simply a subliminal reaction to the guide’s eerie similarity to Curly. I soon changed my mind. He had an irritating habit of saying sentences and phrases twice, like the Mafioso nick-named “Jimmie Two-Times.” Also, he had a tendency of repeating certain words three times. As a change of pace, he would draw out certain sentences very slowly: “The Miss-iss-i-pp-i i-s a ve-r-y s-low r-iv-er.” Most annoying, however, he was a “required responder.” He would make a banal comment and then throw up his arms and say “right?”  If he did not get a response, he would continue to say “right?” One of his comments was “Is everyone going to eat tonight?” I knew there was a problem when Carole muttered the contrarian response of “no” to the question about eating.

He finally stopped where we could view the Canyon, and we quickly got as far away from him as possible and had our first awe inspiring  view of the canyon.  A mile deep and twenty miles wide, photos cannot do it justice. A single photo, even when the camera is set on “landscape,” captures about one percent of the view. 




























The Colorado River looked like a small creek from the rim of the Canyon. My zoom lens revealed that we were observing one of the worst rapids on the river.
































I could not get out of my mind the realization that Carole’s parents had twice taken a raft trip through all 277 miles of the Canyon. You might think that Carole’s mother was forced to take the raft trips by a macho husband. Although Carole’s dad was very much a “man’s man,” it was her mother who insisted on the trips. When Carole’s parents retired, her mother decided that she wanted to “do things.” In addition to the raft trips, she initiated a number of other trips, including a month trip to Egypt where they went up the Niles as far as Abu Simbel, a trip to China and a trip to Machu Picchu.

Impressed with Carole’s parents’ raft trips, we ended up taking a day raft trip with our kids soon after Carole’s parents returned from their first trip. Our trip was also on the Colorado, but not in the Canyon. We had decided that our kids should have the experience of running some rapids, just like their grandparents had done. While we were going through one set of rapids, I was pitched overboard. Our oldest daughter decided that she had to “save her dad,” and jumped in also. She needed have worried; I shot through the rapids in seconds. It was like the world’s fastest water slide. While our oldest daughter and I were laughing, we noted that Carole appeared to be more than mildly upset.

Carole’s irritation with our guide got so bad that she wanted to leave the tour early. Still hoping that the guide would end up with the Curly Shuffle, we stayed until the end. To date, none of the guides we have used have solicited for tips. We hadn’t even seen a single discretely placed tip box on any of our tours. Remembering my maxim that, “The worst guides always expect the biggest tips,” I was ready for Curly. Sure enough, when we exited the bus, old Curly had his hand out, palm up. I had made sure that I had a bag in each hand, and simply shrugged my shoulders sadly. Worn out from the tour, we ate dinner and retired to our room.

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