Mar
31

The Road to Wrestlemania XXVI – Day Two

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At the crack of very late morning, I’m half awake, and not feeling so good. For a change, the previous night’s nickel beers didn’t do me in, I just have some kind of cold or virus or, more likely, a super strain of the Bubonic plague infecting me. I can feel it in my head, my sinuses and my chest, and no, it doesn’t feel good.

Hoping the awfulness will soon clear, I stare at the map in my tankbag, and in my semi-hallucinogenic state, a new route starts to form. “Hmm, there are a lot of scenic roads up in that toothbrush shaped state. Didn’t notice those before.” As I get out of bed, I already know my plans have changed, so I grab my Map-kin, blow my nose in it, pitch it in the trash and head out towards the scenic roads of my second favorite state, ToothBrushLand.

To save a little time getting between my current location and my new destination of Utah, I opt for the highway. I had all distances, sights and places to stay worked out on the Map-kin, but that’s in the trash. Now I’m venturing into unknown territory.

I love it.

The little bit of I-15 that thrusts into Arizona is as good as any mountain road I’ve ever had the pleasure of slowing traffic down on, with deep, sweeping, beautiful curves lovingly sheltered in a mountainous canyon. Even though I’m under the weather, I know my route change was the right move. A few curvaceous hours later, I am surprised to find myself at the gates of Zion National Park.

I love Zion.

What’s not to love?

I mean really…

Zion Rocks!!

Signs at the Zion-Mt. Carmel tunnel warn to wait for an escort, but at the guard house I’m just waved on. The tunnel is a miracle of 1930’s technology. Dug by unemployed cartoon characters after World War One using mostly TNT and other dangerous cartoon methods. This is a fact that I just made up.

All I know is on the other side of the tunnel, the temperature started to drop.

After the park exit, the temperature still drops, the road straightens out, but it is no less scenic.

Utah is without a doubt my second or third favorite state. If they could just fix their wacky alcohol laws, Utah would definitely be my second favorite state after the Kingdom of Rhode Island.

By improvising a route, I knew I’d need to figure out a place to stay, and I also knew that out in the great wide nothingness of upper Utah, places to stay would be sparse. One thing I know, accommodations always work themselves out, so there’s no sense in worrying. Besides, there’s still a lot to see before the sun sets.


Today’s Ghost Rider Tribute

I follow the map as Route 89 takes a sharp bend, and I am suddenly riding in a huge semi-circle. I trust the designers of the road made this detour for a reason, and my trust is rewarded with the best scenery of the whole trip.


Navajo Bridge


Marble Canyon

I could not have felt luckier if I’d hit for thirty-two hundred nickels the other night.

On an adventure, everything is a compromise. At the beginning, adding hundreds of miles to detour to an exotic location is a great idea. At the end of the day, those additional hundreds of miles can leave you far from a place to sleep.

But the sunsets out in the middle of nowhere are nice, and riding in the dark is fun, for a while. The closest town to me is Tuba City, nearly one hundred miles away. To Tuba City I go.The miles tick off as I assure myself the big TC has plenty of hotels to host the legions of faithful fans that must visit the Tuba Hall of Fame. In inky blackness, I pull into a safe haven, and manage to secure an expensive room.

With my head still stuffy and sick, I am soon fast asleep. I am at least five hundred miles from Bisbee, where I have a reservation at a haunted hotel for the following night, but that’s a problem for a new day.

Screw it. I’ll rework that part of the plan in the morning.

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