What strange place have I landed in? Tuba City? No Tuba Hall of Fame, no tuba factory, no Ooom-Pah Band in the town square to greet me when I arrive. In fact, Tuba City’s list of NO’s goes on and on, the worst no of all being NO ALCOHOL. The warning from the front desk is dire, the penalty for being caught with alcohol on the reservation is extremely severe.

Even though I still have a cold, I refuse to take any type of cold medicine that doesn’t come from Scotland, preferably a nice single malt aged in oak barrels for, oh, say, twelve years or so. Since I always have an emergency stash of “cold medicine” in my bag, I’m afraid the Anti-Fun League might bust down my door at any moment. In an effort to avoid ‘extremely severe’ penalties, I disguise my contraband as cleverly as I can.

Before retiring for the evening, I toast the Best Day Ever with a healthy dose of Scottish Nyquil. It helps a little, but the next morning I wake up still under the weather. I put on my helmet, and a sneeze immediately shotgun blasts everything in sight. Not a great start to the day.

As I’m cleaning my visor, a friendly Navajo man walks over to me and gives me sage route advice. “See the Dinosaur Tracks on your way out of Tuba City, then seek out Grand Falls. Do not bother with Meteor Crater, it is a tourist trap.”

I thank my new friend, and with a clean visor and clear conscience am out of Tuba City and on my way to see the Dino Footprints.

Nothing is quite as invigorating as cresting a small rise on a small two laner, well over the posted speed limit, then suddenly realizing there is a gigantic land yacht sprawled across your lane struggling to pass another gigantic land yacht. Turns out that pure terror is good for the senses, and a great cold remedy. Narrowly avoiding becoming one with the dinosaur footprints spread over the landscape, I emergency swerve away from the lumbering Winnebago. I didn’t sneeze for the rest of the day.

When my heart rate returns to normal, I pull into the Dinosaur Footprints parking lot, with ‘Tourist Trap’ senses tingling. A lone man in a red jacket waits as I park, then introduces himself. “Hello. I am Junior, and I will take you on a tour of the footprints. Please, follow me.”

I follow Junior approximately twelve feet, and he points at the ground. “Here is one. They say this was a T. Rex.”

I nod appropriately, making various ‘I’m interested’ noises, as I wonder how much this ‘tour’ is going to cost. Junior leads me to the next print, about five feet away.

“They say this is also a T. Rex. I think he was running.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” I say.

Junior leads me in a hundred yard circle, pointing out a few more prints, and places where prints have been removed. Then, the tour reaches its inevitable climax. Pointing to a non-descript whitish stone he tells me, “They say this is the bones of a giant flying dinosaur. They have scopes that prove it. The other bones are in a museum in Flagstaff. They took them away back in the forties.”

He proceeds to point out the ribcage of this flying dinosaur, then abruptly asks me for a ride into town. I guess that signals the end of the tour. Shaking his hand, I hand Junior some money but decline his request for a ride into town.

Being one that loves cheesy roadside attractions, I feel the tour was totally worth it.

I search for Grand Falls for about an hour, but the Falls elude me. My Garmin Everlost is no help at all, sending me in ever expanding circles that always seem to end up at the same place. Finally, I resign myself that Grand Falls will have to wait for another day. That’s OK, because I know the biggest cheesy roadside attraction, Meteor Crater, is yet to come.

I pass snow-covered mountains on my way towards Meteor Crater, and though it is chilly, all is right with the world. The anticipation of seeing an actual meteor impact site has my imagination reeling. A long time ago I flew over Meteor Crater, and vowed to one day peer into its rim. I’m excited to have another Place-I’ll-Only-Visit Once to tick off my ever growing list.

On the access road, I stop to take my daily Ghost Rider Tribute picture.

And then, finally, after a lifetime of waiting, my time to unravel the mysteries of Meteor Crater has finally arrived.

Meteor Crater is exactly what I expect it to be – a big hole in the ground – seven hundred feet deep and four thousand feet across – that costs $15 to go look in. And… that’s about it. They’ve made it a bit more interesting by placing a wooden cutout astronaut at the center of the crater, paying tribute to the Apollo astronauts that trained there for their eventual moon mission, which may or may not have been filmed on location in Meteor Crater.

If all that isn’t enticing enough, the Subway restaurant there also offers a free cookie if you buy a sandwich. Awesome.

After this intermission, it’s time to buckle down and get going. On the highway, another RV, this time with a gigantic boat in tow, nearly capsizes right in front of me. The camper slowly started drifting off the road, then jerked violently left to regain the lane. The boat trailer swings wildly back and forth, one wheel skipping in the air. Already hip to the wild and unpredictable ways of the RV’ers, I drop the hammer to avoid this shipwreck. Rain Cloud Follows and I are southbound, heading for the delicious vortex of weirdness known as Bisbee, a place so fantastic it really deserves its own post.

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Author: frenchy