• 11 : 39 P.M. PST
  Racing Arizona

We drove out of the Navajo Rez today, passing a set of Burma-Shave style signs starting with "CHIEF YELLOWHORSE LOVES YOU" and "FRIENDLY INDIANS AHEAD", culminating in a CHIEF YELLOWHORSE roadside stop selling blankets and buffalo jerky, then a coda of "YOU MISSED US" and "TURN AROUND COME BACK" (The Navajo do not have "chiefs"). I've never been on such a big reservation before. Everyone's an Indian! To my eye, they resemble Hawaiian/Chinese mixes, but that would figure now, wouldn't it? They keep their places really clean, from what I've seen.

Oh, We stayed the night at this place called "Greyhills Inn", to dodge the tourist rates of the Quality Inn ($90/night! jesus!). We were directed to Greyhills Inn by the friendly staff off aforementioned Quality Inn. As we approached, our hopes for a cheap room were encouraged by plywood signs and gravel roads. We finally arrived at the Inn, which seemed to be in the same location as a school on the little map they gave us. It turned out to be a dormitory style motel, with communal bathrooms. Investigation of our room revealed that it is actually a "lab motel", a non-profit experiment to teach hospitality skills to those who would enter the tourist industry. We seemed to have the place to ourselves until a busload of russians pulled up around 10 pm, unloading a gaggle of russian women and a old greying dude who made a clumsy pass at Helen in the hallway.

Nothing says "bargain" like weak ads

I hate communal showers, but from P.E. to Boy Scouts to this weird place, they've found their way into my life one way or another. I manage to stifle my overweening modesty and take advantage of the pathetic shower pressure, which was a lot like someone pouring a cup of water on my head. The washcloth served as more a method of collecting enough moisture in one place to wash a body part then as your typical washing utensil.

We got stuck in roadwork involving painting dotted yellow lines. The pace car which led us and the workers on the road seemed to have conflicting opinions about how fast the line of cars should be going, as we were waved down by a work truck somewhere in the middle (perhaps people were not quite as able to stay off the fresh paint as the pacer imagined)

We made it to the Grand Canyon and lots of tourists. As far as North America goes, I think this is one of the top destinations. Parking lots were packed, and no two cars in a row hade the same state license plate.

The Grand Canyon is a lesson in humility. It is gigantic and beautiful and its timeline makes any human's resemble a dead pixel. People who realize their own insignificance stop trying to rule the whole world at once and start doing the things they can do. This is the mindset that wins Nobel Prizes.

Other people had different takes on the Grand Canyon, though.

As we returned from one viewpoint, a boy ran past us in the parking lot holding a slice of baloney. As we drove out, we discovered that three of four people had approached a Coyote and were snapping pictures of it, with the new addition of the boy, throwing baloney. At nearly every intersection in the park is a sign telling you that it is, in fact, illegal to approach or feed wildlife, and that doing so decreases their chances for survival. A tour bus driver going in the opposite direction honked at the misguided tourists and waved a finger. Naughty, naughty.

The sun is a ball of incandescent gas, but the Hopi don't see it that way

When I was little, I had a storybook illustrated with Hopi Indian art. Ever since then, I've found the aesthetics of that tribe immensely appealing. I can see the influence of their style in many things I draw or find pleasing to look at. So it was with great anticipation that I visited the "Hopi House" in Grand Canyon Village. Seeing a glyph of the Sun spirit on the signboard made me very happy. When we got inside, however, it became clear that it was mostly your typical tourist shop, with a jillion kokopelli related doodads, coasters, and fake turquoise jewelry. The pieces I saw which were authentic-looking were either $300 sand painting wall hangings or $700 "dead pawn" jewelry, sold by desperate natives for cash and never un-pawned. I didn't buy anything.