It was a relatively sizeable drive from Moab to Salt Lake, with relatively little to break the journey other than when Ads attempted a U-turn at the best part of thirty miles-an-hour. Regardless, one instantly noticeable feature of Salt Lake City (SLC) is how clean their streets were. Furthermore, the whole place was rather well organised – they even had roundabouts (or ‘turning-circles’ as our stars-and-stripes wearing amigos like to refer to them as). We hadn’t seen a roundabout in months!…

We’d booked ourselves a cabin-type site in SLC, and it was literally a garden shed with a couple of beds in. Nothing more. No thrills exemplified. A shave and shower later we headed into town for a few (more) beverages and to sample the local nightlife. Winty – perfection personified as far as driving went thus far this trip – opted to exit a petrol station across three lanes of traffic and, unknowingly, a significantly-kerbed central divide. Cue head-scratching as we tried to work out what the massive bump and jolt had been. Cue laughter when we realised. Smoothly played, sir.

In town we hit up a place called The Hotel which was a good laugh. It had an incredibly diverse crowd; in fact, the only thing more diverse was the dress code – or lack of – which saw folk in everything from shirts and shoes, and heels and dresses, to flips flops, baggy shorts and ‘funky’ (term used lightly) caps. We were also amused by the presence of bright orange ‘crossing flags’ at each set of lights, there to make you more visible to any approaching traffic…

The following day we re-lived our more youthful days, venturing to the Raging Waters water park. T’was a most amusing afternoon. The girl on the gate was near-stupefied by our English accents, stumbling over her words before eventually requesting a conversation with us (“wait… there… talk to me”), and then genuinely thanking us for speaking with her for a minute or so. The park itself was good fun – wave machines, small slides, big slides, weird slides, tube rides etc., the most impressive of which was the Acapulco slide, a seventy-five foot slide with a rise in the middle that sees you fall at up to fifty feet a second. Goooood fun…

Well, for most, that is. The day’s next highlight came when Ads managed to get stuck in the dip of this giant slide (having not somehow not built up enough speed on the downward section before the mini rise that defeated him), causing that slide to be closed for ten minutes whilst he was removed/rescued. Ads returned to us somewhat sheepishly. Myself and Winty laughed a lot…

Post-pool fun and games we dined at an In’N’Out Burger – great American fast food… kind of like a McDonalds for people with taste buds. They also kindly offer chilli-sweets with each meal. We partook in our own chilli-challenge. It was a rather unpleasant experience. Those with facebook can even see the video of our endeavours via this link (please excuse any expletives)…

The following morning was lazy. Although, we did wash some clothes for the first time in aaages… an undoubted bonus. In SLC, Ads and I got haircuts. Afterwards, we entered a Target (think Tesco but really crap) to try and find Winty, and ended up leaving with a straw Stetson and a $30 fedora. As you do. We also visited a state liquor store – one of the few places in Utah you can buy proper drinks (i.e. not the 2% Budweiser (and equivalents) you get in the bars and supermarkets elsewhere).

Then it was off to meet the Petersons, a family Winty had stayed with whilst soccer coaching in America a few summers ago. We met the family (Tyler, Lisa, Malone, Harrison, and Boston) at their (very nice) house, itself in a rather nice neighbourhood, before they very generously took us out for dinner at a Japanese restaurant that served THE best Kobe beef we had ever tasted in our lives. Seriously, it was so tender, juicy, and flavoursome that it bordered on the ridiculous. I can now comprehend why, a few years back, M&S charged nearly £80 for a sandwich that contained this type of beef (the cows get massages whilst alive!) and a few other suitably ostentatious ingredients.

Another fine trait of this place was that you were given your own chef who cooked all of the food as you requested right in front of you, which – flames to the ceiling and all – made for a rather spectacular experience. He even had the skill / audacity [can’t decide which is more apt] to bounce the as yet un-cracked eggs up and down on his food-flipper [or whatever it’s called…] several times before expertly cracking the egg on the side of his said kitchen implement. Seriously impressive skills. And the best bit… they’re opening a branch in London!…

Back at chez Peterson we chilled out in the leather recliners with a few Buds and a game or two of Fifa08 in their cinema room (England beat the USA in this one at least…) before being shredded, annihilated, and generally obliterated by the youthful Malone at Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare. The final scores sum up his superiority nicely: Malone 5,500pts / myself 850pts / Ads 300pts. Tyler even outscored me despite only playing the final five minutes (out of twenty).

After a fine nights sleep and excellent hospitality from the Peterson family, we bade farewell and headed across town to visit Kathy, Mike, Millie and Liam, who Winty had also stayed with whilst soccer coaching. We had a lovely chat for a couple of hours before Mike had an asthma attack and was rushed off to hospital. It’s a credit to the American way of doing things that ‘first responders’ were there within a minute or two of the phone call, and that he was able to return home within a few days.

Following the dramas of the morning we visited Park City, which hosts the Sundance Film Festival each year, and had a wander around the delightfully rustic (many wooden-fronted shops, big café culture, etc) and altogether rather attractive town. The town also had several markers, signposts, and information boards relating to the Winter Olympics that Salt Lake City hosted back in 2002.

So, naturally, we made our way past the once-Athlete’s Village to the main Olympic Park and its visitor centre and exhibits. We toured around the site, perusing various locations such as the bobsled track (spectators get that close to the action that they could pretty much reach out and touch the passing athletes), and the insanely vast and ridiculously steep ski-jump, before pausing to watch several future international athletes practicing freestyle jump tricks into an air-filled swimming pool  (check the video below out). It was all rather cool really.

[I've included several photos below from around the park (and one from in the museum, you guess which), and hopefully if you click here you should get a link to a long video of some freestyle practice jumps I posted on youtube with some delightful in-depth commentary from Winty...)].

The chap on the front desk also informed us that for “just” $60 we could “do” the Olympic bobsled track (they call the sled the ‘Comet’). We were intrigued. Very intrigued. But at nearly 5pm we had left it too late in the day sadly. Not to worry though, we planned on returning the following day…

That night we aimed for some more roadside roulette, but a lack of suitable locations and superfluity of state law enforcers in potentially apt places eventually enforced a 2am check-in at a rather ghastly motel, complete with hookers in the lobby, one of whom was tattooed from head-to-toe, resembling a wall of graffiti. Regardless, the following morning’s complimentary coffee rather made up for the other deficiencies.

Indeed, that morning saw us head to a bar called Green Street to watch the England-Slovenia (and USA-Algeria) group decider. The place was absolutely rammed with American fans, kindly booing us on entry, but the bar staff took pity and got two of the twenty televisions switched from the US game to the English one. We were even interviewed by a girl from the Salt Lake City Tribune for an English perspective on the progress of American ‘soccer’ over the previous few years – read the published article (with our expert opinions included) via this link!

The atmosphere built nicely. There were an abundance of American flags and various American sporting shirts on show. Several pro-US chants (and a couple of anti-English ones) were belted out with gusto, interspersed by a few folk offering the dulcet tones of their vuvuzelas. Defoe scored for England. We cheered. The Americans booed. The games teetered along precariously – England leading and about to progress; America drawing, about to exit the World Cup. And then, a fine moment: our final whistle (meaning progression from the group stages) coming at exactly the same time as the Americans finally scored a (winning) goal. We cheered. They cheered. We all cheered. Some American chap bought us a load of double whiskey shots in mutual celebration. It was 10am after all. Even a German chap congratulated us.

In a fine mood from the morning’s enjoyable football supporting, the subsequent drinking and resulting early-afternoon’s sobering-up, we headed back to the Olympic Park for some bobsled madness. $60 was steep, very steep, but how many times do you get to do an Olympic bobsled track? We were driven down by a chap who was the US national team’s #5 for several years, hitting 70mph, pulling 4G on the way, and clocking a time of 1:03:05 [a dollar per second!], which we were told was rather rapid for only three people in the sled (Winty’s shoulder sadly prevented him doing it).

It was a crazy experience, kind of like an absurdly exciting rollercoaster but yet way more intense – after all, it was just one chap we’d never met before steering us down. The compression felt in the belly of some of the more aggressive corners I find impossible to describe, but if you check out the video embedded above (which someone else took) you can see what we went through. The adrenalin was pumping, quite a rush! My three predominant memories are that firstly, we were going bloody fast; secondly, that we were also pretty much sideways in several corners; and finally, that it was almost impossible to lift your head enough to look upwards. A crazy, crazy experience…

And that was pretty much it for our Salt Lake City sojourn. A city that had a reputation of offering so little, ended up delivering so much. Funky nights out, water parks, chilli challenges, ridiculously tasty Kobe beef, a couple of genuinely lovely families, a cracking atmosphere for a football (‘soccer’) game, the Olympic Park, and an utterly unforgettable and absurdly mind-blowing Olympic bobsled run. Not too bad for a city most Americans still view as being ‘decidedly short on spontaneous public fun’…

On entering Arches, we were immediately greeted by a plethora of mazy cliffs and daunting rock formations, passing the La Sal Mountains Viewpoint en route to a collection of gigantic rock arrangements near the Courthouse Towers Viewpoint that included The Organ (see the first photo below with Winty and Ads in the bottom left-hand corner), Three Gossips (second image below), Sheep Rock, Tower of Babel, and Courthouse Towers… all equally impressive for vastness and structure alike.

We passed the Petrified Dunes Viewpoint before pausing at the well known and altogether more interesting Balanced Rock. It is a fifty-five foot, 3,500 tons boulder made of hard slick rock that appears to defy gravity whilst perching itself atop of a seventy-five foot pedestal of faster-eroding mudstone that has revealed itself due to the various rock layers’ contrasting rates of erosion and susceptibility to weathering over time. Eventually this will lead to the collapse of Balanced Rock, but for now it remains a highly visual example of the effects of weathering and erosion on different layers of rock (one from the Entrada Sandstone layer, the other a Dewey Bridge member of the Carmel Formation), in this instance allowing the formation of a bizarre and delightful structure; definitely something worth marvelling at…

We progressed to The Windows Section of the park, passing several small arches and other rocks, spires and pinnacles on our way round to a trail that would take in both North Window and South Window. A short and un-taxing trek later, we arrived at South Window – a massive arch that afforded cracking views into the distance of countless other arches and other curious rock formations. I found a ledge in the top right-hand corner and perched there for the best part of forty-five minutes whilst Ads and Winty chilled out further down. It was a rather relaxing way to spend part of the afternoon.

There was still time enough in the day for us to get aggressively hassled by another park ranger (this time for being 5mph too fast) and to make our way up to Delicate Arch, another of Arches National Park’s famed landmarks. We tackled the shorter trail (getting lazy, too many Big Macs) which took us up to the Upper Delicate Arch Viewpoint, which gave a decent view of the arch, albeit not a close-up. This arch, too, is rather precarious and a bizarre work of nature…

I left Arches with a tinge of sadness, knowing that this was the last of southern Utah’s National Parks that we would visit. The six days that we spent in Zion, Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, Canyonlands, and Arches are amongst the most memorable days I have experienced. It is a combination of the vastness, the colours, the history, the rock layers, the bizarre rock formations, the crazy arches, the crazier hoodoos, ancient petroglyphs, the delightful and rewarding trails, and the general immersion of oneself in a daunting landscape that had previously seemed alien and almost entirely unfathomable. You just don’t get places such as these in England…

We took in the once-again informative visitor’s centre and aimed to do a couple of places in this section before lunch, including Wooden Shoe Arch and Pothole Point. The vistas and views on this route were initially quite cool, with crazy rock formations and dramatic cliffs, a couple of arches, several walls covered in ancient painted pictographs and etched petroglyphs [enjoy the photo of the hilarious sign next to said ‘defaced’ rocks], and various rivers carving their way into the ground.

However, it gradually gave way to more of the same (basically lots of massive rocks), and given the general vastness of Canyonlands we opted to make the morning session in The Needles a whistle-stop tour, quickly racing back towards Moab for lunch and fuel before heading towards the altogether more appealing Island in the Sky section of Canyonlands.

First port of call in this second section was the Shafer Canyon Overlook [see above], revealing a phenomenal canyon with vertiginous edges (plus attached side-canyons) that appeared to roll away as far as the eye could see. We paused for several photos, naturally, and were able to trace a precarious-looking trail down from the rim to the floor of the canyon [see below], before clambering over a few large rocks as all young and intrepid travelling explorers should.

Whilst continuing our journey through the park, the sunscreen amusingly exploded in Adam’s lap, and in the resulting chaos (that included a casual half-lane swerve) our flimsy park map somehow found its way out of the window. As I pulled in to the car park for Mesa Arch, having annoyingly had a white vehicle sat on my tail for the preceding couple of miles whilst dabbling with apex-clipping lane changes (all safely executed in the name of economical motoring, I might add), I was perplexed to be followed in by the white vehicle.

Consequently we realised this white vehicle also possessed a set of flashing red and blue lights – how long they were on for we had failed to notice – and, more worryingly, an enforcement outfit attired individual was making his way over to my window. I frantically searched for my licence and other papers, all but defecating in fear of the inevitable interrogation, reckless driving fine, licence removal, and deportation from the US (things escalate in your mind rather rapidly in such situations). Strange how things pan out, but here’s a rough account of the ensuing dialogue:

Myself: Afternoon, sir.

Ranger: (sternly) You got your park map on you?

Myself: Nope, it flew out the window when the sunscreen exploded.

Ranger: (politely) Ah, ok. No worries. Just checking people weren’t littering out of their vehicle windows. Enjoy the park.

Bloody ridiculous, if you ask me. Still, the term ‘relieved’ sprang to mind.

Anyways, we hopped along the trail to Mesa Arch [see above and below] which was spectacular and stunning and well worthy of the half hour stay and copious photographing that we subsequently inflicted. The arch itself, some thirty-plus feet wide, looked a smidge thin and unstable, but provided several remarkable photos that incorporated the arch itself with the sprawling canyon floor and vertical drops for a background.

We hit the road once more down towards the Grand View Point Overlook and nearby rim walk – a lengthy trail that turned out to be one of the most memorable seen yet. It was simply phenomenal, with never ending views of canyon after canyon, the Colorado River (and the canyons it has carved), snow-capped peaks in the distance, collapsing canyon cliff-faces, countless points where the trail touches the canyon edge (with 200ft falls beneath), innumerable spikes, needles and buttes, and so on. Below should be a few of the many photos we took on this trail.

We raced back to Moab for the basketball final, sadly skipping past Dead Horse Point State Park, a landscape very similar to that of Canyonlands and one that has been used for the opening scene of Mission: Impossible II (where Tom Cruise completely believably free-climbs a butte) and the iconic final scene (amongst others) of early 90s road movie, Thelma & Louise [click respectively for youtube links to both].

Back in Moab – one of the few relatively liberal and therefore lively towns in the Mormon-influenced otherwise uneventful state of Utah – we enjoyed a few beverages in the company of the basketball and some charming bar girls, before eventually traipsing back to our campsite under a clear and star-filled sky.

We moseyed into Bryce Canyon National Park, and whilst Winty attempted to deal with several intellectually challenged employees at Nikon/Sony (his camera was defunct) over their wifi “help” forum, myself and Adam wound our way through the park in a rapidly executed yet criminally short whistle-stop tour of the main pull-outs and vista points.

We took in Farview Point, Natural Bridge, and Agua Canyon, passing several mule deer en route, and photographs from all three were delightfully dramatic, with panoramic landscapes available, as well as fantastic views of arches and hoodoos (bizarre pin-like rock stacks that appear to rise out of the ground, but are actually a product of the erosion of all material around them).

On the way back we passed an area of burnt trees (one mile or so), which was caused by a “successfully managed” natural fire – from a lightning strike – that had spread across from the nearby Dixie National Forest and lasted for three weeks, subsequently allowing the regeneration of the soil and wildlife and so on. Although it gave the landscape an eery and somewhat post-apocalyptic vibe (à la Cormac McCarthy’s The Road), it revealed to us the intriguing cycle of natural destruction and consequent regrowth in National Parks which we do not often hear about. All rather interesting really.

After lunch we tackled a trail or two whilst making our way from Sunrise Point to Sunset Point. We did the Queen’s Garden Trail (there’s a rock formation that looks like Queen Victoria [see below]) and the Navajo Trail, both of which had enthralling views and take you in and amongst the hoodoos and crumbling rock walls before winding up into tight canyons to reveal yet more spectacular panoramic views of the Amphitheatre. We also saw Two Bridges – two small ‘bridges’ across a narrow canyon that remain solely as all other rock material around them has been eroded away.

Finally we tackled the Rim Trail, which encircled the Bryce Amphitheatre and gave fantastic views of one of the strangest landscapes we had ever seen; all these multi-coloured seemingly gravity- and erosion-defying columns of rock (hoodoos) stretching our in front of you, interspersed infrequently only by rare glimpses of the ground or trees and other plant life. We made our way up (emphasis on up) to the mesmerising Inspiration Point – a high vista that gave a grand view of the whole amphitheatre.

We took a bus back to the van, passing pronghorn deer and other wildlife en route, before driving to Bryce Point (the best views available in the park) for sunset and dinner cooking… a fine way to end the day.

The following morning we breakfasted in an authentic, privately-owned all-American diner, complete with proper locals, a toothless and somewhat ‘weathered’ waitress by the name of Betty, and a menu that featured a crazy, non-priced option by the name of the ‘Haymaker diet’ that contained half-a-dozen eggs, ham steak, fried potatoes and a toasted loaf (yes, loaf) of bread. Delightful. It was followed by an ultimatum: ‘Is there a Man in the House?’ There was also a sign by the kitchen serving hatch that stated: ‘Good food takes time… yours will be out shortly’. Equally delightful…

The drive to Capitol Reef National Park was made more eventful by the careless crossing of the road by several deer, changing rock types, and some mad views. Several cross-sections of rock could be seen in one cliff, which was as bizarre as it was enthralling. Approaching the small-yet-informative visitor centre (complete with the most ridiculously over-powered tap, see video below), we were faced with dramatic collapsing canyons on one side, and equally dramatic cliffs / canyon walls rising through several rock layers on the other.

With gathering clouds bubbling up and thereby increasing the danger of a much feared flash flood in of the narrow canyons, we opted for a brisk drive through to the view points and gully entrances, rather than risk venturing up the narrow canyons themselves. It was all good fun though; the rocks and canyons were as dramatic as they were daunting.

We treated ourselves to some amazing homemade mixed berry pie, homemade ice-cream and home-grown cherries at a delightfully rustic farmhouse (you know… horse in the yard, rusting machinery discarded and scattered about, flags blowing in the wind, creaky floorboards inside, etc). The pie was so good we bought another for post-dinner pudding. It would have been rude not to…

Subsequently, with the wind picking up a smidge and the clouds looming ominously above us, we opted to hit the road for our next destination (Canyonlands National Park) before it got dark. It was a rather sizeable drive, admittedly past some lovely scenery, and we arrived around sunset time at a campsite situated on the banks of the very swollen Colorado River, rather impressively cut between two hard-looking canyon rock walls.

As what seemed like a humungous storm brewed above us (wind gusts and resulting dust storms up the valley were almost unbearable), we somehow managed to cook up some mac’n’cheese (dubious quality) before entertaining and amusing ourselves (and the campsite too) with some outrageous guitar playing antics. Sing. Sing. Sing. A fine way to end the day…

Post-sunset, and with an abundance of stars looking down on us, we were joined by a lass called Butterfly (genuinely) and her dog (to whom she had given an outrageously unrepeatable name, but we shall call Boots). Butterfly was quite a character. In a nutshell, she was raised in a Mormon family, but has since fled the strictures of such a life, living on the road and wherever possible, being convicted of driving under the influence and possession of marijuana, working by selling self-made beads and braids and setting up her massage table in various towns and places of interest and selling $1/minute massages. She was also a nudist, and consequently it was up to us to notify her when she had fallen out of her top, for she didn’t give a proverbial two hoots and seldom noticed herself; outrageous, but amusing.

She joined us to listen to our debatable talents on guitar and to have a general chin-wag with some unknown folk. We ended up hearing her lifestory (parts of which are noted above), how someone had burnt down her tent a week previously, her intriguing world view and political views (predominantly anti-Westernisation and anti-Capitalism, etc), and all about a completely different lifestyle to anything that myself, Ads, or Winty had encountered before. Whilst it would be all too easy to locate her on the fringes of society, there is a commendable certain romance to her nomadic and anti-mainstream lifestyle… not many folk have the fortitude to live in such a way. It was a genuinely interesting and eye-opening evening’s conversation.

The following day we headed into Zion National Park, hopping on their shuttle bus up through the canyon and along the river, up towards the Emerald Pools trail. En route, the road was temporarily blocked by deer, and we passed the up-to 5000ft high cliffs and several photogenic points of interest such as ‘The Sentinel’ and ’Court of the Patriarchs’.

And so we tackled the Emerald Pools trail in our flip-flops, drawing countless aghast comments from Americans astonished by our audacity in ignoring warnings that only ‘suitable hiking footwear’ should be worn. It was rather amusing repeatedly hearing individuals exclaim “oh… my… gawd” in the style of Janice from Friends.

Although a smidge dusty/sandy, the trail itself turned out to be far from arduous, so their ‘suitable footwear’ warnings again proved typically American and ultimately redundant. Regardless, there were stunning views all the way up across the canyon and of the cliffs, valleys, and waterfalls on display; truly rewarding. There was minimal wildlife on display, somewhat expected as the majority of it is noctural in Zion (although we were captivated by the potential of seeing a rattlesnake or mountain lion…).

We wound past one long waterfall and several pools before taking on the Mid and Upper falls to a large pool at the base of a rather impressive 200ft waterfall. It was quite a picturesque location, although it proved extremely difficult to get a photograph that did the place justice as there was far too much going on to be included in one image. Regardless, there were countless folk taking near-identical photos of the pool and falls which amused us to the extent that I clambered over a few precarious rocks just to snap one of all the photographers in action.

Late afternoon we went to a bar called Jacks to grab some food and watch the basketball. Being Utah, and with the heavy Mormon influence, all the beers (even big brand names such as Budweiser) were reduced to 2% alcohol content; most disappointing. Even more ridiculous was the notice on the bar top which stated: “Customers must order food should they wish to purchase an alcoholic beverage”. Quite astonishing. The food was enjoyable however, although the puerile chanting, whooping, and cheering from several middle-aged adults watching the baskets being shot and (remarkably) decisions being reversed was as perplexing as it was amusing.

Back at the free camp that evening we were bemused as to why the place was suddenly empty, whereas it had been nearly full the previous evening. As we returned to our bay we were greeted by a few cop cars and a young chap being arrested in the bay opposite ours. Emptiness explained… for a lot of free camp users are nomads who have had brushes with the law before and frequently take drugs; so the arrival of several state troopers would have sent them scarpering off faster than a moth to a light.

We sneaked a few cheeky photos and did some keepy-ups with Wilson before the surprisingly polite cops asked us a few questions, such as how long we’d been at the site and if we knew anything about the folk and/or caravan opposite (obviously we had no clue).  They took away one lad, and returned several times throughout the night, shining torches and using night-vision goggles, obviously still searching for someone. Winty belatedly realised that the cops had gone through his medical kit in his ruck-sack; how nice of them. An eventful evening it must be said…

The following day we tackled the Angels Landing trail: 8.7km, four hours, described as “strenuous”, and with a 453m rise to boot. The trail became very steep, very quickly, winding its way up the cliff face via a number of switch-backs, before progressing up the slightly daunting Refrigerator Canyon. We then had the delight of twenty-one incredibly steep switch-backs known as Walter’s Wiggles up to a well earned and aptly-name Rest Point. Cue much water downing and cereal bar consumption.

The final kilometer was incredible. The majority of it was a three foot wide ridge with a mad 800ft vertical drop one side, and a 1200ft vertical drop on the other side. It was also delightfully steep – at some points you had to haul yourself up over rocks. Kindly, some parts had a metal chain-link rail for us to follow. But it was still bloody petrifying for someone who’s never been massively great with heights.

Exhilerating. Challenging. Tiring. Ultimately, incredibly rewarding. The panoramic views at the top (Angels Landing) were sensational. You could follow the river around, see the surrounding vast canyon, the crazy rock layerings, and abundance of vegation. I can remember standing and admiring the views for what seemed an endless amount of time… quite a sublime location. And, pre-descent, a rather good spot to indulge in a bit of lunch in the sunshine, being joined by the local chipmunk population. To be expected, I guess…

After the taxing hike back down (such a strain on the quads and your knee joints), Winty and Ads chilled out with an ice cream and a nap at the Lodge whilst I went to the Weeping Rock trail (0.6km, 30m rise, 30mins). I proceded to go up the wrong trail, instead selecting the East Rim / Hidden Canyon trail which is one of the most arduous, steepest, and longest trails Zion has to offer. Before realising my error and turning around, I was at least treated to some more stunning views back down into the canyon with the sun getting lower in the sky and casting eery shadows over parts of the canyon floor before my eyes.

I descended and eventually made my way up to Weeping Rock, which was a beautiful and very wide – but not powerful – waterfall that sent a wispy sprinkling of water over those standing inside it. Very picturesque and thoroughly enjoyable.

Back at the lodge I joined the ice cream bandwagon and as a trio we proceded to entertain the watching American public with various tricks and flicks in a crazy session of keepy-ups. Remarkably, Winty completed the ‘Maradona 7‘ (a very tough football trick) for the first time in his life, heading the ball towards me as he concluded the trick, at which point I instantaneously busted out the Maradona 7 for the first time in my life too… an utterly outrageous combination from us! Then Ads had the audacity to complete the trick himself. A fine spell in our collective footballing careers… undoubtedly the zenith for myself.

Things got stranger shortly afterwards, with us being joined by a grass-munching prairie dog (think groundhog/gopher) for twenty minutes or so… completely oblivious to our on-going game of football and the twenty minutes of close photographing from various intrigued and amazed tourists (video below). The game was stopped eventually, however, by a pitch invasion from a few turkeys! Most bizarre. Then, to cap it all, with the sun setting and surrounded by dramatic multi-coloured layered cliffs, whilst cooking dinner we were joined by a couple of deer, casually munching on a few tufts of grass no more than ten feet from us.

We left Zion with heavy hearts and great memories, for this National Park had proved to be an incredibly beautiful, striking, diverse, and memorable place. Truly jaw-dropping.

We hit the road to a mixture of chart-topping tunes, more God FM, and a bizarrely brazen radio show that started comparing Obama to the neo-Nazis, Castro, Eastern European dictators and so on, referring to his cronies as “the new Black Panther Gang”, and how the Democratic presence in American government was such a shame and a disaster for the greatest nation in the history of the world. Truly one of the most biased and unbalanced half hours of radio we had ever heard. Entertaining and equally amusing, it must be said.

Somewhere near Bryce National Park we crept up a narrow track into a rocky field for another engagement with roadside roulette…

Alas, with a four day stay pencilled in, we checked into the Excalibur, lugging a laughable amount of luggage for ‘two’ people into our room (pay for two, sneak in the rest – standard), including crates of Coors Light, spirits and mixers. We each washed properly for the first time in three days; almost heavenly. We topped it off with a trip to the pool for the majority of the afternoon before dinner and pre-drinks.

We had a suitably crazy night out in LAX, somehow managing to be both the first people in (no cover charge, no queue) and last people out (no idea how). It was a rather amusing evening, with suitably copious amounts of unrepeatable antics engaged in. All were heavily and uncontrollably intoxicated. Ads had three drinks. I had two. Winty couldn’t even get a drink, and proceeded to get frequently lost. Some girl even spilt her drink on my hand. Oh the madness. The event was completed by running into a random girl from Loughborough who – worryingly, I guess – recognised me as a customer from the club (Wild, previously Pulse) she used to work at. Small world at times, I guess…

The following morning, predictably, was a complete write-off. We stumbled towards the vicinity of the pool sometime around the lunch hour. Hair of the dog, and all that… things started picking up. A middle-aged woman amusingly asked to have her photograph with me because apparently her daughter was back home, couldn’t come to LA or something, and I was ‘‘just [her] daughter’s type.’’ Bless. Amusing nonetheless. The sun rather inconsiderately hid behind some clouds later on, so we relaxed to a re-run of the Celtics beating the Lakers in the fourth NBA finals game. I still don’t really get how their ‘final’ takes seven matches. My knowledge of a final is that it should be a one off. It’s kind of like the old Intertoto Cup, where you’d have a bemusing twelve semi-finalists, six finalists, and three winners. Unfathomably bizarre…

Early evening we ordered the largest pizza any of us had ever heard of, seen, or eaten, in our lives. T’was a 28 incher. Monstrous. Please get a tape measure out to visualise it. Using my immense GCSE-based knowledge of mathematics and Pi, that’s a pizza with a circumference of over 85 inches. Eight five blooming inches of pizza. No wonder security didn’t let the delivery guy through and forced us to collect it from the lobby. No wonder witty Americans simultaneously remarked “that’s a big pizza” and – in a rare correctly-understood application of sarcasm – “that’s a small pizza.” No wonder we had to wait for an empty lift to get it up to our room.

That night we had a few chilled beverages in the New York New York hotel, which itself is another typically-Vegas establishment, with proper New York-styled bars around the edge of the casino (including an Irish bar, obviously). We also poked our heads in at the MGM, but somewhat selfishly the lions had decided to go for a nap and we were forced to make do with the big golden one out front.

The following morning we went to fetch our rental car for the Death Valley day trip (escape vans don’t permit you to take their vans into Death Valley due to the obscenely high temperatures that, for instance, allow you to fry an egg on the hood of your van). Carrying the remains of our pizza (in its box) out to the van through the lobby drew yet more jaw-dropped commentary from those passing by.

Whilst waiting for Winty to return, a couple kindly gave us a load of their unused tinned/packeted food and offered us their ice box and other travelling apparel, as they were flying home that afternoon and had neither the room nor the need for such items any more. It was another example of how friendly and kind-hearted the average American is. Jolly nice of them.

Anyways, niceties aside, moments later Winty rocks up… in a bloody convertible Mustang! Outrageous antics, Mr Winterflood. But I bloody love it. One of THE iconic American automobiles, a convertible Mustang, for a day-trip through one of the hottest places on the earth… chill out. So, top down, we hit the road feeling like we’d found our own version of Hunter S Thompson’s red shark.

Our Death Valley day trip turned out to be one of the best days of the tour thus far. Our enjoyment was aided somewhat by being able to casually cruise at well over three figures, as well as being able to bust out countless nought-to-sixties in whatever relatively miniscule time frame the car was capable of (certainly compared to our van!). Car based antics aside, the actual park itself was a decidedly memorable experience.

We started at Zabriskie Point (part-famed by the eponymous film) with cracking views of the bizarre landscape, before pausing briefly in the visitor centre for a quick peruse of the area’s history; most informative. Back out on the road we headed over to the Sand Dunes, which seemed horribly out of place compared to the relatively rocky terrain surrounding them. We were even treated to an impromptu sand storm, which despite being rather novel was actually rather unpleasant. But who gives…

We made our way along Artist’s Drive, which lived up to its name – a delightful winding one-way road which gave great views of bizarrely coloured and oddly shaped rocks, hillsides and mountain sides. This is where having a convertible really came into its own – it’s so much easier to appreciate the surrounding environment without being caged by windows and partitions and roofs and so on. We also poked our heads in at the Devil’s Golf Course – a crazy place in the middle of the valley which earned its name by being such a dangerously unstable and uneven terrain that only the Devil could play golf on it.

Finally we visited Badwater Basin… the lowest point in North America, 282ft below sea level. We walked out to near the middle and as the last light of the day crept behind the mountains in the distance, we surveyed the mad white (from salt) landscape, and indulged ourselves with a few out-of-perspective photographs. Another crazy, crazy place…

Amusingly, and entirely unsurprisingly given our manner of driving throughout the day, we nearly ran out of fuel on the way back to Vegas, with the tank saying EMPTY/0 MILES REMAINING for the best part of ten miles, enforcing a fuel stop when we eventually found a petrol station – a petrol station which also just so happened to have a bar of its own. Surely you’ve got to love being able to get petrol and get drunk at the same place. Regardless, the bar actually had a delightful small-town America / hickey vibe – cowboys and cowgirls, live Country/Western band playing in the corner, an audience full of Stetson-wearers, a bemused bargirl unable to decipher my English accent (I was understood on my fourth attempt), and many quizzical stares from the regulars when I strolled past them in search of the restroom. Good ole America…

Driving back along the Vegas’s strip in the Mustang made us feel a million dollars… that was a great experience [check the bottom of this blog for a load of photos from touring the strip...]. The lit-up colours that line the streets of Vegas are really quite something to behold. We crowned a great day by finding a suitably seedy and grim casino/hotel on the edge of town… another fine establishment, eventually bedding down with the following morning’s England-USA game on our minds.

We had a mad rush in the morning to return the Mustang (a tearful goodbye), collect our van, and make it back in time for kick off… stumbling across a different bar to the one we planned to hit (way too overcrowded) thanks to the kind advice of a group of stars-and-stripe-emblazoned American ‘soccer’ fans. It wasn’t just US soccer shirts and US flags, but stars-n-stripes bandanas and flip-flops. They were mad for it. Steve Gerrard’s early goal was gleefully greeted by us without an ounce of sheepishness, but when Rob Green somehow bundled Clint Dempsey’s insipid left-footed shot (he’s right-footed) into the net, the entirety of the bar went crazy. They bloody loved it. Us, less so. Still, every cloud and all that… it transpired that every US goal meant a free beer for everyone in the bar – even us English folk! Naturally we started praying for a 7-6 England victory…

Obviously disappointed with the draw we sank another beverage and tucked into some grub, claimed a photo or two with the good-humoured Americans, and eventually hit the road. Next up for us was a mad dash through the National Parks of southern Utah: Zion, Bryce, Capitol Reef, Canyonlands and Arches. We couldn’t wait…

Strip photos:

After rinsing another McDonald’s for more free wifi and free (re)fills we descended (or ascended) upon Mesa Verde National Park via a long, windy, and horribly unpaved single-lane road (admittedly under construction). Mesa Verde itself was awesome; a site of Ancestral Puebloan cliff dwellings with thirty-foot ladders and near vertical steps to access these near-1000 year old dwellings. There was a slightly cringe-worthy, typically clichéd, and relatively informative tour of one set of dwellings which we took, but regardless of ranger-led commentary, actually seeing these sites and walking amongst them was a most memorable experience.

Post-Mesa Verde we headed towards Four Corners (the four-way state boundary separating Utah, Arizona, New Mexico and Colorado), despite having read that it was closed for refurbishment. Quite how it could be closed for refurbishment was beyond us, but when we arrived sure enough it was definitely closed. The access road had a barrier across it, and the entire surrounding area was protected by a barbed-wire topped fence, supposedly patrolled by 24-hour security and monitored via CCTV.

Seeing as we were only going to be here once, we stuck two fingers up at Federal authority and hopped the fence via a cattle grid, taking on a cautious three minute jog up to the monument. It was essentially a worksite, with wet concrete in the process of setting, discarded tools as pervasive as they were infuriating, and the actual point where the four states meet entirely inaccessible. No security in sight, we somewhat hastily snapped a few photographs of us in all the various states, before getting a sharp jog on back out of the site.

Despite the actual monument not being all that great, the actual act of getting there and back made it more than enough for us. Completing the experience, we were greeted by several intrigued fellow tourists back at where we had hopped the fence (too nervous to do the same) who – in what probably constitutes quite a revealing statement as to how Federal authority is perceived within the US – bizarrely asked us with a genuine sincerity: “did they shoot their guns at you?”. Amazing.

We then hit the road once more, this time for Monument Valley, and were blessed with another great American drive, with endless long and straight roads and mad panoramic views that gradually gave way to eroded and layered canyon-esque rock formations and a blinding sunset that seemed to sit permanently on the horizon around a foot off the road. In fairness though, it was a rather aesthetically satisfying sunset (see above photo).

Post-dinner (cooked in a US Postal Service car park, and where we joined by a somewhat sizeable toad) we covered more miles before bedding down in the midst of another game of roadside roulette, having failed to get into Monument Valley which, unsurprisingly, was closed when we arrived around midnight.

Roadside roulette’s record quickly became 3&0 when we woke, unplanned, at sunrise to see the sun creeping between massive monolithic stacks in the distance, revealing a dramatic red land and decidedly unusual landscape. Given our proximity to Monument Valley – a place famed for its use as a filming location for countless Westerns (such as John Wayne’s Stagecoach, and so on) – we saw this setting as a taster for what was to come… and we weren’t to be disappointed.

Once in Monument Valley, we were treated to surreal red-earthen landscape that stretched for miles, broken up only by the presence of mammoth up-to-1000ft high stacks of yet-to-be-eroded rock; quite breathtaking. We ventured down the dusty and bumpy unpaved seventeen mile self-guided tour trail in our van, giving the suspension a robust workout, pausing to view features such as Mitten’s Butte and the Three Sisters, and to take obligatory photographs of this visually special place.

Incidentally, one half of Mitten’s Butte (the one in the photo below), was used for the cover of a live album DVD by Led Zeppelin, which impressed myself and Adam – big fans of Led Zepp – muchly (but also as one of our finest amigos – George Walker – owns this DVD, hence why we recognised it…).

In an embarrassingly and crudely abbreviated nutshell, it is a Navajo land formed when (according to ancient Diné oral tradition) waters containing deities, animals and ancestors of today’s humans welled up from worlds below. Geologists have a slightly different perception of this landscapes evolution, citing solidification of sand and rock, sedimentary layering from water and win, and latterly wind erosion revealing the monuments we see today. [Please excuse my brevity; the official accounts stretch in to considerably more concise detail than I have space for here].

Indeed, the conflict between Navajo and America is more noticeable in recent history, with their refreshing reluctance to embrace full-blown tourism (unpaved roads, minimal facilities) and preference to leave the landscape as it is without trying to make it more than it is. Further, the local natives are believed to have turned down a water processing plant in favour of continuing to walk up to seven miles to get water each day. There are, however, a few signs of a creeping acceptance of tourism, not least the gift shop with John Wayne posters and Stetsons as well as Navajo jewellery available for purchasing. Regardless, Monument Valley with its monuments, buttes, mesas, canyons, and free-standing rock formations (and the fact the Navajo still live here) remains quite one of the most breathtaking places we have seen so far.

After clocking up a few more miles we arrived at Lake Powell and the nearby town of Page later that afternoon where – in 40°C heat – we chilled out until the early evening, swimming in and diving into the lake, reading books, and soaking up a few rays. Lake Powell itself was formed by the construction of the Glen Canyon Dam which backed up water from five significant converging rivers (the Colorado, Green, Dirty Devil, San Juan, and Escalante), thereby enveloping hundreds of years’ worth of history (including ancient petroglyphic writings etc) in several hundred feet of water, forever erasing it from America’s visible landscape.

Now the Dam’s lake also acts as a water resort (in the middle of the desert!) where you and I can go for a swim, and those with money to burn can spend their summer days racing speed boats up and down the lake’s calm waters. The residues from fluctuating water levels bizarrely bleach the golden sandstone rock at the water’s edge – quite a strange sight. Astonishingly, the lake itself – which winds in and around ninety-six side canyons – has a 1,960 mile shoreline, longer than that of the American Pacific coast!

After a delightfully relaxing afternoon we tackled the final three hour drive back towards Las Vegas. We started with the temperature at an altogether more bearable 31°C, which swiftly dropped to a rather brisk 22°C at one point before crazily climbing back up to 38°C at 11.15pm that evening! Absolutely nuts. Sleeping in 30°C heat later on proved tricky, but thoughts of the awaiting pool in Vegas sustained us and made the heat seem somehow bearable. A great few days regardless…

Regardless, we soaked up the rays, nailed a free pancake or two mid-arvo, and with the bars perma-packed – this is Hermosa after all – ended up hitting the road around 6ish for the American road-trip part deux. Facing us was a considerable drive to get inland towards as-yet unconquered territories, so a cracking three-hundred mile stint of road-pounding was duly busted out (complete with cooking dinner in a McDonald’s car park) before bedding down sometime midnight-ish in a road-side truck stop at near 30°C heat with several gargantuan trucks dwarfing our van whilst drowning our ears in a barrage of air-conditioning unit generated noise. Just lovely…

The following morning Winty was instructed to move his tent by a fluorescent bib and Stetson wearing rest area attendant (power trip and the rest…), causing much disgruntlement. Whilst breakfasting, a massive 130-carriage goods train casually glided past in the distance. 130 carriages… that’s roughly around 2km long! Crazy…

With the temperature already up to barely believable 35°C by half 9 in the morning, we hit the road long-time once again, rolling over mile after mile of American tarmac and concrete and past seemingly endless panoramic views. We broke the journey in the town of Holbrook, on the Historic Route 66, another town devastated by the introduction of the I-40, removing all of its through traffic and ensuing business.

The only surviving businesses are cheap motels (some in an all-to-clichéd [for the area] wigwam style), whose advertising promises include ‘clean rooms’, as if unclean rooms are somehow the norm! Such towns are “kept alive by transcontinental truckers,” as Rough Guides to the USA say. There must be countless other towns in a similar predicament. All said, there is a nostalgic sense of beauty to Holbrook, with its frozen-in-time shop fronts and listlessly decrepit buildings all now looking rather cool and decidedly photogenic.

Back on the interstate, fate came to my rescue. Casually speeding in the vicinity of three figures, a worrying clunk from the engine persuaded me to ease back down towards an entirely more acceptable 75mph, before literally seconds later cruising past a road-side stationary cop car with a speed gun! Fate, I owe you.

Lake Havasu City was passed, famed on the one hand for water sports at Spring Break, and more hilariously for the misguided antics of developer Robert McCulloch, who spent $2.4m on buying and shipping London Bridge across the Atlantic (and reassembling it stone-by-stone) in the sixties in the mistaken belief he was purchasing the altogether more understandable Tower Bridge. Muppet…

Eventually, after the best part of 600 miles we arrived at the Petrified Forest (in 42°C heat, no less), a place which features bizarre trees that over a long period of time and processes of mineralisation, weathering, and erosion have been turned into rock. Genuinely there are trees that are rock, if you get me. Check the photos and you’ll see what I mean. We toured round the rather minimal exhibits, but it was rather strange looking at trees in rock form…

We then made our way to the Painted Desert nearby, where we were able to admire several crazy vistas of strange rock formations and stranger rock colourations, as well as the very famous rusted car that sits on the edge of the desert, permanently left to the powers of nature, being eroded into what will eventual nothingness. In the meantime, plenty of folk make pilgrimages of sorts to get a photo of it. Ourselves included, naturally. “Maintaining an image…”

Whilst cooking dinner that evening – and after clocking up a few more miles – we were treated to the passing-by of another hundred-plus carriage train and one hell of a beautiful sunset. Quite breathtaking really. During the ensuing spagbol devouring session I dug out the map and calculated we had covered a tasty thousand miles in less than twenty-four hours. It was one very large distance that repeatedly threw up decrepit houses and battered vehicles amongst the astonishingly dramatic vistas and endless panoramic landscapes, merely serving to highlight that despite America’s global view of capitalist success and reputation as the land of opportunity, not everyone benefits and an awful lot of folk have been left behind and forgotten.

Post-dinner we busted out a few more miles in one of the most amusing drives undertaken yet. With Ads behind the wheel, we were treated to the most pointless overtake in history (after sitting on its tail for twenty minutes, the car turned off as we eventually tried to pass it), the delights of New Mexico’s marking-free roads (great fun at night time; Ads: “which side of road are we on”), the cynical murder of rabbit innocently attempting to cross the road in Adam’s path (it had no chance), and the friendly nature of all oncoming drivers, each and every one of them happily flashing us as we passed them. We subsequently realised the full-beams had been on for entirety of that evening’s drive. Most amusing…

That night, the great game ‘roadside roulette’ was born. In the darkness we pulled off a road near the Colorado border, and plonked up the tent in the middle of dusty farmer’s field, with no idea what surrounded us, or just how much trespassing we were doing. Good times…

Whilst Sandy, Hugh and Jez (with Winty driving) took off to return their van to escape (as they were returning to England, girlfriends and work the following day), myself and Ads opted to hit up Sharkee’s Bar – the only possible option mid-afternoon on a Friday. A great three hours was spent recounting the previous three weeks’ activities, enjoying happy hour with discounted Jäger bombs amongst other things, with beverages frequently replenished by the lovely Jana.

There was an enlighteningly amusing conversation held regarding the concept of the queue to get into bars. Americans refer to queues as the line, so when I asked, “will there be a queue tonight?”, the bemused reply from Jana was, “what’s a queue?” My immediate response, so logical to me, was: “you know… where people queue to get in.” Sounding like a right sarcastic bastard, she eventually understood what I meant. We laughed, all was well. But it served to highlight that despite both English and Americans speaking the same language, our application and use of words and phrases can often be so different.

Back at the hostel, head chef Connell cooked us his final meal, a monster risotto, and with the place filled with hoards of underaged individuals getting incoherently inebriated (at quite an intolerable noise level too, I must add), we opted to head back out to few of the bars. Again, God bless America and their ridiculously laidback attitude to life – strolling into bars in flip-flops and shorts still proves irredeemably refreshing in comparison to the compulsory smart-shoes-and-collared-shirt dress codes I am used to back home.

Mid-beers we regaled ourselves with trip highlights and top quotes, and with the bar getting increasingly busy we raved it up in our mad many-coloured shades like something out of a modern day Merry Pranksters party. Plenty of banter was floated around with the locals, stupid dancing and general merriments also present in copious quantities. Mr Strawberry found himself a lovely lady. They were introduced by the girl’s ‘brother’. She turned out to be a lady of the night. He quickly moved on. Ah, the laughter we shared…

The door staff repeatedly threatened us with ejection from the premises for the wearing of our shades, Black Ram almost diced with death in entertaining a conversation with a girl almost entirely covered in tattoos that would have gone something like: “don’t you regret getting all those tattoos?”, and the lads crashed the girls-only raised dance area, much to the amusement of all (unsurprisingly bar the door staff, again). The final night for the group of six proved somewhat a gift from the locals of Los Angeles… a fine night out as a send off for those returning to England.

The following morning sad goodbyes were said, with Winty whisking Sandy, Hugh and Jez away from the glorious sunshine and never-ending beaches of Hermosa and off to the airport for their return flight. Ads and I chilled out in the sun, admiring the views, soaking up the rays, fully ingratiating ourselves in the LA lifestyle. The lads will be missed; Sandy for his accounting skills, Hugh for his KFC-based antics, and Jez – head chef and chief orchestrator of the banterwagon. Safe travels homewards folks… see you in two months time!…