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First thing, we rang Erico Motorsports (www.ericomotorsports.com) to see whether they were still in existence. They had no service slots available until 13th July, but they told us where they were – north of 16th Street.

John suggested that we go up and have a look at their showroom. They might have a cancellation. It was worth a try. We had heard that dealers would generally try to accommodate touring motorcyclists, if they possibly could.

This turned out to be good advice. The Service Manager was very helpful and told John to bring his bike back at 9am on Thursday, and he would try and fit it in.

We had long-since discovered that no US motorcycle dealer worth his salt is ever open on a Monday, so we didn’t bother to resume our search today.

Instead, we spent most of the day working on the web site, updating the diary, and downloading photographs we had taken in Utah.

We got up late, as befits a Sunday morning.

After breakfast, we went to the front desk to ask where we might go to find a ‘nice’ shopping area, and perhaps a cup of decent coffee. (Most of the time here, if you ask for a particular type of shop, you will be directed to the nearest Mall: a peculiarly American experience – like everything else here, car-oriented, efficiently cutting down the need for walking to a minimum. Oh, and Americans don’t understand coffee at all. Most places serve it very weak, and shudder at the idea of an Italian-style Expresso! Strange then that Starbucks should be an American invention.)

The General Manager obligingly directed us to the 16th Street Mall (not a ‘mall’ at all, as it turns out, but a pedestrianised street … served by a free shuttle bus service). As we chatted, he declared himself to be a big fan of British ‘soccer’, in particular Spurs and Liverpool! John was delighted to be able to pump him for the latest news regarding Sol Campbell’s imminent transfer.

John’s bike was now due for its 6,000 mile service. Before investigating Denver’s downtown shopping emporia, he wanted to check out a Triumph dealer we knew to be in Walnut Street. From the map, Walnut Street appeared to be conveniently close to 16th, so we thought we would have a look. What we didn’t realise was that, in common with many other cities in the US, the streets are so long that they are often renamed in downtown areas, and continue further out. So it was with Walnut Street. We successfully located the southern end of the street, which ran under the I-25 and Auraria Parkway flyovers, and over the rail road, but found no sign of any motorcycle dealer.
By this time Brigid had got grit in her contact lenses (… again!), and both of us were somewhat hot and bothered (the temperature still being around 100 degrees), so we gave up and headed into town for a sub and a coffee.

We had thought we might try to escape the Interstate on our way up to Denver. The map indicated that there was a smaller road running alongside for much of the route. We duly left I-70 at Gypsum, and made our way into Eagle for lunch.

At Eagle’s pizza restaurant (the only eaterie that seemed to be open), we ordered a BLT wrap and a malt each, and settled down to read the local giveaway newspaper. For reasons that were never explained, lunch took an age to arrive, and it was about an hour before we were on the road again.

The way out of Eagle seemed to be barred due to roadworks, and having followed various detour signs to no avail, we gave up and headed back onto the Interstate.

As Interstates go, I-70 is an attractive road, winding its way up through the Rockie Mountains, following the path of the Colorado River, and passing several of the State’s best known ski resorts on the way. As we climbed, the air was, as we had hoped, cooler, and patches of snow were still visible on some of the peaks.

We arrived in Denver at around 6pm, opting to stay on the south-eastern edge of town. The Fairfield Inn on Colorado Blvd was comfortable and inexpensive, and conveniently close to I-25 to make ‘Downtown’ easily accessible. Better still, the Irish bar across the road served a nice drop of (albeit expensive) Guinness!

Now it was time to head North, in the hopes of escaping the extreme heat. Also, we had both become concerned at the lack of progress with the website, so we had agreed that we would find a convenient motel, and stay there until the site was done! After our experience at Kanab, Denver seemed to be the obvious choice from the Internet access point-of-view.

Denver was about 450 miles away, so we stayed overnight in Grand Junction, CO.

Knowing that we were venturing into the desert once again, we left Kanab reasonably early for the 220-odd mile ride to Monument Valley.

The day did not start well. It was time to learn a new truth about American telephones.
Throughout our stay in Kanab, we had been in constant touch with home via e-mail, using our ‘local’ AOL access number – in St. George. Although St. George uses the same area code as Kanab, it is not a local number. At the end of our stay, we were presented with a $200 phone bill!!

I should explain, for the benefit of those readers unfamiliar with the movies of John Ford, that Monument Valley was where many of his greatest Westerns were filmed. For that reason, John was determined that he should have his photo taken against this famous backdrop.

The region of Utah that we were entering is Indian country. As we crossed the ‘border’, a road sign reminded us to “Buckle Up, it’s Navajo Nation Law”! We caught glimpses of Lake Powell (America’s biggest man-made lake), as we crossed Glen Canyon Dam into Page for lunch. The lake has the most extraordinary bright blue water, and is a huge centre for water sports.

After Page, there is very little to see. As we crossed mile after mile of apparently uninhabited scrubland, we were occasionally surprised to see a sign warning us of a school bus stop ahead. (In the US it is absolutely illegal to pass a school bus stopped for children.) We wondered how far the children had to walk to the bus stop! There were certainly no houses visible from the road.

There is no ‘visitor information’ or formal ‘State park’ at Monument Valley. Though the plethora of motels in the vicinity bear testament to its popularity as a tourist attraction. We drove through to Mexican Hat, taking our photographs from the side of the road, as we went.
Mexican Hat is a little oasis in the wilderness, perched on the north bank of the San Juan River. Our Indian-owned motel was one of the nicest we have yet encountered. It had no pool, but boasted a gym, gift shop, and a proper bar – festooned with interesting memorabilia from the REAL Wild West. (Mexican Hat derives its name from an oddly shaped pile of rocks, which look like a seated Mexican wearing a sombrero!)

At the appointed hour we turned up at North Dallas BMW to see the bike. Corbin was already there with his gleaming 1200cc Trophy in “British Racing Green”. He proudly showed us over the machine, pointing out the modifications he had made: D&D (extra loud) exhausts, anti-dive forks, sports brakes (argh … that’s why he had those anti-dive forks!), and a fancy cream leather (butt buster) seat, to name but a few.

With a certain amount of trepidation, John started the bike up and set off for a test drive (presumably leaving Brigid behind as collateral). Vroom! Off he went down Avenue K. He had only gone about 500 yards before he had to test the efficiency of the sports brakes (eek!) … at the level crossing. For the next 10 minutes John waited as one of those mile-long trains trundled past. At last the barriers were raised, and he continued his test drive. John went once more round the block … only to hit the level crossing just as the barriers were coming down again!

Despite the interrupted test-ride, the bike was an instant winner with us both. We agreed that Corbin should replace his brakes with the original Triumph ones. All that remained now was to withdraw enough cash to finance the purchase, organise some insurance, and we would be on the road tomorrow.

oday was to be our last day in Kanab, and we planned to see Bryce Canyon.

The trip to Bryce took a couple of hours, and we arrived at the Visitor Centre just in time for lunch. (We are getting better at this ‘sightseeing’ thing. After our experience at Zion National Park, we made sure we did not have to rely on the cafeteria for water, and we had equipped ourselves with two very smart – allegedly crushable – hats.)

From the Visitor Centre, you cannot see the Canyon, and the National Park is some 15 miles in length. It was difficult to know where we should go to get the best view. We decided on the Navajo and Queens Garden Loop Trail combination, which is about 3 miles in length with an elevation of 521 feet.

It was a good choice. Even from the rim, we had a great view of the characteristic ‘hoodoos’ (odd-shaped pinnacles left standing by erosion). The trail down to the Canyon floor, is quite steep in places, but well worth the climb.

Paiute Indian legend has it that the early settlers of the region where evil people, and as a punishment were turned to stone by Coyote. This seems as good an explanation as any for the ‘families’ of hoodoos, grouped around the rim of the Canyon.

We finished the day with a ride up to Rainbow Point (the highest point in the Park). Here we bumped into two fellow motorcyclists on BMW bikes, and got chatting (like you do …). Before long we realised the light was fading, and we had been hoping to catch a rodeo show on the way home.

We grabbed a quick bite to eat opposite the rodeo ground, gathering from the placemat that we needed to buy tickets in the General Store across the road. Having finished our meal, we duly queued behind some old Doris who had asked for several sets of wind-chimes to be gift-wrapped. By the time the unfortunate assistant had finished, the rodeo was half over, and we discovered that we could have bought the tickets on the gate after all.

Muttering oaths, we passed on the rodeo, and headed home in the setting sun.

We had a very comfortable night’s sleep in our log cabin, though we were both aware of having been woken once or twice by heavy rain. We were slightly disappointed, when we eventually awoke, to have missed the dawn. However, since the morning was grey and overcast, we probably didn’t miss much.

We treated ourselves to a slap-up breakfast in the dining room overlooking the canyon, where several attempts at getting a photo of the diners silhouetted against the view through the window failed miserably.

After breakfast, we took the ‘Bright Angel Trail’ to Bright Angel Point, along a perilously narrow path along a ridge of the canyon (about 3’ wide in places … but don’t panic mother, as you see we lived to tell the tale!). At about 10,000 feet, we really felt the altitude. We had considered ourselves fairly fit, but still found the need to stop every few hundred metres to ‘admire the view’.

Soon it was time to head back to Kanab, before the next batch of dark clouds caught up with us. It was quite cool, so we stopped once at Jacob Lake for a warming coffee, and then made the final dash. The wind over the scrubland between Jacob Lake and Kanab was strong and gusty, but the rain held off until we were three miles from home.

We had already visited Denny’s Wigwam several times on the pretext of identifying souvenirs for the folk back home. However, so large a store presented us with a bewildering choice of potential gifts – so a restorative ice cream (from the attached parlour) was usually required before we could make any decision.

Today we made our final selections: a native American flute for Ree, a toy (self-assembly) fort for David, John Wayne loo paper (“rough, tough, and doesn’t take crap off anyone”) for Mike, Guatemalan ‘worry people’ for John’s mum, a miniature six-shooter keyring for Dee, and a sheriff’s badge (“Make My Day”) for Sarah. (The significance of these gifts will be lost on most readers, but are recorded here for our own interest.)

Having individually wrapped the presents, and packaged them up in a box with instructions to John’s mum concerning their distribution, we posted them home, before setting off (for the third time) to the Grand Canyon.

True to form, the weather closed in, but this time we carried on regardless. By the time we arrived, thunder was forecast, and we were convinced that we would get very wet if we should be foolish enough to try to make the 80-mile trip back to Kanab that night.

Grand Canyon North Rim Lodge has a number of very cosy-looking log cabins. But needless to say, there were none available. We appealed to the sympathetic receptionist, who said that, if the worst came to the worst, we could sleep in the sun room (over looking the Canyon).

The view from the platform beneath the Lodge defies description. Nothing could have prepared us for the sheer scale of the Grand Canyon. No photograph can ever do it justice. Even the very best aerial views fail to capture its true magnificence. At its North Rim, the South Rim is eleven miles distant, and the Canyon is over one mile deep. Our amateur shots (in less than perfect weather) are included only for record.

Having dined handsomely on pizza and root beer in the café, and a beer in the Saloon, John vanished to ‘pay a visit’. After a considerable interval, he reappeared triumphantly waving a room key. They had had a cancellation!