Day Thirteen: The Grand Canyon to Henderson, NV

4,200 miles. From Mystic to Santa Cruz, we will cover 4,200 miles. That’s more than a few opportunities for mishaps, particularly when you’re towing a 15-year-old Sunline Solaris collecting scars by the day. And it’s extra particularly true when Arizona greets you with nearly a foot of snow and record-breaking cold temperatures.

One thing you should know about RVing in the winter: There’s a reason no one does it. Namely, the water problem. When a freeze sets in, the hose that brings water to your shower, your sink, and your toilet doesn’t flow. And when your mentally addled President shuts down the government during your stay at a National Park, you’re lucky to find an open restroom; hot shower rooms simply don’t exist.

And a hot shower would have been pretty clutch when I woke up before dawn and found the outside temperature was -5 degrees. (Yes, roughly 55 degrees colder than Connecticut, thank you very much.) I pulled on the long underwear and snow pants we packed for skiing, and left my family huddled under their blankets. It was so frigid on Mather Point, the wind so biting, that my fingers ached even in my warmest ski mittens and my nose turned bright red, dashing all chances of a half-decent sunrise selfie. It was a small price to pay for one of Mother Nature’s more magnificent light shows.

The sun rises with surprising speed and determination over the southeastern edge of the canyon’s South Rim. But before it crests the lip, projector beams of sunlight begin to illuminate the canyon walls stretching on forever to the West. The deep, earthy reds and oranges emerge from their slumber. The powdered sugar snow glistens. 1,450 million years of geological marvel opens its eyes and greets a new day — and a hush comes over the crowd of shivering tourists, which grows reverently quiet and still as if in church. Or perhaps a place much greater than church.

OK, back to the perils of traveling in winter. It turns out hoses are not the only important things that freeze. Electric trailer brakes freeze, too. And, when they do, they don’t fully disengage. This, in turn, makes your Suburban engine rev like mad — hurtling into 4 and 5 RPMs as it hurks and jerks down the shoulder of Route 64 with emergency flashers on, your husband slamming on the brakes every few minutes to see if he can “bust 'em loose.”

After hiking along the South Rim (and taking frequent hot cocoa breaks) with the kids, we departed our camping site around 11:30 and spent the next 6 hours trying to dislodge those damn brakes while slowly winding our way south, and then west. We stopped somewhere near Ash Fork, where an intrigued tractor trailer mechanic said he would have a look for us. After crawling under our rig and pushing and pulling it a bit, he shrugged and shook our hands, wishing us luck. At Russel’s RV Repair in Kingman, the mechanic did much the same. And so we limped on, finally pulling our sad, dirty, squeaky trailer through the perfectly manicured community gates of our friends, the Setzlers, home in Henderson, Nevada, around 4:30 PST – our final time zone!

After 12 dirty, sludgy days on the road, 2 of them with no water, we turned more than a few neighbors’ heads. But Alix, Alex, Lily and Maggie greeted us with open arms, mixed drinks, and a delicious home-cooked meal. The kids made chalk drawings, played Frisbee, and ran off a lot of pent-up energy. The adults enjoyed a reprieve from non-stop family time, and slept like the dead after taking not one but two hot showers each. We were so thankful for their hospitality. In the end, the freeze tried, but it could not hold us. We are stronger than winter, and more determined, too.