Day Twelve: Albuquerque, NM to the Grand Canyon

“Sir, you’re driving on a sidewalk.”

These are words you don’t want to hear from anyone, much less a police officer outside of the Grand Canyon after a 5-hour drive that stretched into an 8-hour drive thanks to a driving desert snow storm. But Jonathan, forever unflappable, simply rolled down the window, smiled, and replied: “Hmm, I guess I’ll figure out how to back her up then.” And he did, as the rest of the car erupted in laughter. We had arrived at last. 

We knew that if we didn’t get going early that day, we would never make it to the Grand Canyon. For the first time in nearly a year, snow was coming to Albuquerque on New Year’s Day — 3 to 5 inches were expected, maybe more to the West. If we didn't leave early, we wouldn't make it out.

It was frigid when we woke up at 6:30 am. Flurries swirled in the air, so we packed up quickly and set out on a blustery, snowy I-40. Within a half hour, we knew we were in trouble. The forecast shifted to 8 inches, and the roads were not plowed. It was just us — puttering along at 45 mph — and a pack of stubborn tractor trailers for the first hour or so. We saw one jack-knifed, four more stopped on the shoulder, and about ten cars stuck in snow banks by the time we made it on to the far side of the storm. Though the radar showed no precipitation, the snow continued mile after mile after mile. It seemed, at times, that 2019 was trying to tell us something: You better keep driving, fools. 

By the time we pulled into that gas station outside the park, our nerves were frayed and, to be fair, the dumping of New Year’s Eve snow made it impossible to tell what was driveway and what was sidewalk. Snow plows were just arriving as we entered the park, where we were stunned into quiet by the pristine, glistening white snow — 8 to 10 inches — laid out like a blanket. Charlotte spotted a herd of nearly a dozen elk a few yards beyond her window. It was pretty magical. And, despite Trump’s best efforts to ruin our vacation, we got into the national park, found our RV spot, quickly unhitched, and brought Boo with us to watch the sun set over a natural wonder that takes away your breath even in photos.

It was cold, and I neglected to pack snow boots, so we didn’t linger long after sundown. I didn’t get my twilight walk along the rim trail spotting California condors, or the starlight stroll from our campsite down to the village market. The temperature dropped down to 7 as we stamped the snow from our boots, and so we bought some cookies and huddled warmly in our little 24’ foot home under the Arizona stars, counting the sleeps until Santa Cruz.