It’s the end of October and I’ve the entire Grand Canyon to myself. Before me the red, dusty earth yawns and I can see deep, deep into its mouth. Orange, black, and grey cliffs drape, cascade, and roll along for miles, they roll along forever.
Thousands of feet below me, past the fir and pine trees, the Colorado River gurgles southbound. In the distance the bend of the river catches the sun and shimmies like a shattered mirror.
I position myself on this boulder to soak it all in: the powder-blue sky, the cool wind, the whisper of pines, and a herd of cautious, curious deer just a twig snap away. I’m at the lonesome North Rim of the Grand Canyon, where snow comes early and visitors are sparse. The air is crisp, cool, and smells like Christmas.
The road from Utah down to the canyon meanders through the desert like a blacktopped river. The land is flat, dusty, and specked with tumbleweeds, cactus, and an occasional town with an infrequent stop sign. You can drive for hours without seeing another car, finding a radio station, or any distraction from everything you came to leave behind.
And then you’re in it: mountains, massive meadows, thick haunted forests, and a living postcard around every curve. Nature swallows you whole and your world, your problems, are somewhere, anywhere, other than here.
There are few places in the world that can make you and your worries feel as insignificant as the Grand Canyon. Here on the literal edge of civilization with the sun on your face, the wind in your hair, you can accept that your life may end but this, this majestic, never will. This was here long before you and will be here long after. It’s a peaceful escape from our hectic, instant-everything world.
And then it’s time to leave. Once you climb back in your car and your last view of the canyon is in your rearview mirror all those troubles, worries, and realities are straight-ahead. All roads in the desert seem destined for disappointment. But trust me; it’s only the desert’s mirage, the pessimistic shadows, and cynicism of lost ambitions. The desert does end.


