Road Trip: Day Thirteen

Lake Havasu City, AZ to Red Rock Canyon, CA

11.15am
Lake Havasu is waiting for a population explosion. We entered the town last night on a fresh new four lane road studded with junctions to avenues that are yet to be built. In the distance the lake shimmered, oasis-like.

Lake Havasu City is famous for being the home of London Bridge. In 1973 the City of London, unable to stop it sinking, decided to replace the bridge and put it up for offers. A businessman, keen to promote Lake Havasu as a tourist destination thought he was getting Tower Bridge. He made a successful offer of $2,400,000 and spent a further $4,500,000 to transport and re-assemble it at its current location. In the intervening years a number of "English" style buildings have mushroomed up around the bridge, the lamentable inaccuracy of which is clear in the photos. Streets have been named in homage to England; Lake Havavsu sports a Windsor Beach, a Dover Road, and a Hyde Park (yet to be built, right next to a landfill).

This morning as I stood amid the cheaply built mock Mock-Tudor monstrosities I felt disgust and despair in equal measure, for I was witnessing the wholesale rape and pillage of my culture. I pitied the bridge, stranded in the desert, out of context and misunderstood, a quirk to be milked for tourist dollars. As I was empathising with bricks and mortar it became clear I was having some kind of manic response to my surroundings. I also had a craving for Cornish pasties which the Olde English Ostrich Jerky Shoppe would never be able to satiate. We left Lake Havasu without a second glance.

11:32am

Californ-I-A!

14.10pm
We stop at a fast food restaurant for lunch. The radio is playing U2, normally not a noteworthy occurence, but this is the first time in weeks we’ve walked into a public place that hasn’t been playing country music.

17.15pm
We pull off the road in the middle of nowhere, for this is where Red Rock Canyon, our spot for tonight is. Driving around the mostly deserted campground, I start to have flashbacks to Santa Rosa, where Courtney initially felt so ill-at-ease, but we’re in luck. A friendly older couple nod to us as we drive past. They’re camping in a tent, rather than an RV, which bodes well for us. For some (probably unjustified) reason Courtney and I suspect RV users of being either lunatics, Bush supporters, or both. We choose a relatively sheltered site, just round the corner from the tent dewllers.

The wind is blowing hard and the ground is too hard for our measly little tent pegs. With no other camping options within three hour’s drive, I wander over to the older couple’s site to enquire how they plan to secure their tent for the night. They have far stronger pegs than us, and lend us a few. John and Marie are Californians who, whenever they get the chance, camp around their home state as much as possible. "It’s got everything," says John, "From Mt. Witney, the highest peak, to the nation’s lowest point in Death Valley. It’s got coastline, mountains, forest and desert." They are here specifically to see the sun rise. The canyon wall, which at the moment is a greyish yellow, turns deep red at sunrise. We should stick around to see it, they say.

Again, I voice my concerns about the high winds. Don’t worry, I’m assured, they’ll die down at sunset, and they do.

04.00am
Two hours ago the winds returned with a vengeance. Our little tent is buckling in the wind rushing along the valley floor. It’s not quite strong enough to rip the tent from the ground, but it’s more than enough to keep us awake. More than that, sand is blowing up under the flysheet and in through the air vents. Courtney, me, and our stuff all have a fine coating of grit. It’s too much. We resolve to cut our losses, pack up the car and leave.

We return John and Marie’s tent pegs with a little thank you note wrapped around them and drive off into the pitch-black night, hoping to reach Yosemite before noon.

05.30am
Courtney remembers Marie told us about a road which would take us to some enormous sequoias. She thinks it’s Route 178, so we take a detour. If we won’t be seeing the sun rise over Red Rock Canyon we may as well see it over giant redwood trees. Unfortunately, it’s not the right road at all. After an hour’s driving she realises her mistake. We’re almost out of gas, so we pull into a petrol station and sleep for an hour in the car while we wait for it to open. What a dismal night!