After the heavy visitation rates of the spectacular Arches NP and the local town of Moab we headed west on Highway 70 en route to Zion NP in the SW of Utah. These interstate highways were wide, busy and well used by travelers. Towns along the route such as Green River seemed poor and wretched and existed predominantly as a service to passing motorists. We stopped for lunch in a local café. It was full of flighty, noisy young teenagers who should have been at school. The name Green River did not however have any meaning for the town. It simply described the rather lurid colour of the river that wandered south through the desert joining the Colorado River a few hundred miles to the south. Such rivers would not exist in Australia as they would dry up and disappear in a haze as part of some inland lake.

The US is in some ways a contradiction as we tend to associate it with sprawling urban cities. However Utah reminds us that in fact there is an awful lot of space with little or no habitation. The Mormons just loved this country and there were many stories of tough dedicated individuals establishing farming communities in some of the most desperate places only to be beaten by the harshness of droughts and deserts.

It was good to get off Highway 70 onto a quiet rural State road (72) that led us down to Loa. After the heat of the desert we decided to head up to Fishlake. It was not a NP and we naively assumed that it would be quiet and peaceful. And at an elevation of 9,000' it was bound to be cool. After a fabulous ride up to Fishlake the thought of rough camping was very exciting. To our disgust, we were met by a barrage of signs telling us everything that one could not do. No camping, no access, no swimming, no drinking and to cap it off the huge campsites looked choc-a-bloc full of bulging pickup trucks with 5th wheeler campers. It was depressing and just on dusk we managed to sneak into a 'cancelled' campsite run by Ma and Pa Kettle. The one luxury was a shower block and after a camp quality meal I sauntered up there after dark and stripped off in the cold air to discover that the coin operated shower did not work. I was so pissed off that I ended up using the toilet wash basin to have a douche.

The back roads of Utah were made for motorcycle riders. They were wide safe and fairly quiet. That is until we met the Sherriff of Panguitch. I was gliding along at a slow pace having left a sleepy village behind some 10 mins back when the Sherriff pulled me over in his over-sized green and white V8 pickup truck. It was not exactly a pursuit car but when he alighted from the truck his hip-armory suggested to me that he was expecting a third world war any minute. I guessed my speed when asked to be about 45mph as it was quite back road with no traffic. When he looked at me direct and stated the speed limit was 25mph I just laughed believing his gesture to be a joke. Well folks I have to tell you that he was not joking. And I did cut short my speech about trying to steal money from tourists as his truck also supported at least two high-powered rifles. Despite the Sherriff's quiet explanation that a speed sign existed some miles back there seemed little point in arguing with a man with so many weapons at his disposal. I felt ripped off and that an injustice had just been served up to a tourist who was just poking along minding his own business.

We arrived at Bryce Canyon late in the day just managing to secure a campsite because the guy was mad about Australia. He followed us to the campsite and spent an hour telling us what an amazing place Australia was. I did not need convincing and was more interested in seeing the sights of the Canyon before the sun set. Bryce Canyon NP is another must see park and has almost fairytale qualities. The late afternoon colours and deep eroded canyon almost defy the imagination. How could such beauty be created naturally?

It was a mere 110 mls to Zion NP from here but we discovered an idyllic campsite by a bubbling brook and decided to have the rest of the day off doing absolutely nothing but washing bathing and eating. Having just passed through Long Valley Junction we were in the back country. It was the first place where we had seen extensive irrigation and cattle for some time and a large sign advertising bib and brace overalls on the wall of the gas station, post office come local store suggested that nothing much had changed here for some time. Zion NP on the other hand was managed by a dedicated team of bureaucrats like a large supermarket chain store. The shuttle buses that shunted literally thousands of tourists around daily deserved full credit. Fortunately most of them were not camping in the park so peace arrived as we managed to bath under a busy bridge that was used by the shuttle buses every few minutes.

Finally we were going to see the Grand Canyon. Unfortunately we became distracted by a heavy downpour whilst visiting Kanab the centre of many of the most famous western movies that have been made going back to the 1960's. Our host of the Sun and Sand Motel for the night looked like he had lived through a part of Hunter S. Thompson's "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" in his previous life. After showing us a room that looked like a scene from Sunnyside Rest Home, he handed me 4 beers apologizing that only two were cold and that the fridge in the room was real good for knocking the chill off beers. I accepted his hospitality gratefully as he was a genuine guy whose business was going OK because if he had been anymore laid back he would have been horizontal. That night we dined on Burritos at the local café where the walls were full of famous (signed) photographs of gunslingers such as Cheyenne, Wagon Train and the Lone Ranger.

The Grand Canyon is not just another NP. It is the NP that everyone should see before their lives are complete. We camped with a few Harleys bikers and then headed down into the Canyon from the North Rim. I walked and Dell opted for the Mule ride. Now riding a Mule may sound like a good idea at first. But bear in mind you descend at a frightening slope and the paths are just wide enough for one way traffic. They fart and s*** all day and to be honest it made walking in their wake quite unpleasant especially when the stench of one hundred urinating mules gets up inside your nostrils it can be quite intoxicating. Fortunately the mules only venture to the first base camp. My hike went several hours further down. I walked as far as I imagined I could go and still return that afternoon. Well seven hours later I crawled back to my trusty BMW and could hardly sling my leg over the seat. My boots felt like they were filled with cement. To put it mildly, I had overcooked my health budget and felt like sh**T. On returning to the camp however, Dell's condition made me feel positively good. Her Mule ride had given her pain in places even I had not felt. So for those who want to go exploring in the Grand Canyon, do make sure you have a week. Because that it is the minimum time you will need to walk all the way to the bottom and then return without giving yourself a heart attack.

The camp sites are always great places to meet interesting folks. We spent the night chatting to a couple who lived in Newfoundland and I hope to visit their place on our next venture to the US. Our brave Harley riders were heading off the next morning for Idaho. Not wearing a helmet may sound pretty exciting for some. But when you have no hair and no protection such as one of our mates, the top of his head looked like it would open up and blow away. The skin on his forehead had peeled several times leaving a wrinkled burning beetroot coloured texture that reminded me of a roast pig. Dell managed with all the furness of a hospital nurse to convince our mate that perhaps he should consider wearing his helmet home that day.