When I awoke next morning I was greeted by a deep blue sky and a huge cactus just outside the window. I had only ever seen a huge cactus in the movies as a child, and now I was in the desert looking at thousands of them.
Soon we were back on the road, always heading north, and loving every minute of it all. The desert was quite beautiful, filled with cactus and brush, and covered in a kind of red clay. The roads were straight, had little traffic, and it was easy to navigate using a GPS and the maps I had printed months earlier on my day of decisions.
Hours later we arrived at a little town called Camp Verde and decided on coffee. In the café, while waiting at the counter, I overheard a woman ordering a slice of cheesecake. Then out of the blue she told the assistant that her favourite cheese of all time was Dubliner Cheese. I had not even said a single word, and here was a stranger beside me talking about Irish cheese. When I made my order with my Irish accent, the assistant almost fainted. I smiled at her and took it as a sign, so I immediately persuaded JoAnn to call the Bright Angel Lodge in the Grand Canyon Park to see if she could magic a room for us, and she did. We got a ‘cancellation’ at a reduced price in a private log cabin, some forty feet from the rim. The Universe had come good as I suspected, and we booked the cabin immediately. Everywhere we went for the rest of the day, we met people who loved Ireland, who wanted to go there, or who had ancestors from there. That in itself was not too surprising, but while in the heritage centre outside of Sedona we bought a famous local chili jam, and its manufacturers were Cahills from Arizona. What were the odds of that?
Another thunderstorm hit us. Then as we entered beautiful Sedona, the most incredible sunset shone through the windscreen as the storm cleared. It left behind a rainbow of such intensity that numerous people ran out into the street to see it. I felt we were being welcomed to Arizona by my dad who I always associated with double rainbows, and this was the brightest one I had ever seen.
The journey to Sedona had eaten into our time, and next day we had to leave early, as by then I was beginning to feel a great urge to get to the Valley. We did see Bell Rock and Cathedral Rock, as well as a most beautiful church built into the mountains. The Church is called the Chapel of the Holy Cross and no photo can possibly do justice to this church. It has to be seen and experienced, and the designer no doubt was influenced by Frank Lloyd Wright. I sat alone in the peace of that place and thanked God for all that I had, especially for my American wife. She was trapped way below in our car, as we could not drive to the doorway, and the steep walk seemed out of the question for her.
The view from the church was beyond description and I so wished for JoAnn to see it. As I turned to leave, there she was slowly making her way up the ramp to join me. The pain in her foot seemed to have been overcome by her longing to see this wonderful place too. I felt incredibly happy as we both sat and just looked out at the view. This area of Arizona is supposed to have places of high energy, good energy that helps heal people mentally and physically, and we saw people climbing way up on the rocks, no doubt searching for these energy centres. They are called vortexes, but we never felt anything during our brief stay there. Perhaps at a future time we might be luckier.
The sheer distances we had travelled so far, and the time it was taking, was amazing to me. The scale of America has always impressed me, but after driving and driving we seemed to be making only slow progress. We had certain deadlines that were unchangeable such as the Grand Canyon arrival date, and the day we had to leave on the train journey, but all the rest was flexible, so north we went again.
Entering Flagstaff I looked up at an intersection sign and saw it say Route 66. We were driving the most famous road in the world in a city basically founded by three brothers with the name of Riordan. They had come south from Chicago, either as Irish emigrants or with Irish parents as emigrants. There in Flagstaff they built up a huge lumber business, a dam, the Lowell Observatory, hospitals and churches, finally bequeathing their home to the state so as to help the tourist business. Even though I knew none of this at the time, I felt instinctively welcome there, and would now love to see their home and get to know more about these three brothers. With time catching up on us, we just drove on through the city, still heading north on highway 89, all the time inching closer to my dreams. At Cameron we arrived at the junction for the Grand Canyon, but that was for another day. Today was the day we would first set foot in Monument Valley and I could not wait to get there.
We left the Native American trading post of Cameron, and after about ten minutes driving I noticed, by pure accident, that JoAnn was driving with the wrong foot. Obviously the pain had finally won out and she had been sneakily driving our little automatic car very dangerously for hours. I had no choice but to become the driver and put our lives in my hands. The last time I attempted to drive an automatic was in a state park in Missouri, and that time we both painted our faces on the dashboard. I was a disaster with automatics. As well as that, my brain could not get used to the ‘wrong side of the road’ driving, so when I nervously pulled out in front of a huge speeding semi, JoAnn nearly lost her life. “Speed up, speed up will you, before we are run over. You’re not in Cork now,” she roared at me in fright. The car was small and sluggish, and the semi bore down on us so fast that again I thought we were gonners. Then with its horns blaring and slipstream tossing us all over the road, he passed us by. It was a scary, bad start, but based on our earlier frights, I felt we would be ok no matter what came at us, so I relaxed and began to just drive. After half an hour I was a ‘seasoned veteran’ and from then on I drove most of our journeys.
When we took the fork for highway 160, I knew we were getting really close at last. We sailed along now in the sunshine, with a big storm away off in the distance, but the evening was closing fast, and I really wanted that day to end with me seeing the Valley. I began to have inner panics when suddenly, away off to my left, I got the first glimpse of Monument Valley. We shot into Kayenta, and there in a McDonald’s restroom I changed into my blue shirt and black pants, just to keep the magic on track and authenticate my dream journal picture.
Turning left onto highway 163 I sped forward, feeling the adrenalin rushing through every cell in my body. Then a kind of euphoria started to flow through me as well. The first mountain came into sight and I swung over for a photograph. As I did so, JoAnn pointed to a single tumbleweed that blew right across the road in our direction. There was no wind and no reason for it to move at all, yet on it came as my dream picture was completed in minute detail. Then in a fever and with the light fading fast, I drove like a demon to get to the Forest Gump spot on the road. We drove and drove and passed the Mittens, and just as I did so, my wonderful American wife pressed a button on the dash and out came U2 from the speakers. Months earlier she had secretly created a CD of my favourite music, and somehow managed to get it into the player while I was in McDonald’s changing. This was the most wonderful thing she had ever done for me, and I fought back tears as we drove on to the Forest Gump spot on the road.
With the sun setting in the west, and while watching the sky change into colours of unimaginable beauty, I had arrived. I spun around on the road so as to face in the direction of that famous photograph, and jumped out of the car. I had no words for a long time. After a lifetime of dreaming the impossible dream, I was standing on the road, on the very spot I had imagined, wearing a blue shirt and black pants, and was driving a car of the exact colour as my dream picture back in Ireland. The photo was now complete in every detail. Again I thanked God for that day, for the miracles, and for all that we had in life. All too quickly the sun set and darkness fell almost instantly. We sat and savoured the dusky, starry sky, and felt the energy in that awesome place. We had somehow lost a day, and we had to register at the Grand Canyon within thirty six hours or lose our cabin, yet I just could not leave Monument Valley like this. I needed to see it in the sunshine, like I had all those years before in Kyrl’s cowboy films. I needed to see where John Wayne stayed,
and where he worked. I needed to see the movie museum in Goulding’s, and right then we both needed to find a place to sleep. We decided to return to Kayenta, find a motel and return next morning before dawn to see the sun rise over the valley. As we drove back, we passed the entrance to the Goulding’s Lodge, John Wayne’s favourite place. On a whim JoAnn decided we should go ask if they had a room, despite my assuring her that they did not.
At the reception desk we were told that they were fully booked up except for a complete chalet, which came with an exorbitant price tag. There was no arguing about the cost of it either; the price was fixed and that was that. We left and drove off down the road, but again JoAnn persuaded me to go back, feeling that she could still get it. After all I had seen happen in recent days, I was not going to argue with her, and I really did want to stay in the valley, so back I drove. The receptionist was surprised to see us back and JoAnn arguing began in earnest, but it did no good. Finally, as if wanting to really get rid of us, he assured us that there was no way it was within his power to change the rates. Only the manager could do that, and she was away for the day. We turned to leave and in walked the manager. She was a nice-looking lady, but had the air of a tough businesswoman. JoAnn explained our situation; how I was from Ireland, wanting to stay in John Wayne’s hotel since childhood, she told of our limited budget and embellished nothing. The manager looked at us both for a while. Like many others, she was puzzled with our personal story; an Irishman and an American together. Then she said, “Ahh ye have caught me at a weak moment, give them the chalet at whatever they can afford,” and that was it. She left, and we were staying in the famous Goulding’s Trading Post with free entry into their John Wayne Museum next morning, and all of this at a rate which was less than half the nominal price. Yet another miracle had happened.
We can’t say for sure, but I believe I slept in the same room as my cowboy idol did, and that night I dreamed of Big Kyrl smiling at me a lot. Was all of this a simple coincidence, or is there much more to our lives than we have ever imagined? I believe there is for sure, but no one has told us about it.
We rose before dawn and sped off to our spot on the road. Then as the sun came up, we were bathed in the most beautiful light I had ever seen in my life. The whole area became magical. Reds and golden rays flooded that incredible place, and I could clearly feel the good energy known best to the Navaho Indians. We took picture after picture. JoAnn photographed me in my many poses, especially my dream one of me standing in the road in the sunshine with the Mittens spread out behind me. At long last I could say that my American dream was complete. We sat on the road and shared our breakfast; a banana, a muffin and water. We were about five thousand miles from home, and forty five years away from Kyrl’s movie hall. I longed to stay longer, but we could not. We rushed back to Goulding’s and saw the museum. I saw just how small I was, and how tall my idol was. Another photo kept this memory alive for posterity, and we headed across the road to the View Hotel in the Navaho Reservation.
The Hotel is aptly named, as without a doubt the view from any part of that hotel is spectacular. We were unable to stay at The View on that trip, but it would be a terrible shame if we could not at least have lunch in their restaurant. This beautiful glass-enclosed eating area had been chosen so as to give their patrons a spectacular view of the entire Monument Valley vista. We ate almost in silence, taking in the surroundings and revelling in the atmosphere of a place I had dreamed of seeing for so long.
Then it began to rain, an unusual event in a desert, and like Forest Gump, it was time to turn back. As we headed south my heart became deeply sad inside, and I felt a terrible longing to stay just a little bit longer, but we could not. We had reached the turning point of that amazing journey, and a peak in my life had occurred. Now my return journey had begun in the rain, and it felt like Ireland was calling, reminding me of my homeland and my roots. When I finally dragged my soul away from the Valley, I could not bring myself to look back, it was too hard. We began heading back to Flagstaff and the Grand Canyon in yet another violent thunderstorm, and even though deeply saddened inside, I still loved it all.
We drove for hours and hours in a kind of downpour that I had never seen before. The lightning flashed and struck things at random some miles away, but it never once occurred to me that we might be in any danger. We hit old Route 66 on the outskirts of Flagstaff and found an old 66 motel where we decided to stay for the night. It had clean rooms and a bar which doubled up as their restaurant. After some food, we decided to attempt to play pool in the bar. This little bar had its locals sitting around drinking beer, and when we set up the table and I explained to JoAnn that I never played pool before, my strong Irish accent became the centre of attention. I could not help noticing people nudging and nodding in our direction, and a kind of quietness descended on the place. I played like a mad man, hitting the wrong balls into the wrong holes, and at such a speed that the first game ended very fast. JoAnn declared herself the winner by default due to my cheating, so another game was soon set up. There was a look of astonishment on one old guy’s face near the door as he took a great interest in us and in our ‘story’, and most especially in this new version of pool, but he never said a word. A rather portly lady of mixed blood, mostly Navaho I believe, took an even keener interest in me, even though it was obvious to all that I was there with my wife. She soon began a slow belly dance while standing facing me, and was giving me the Navaho version of ‘the eye’ or a ‘come on look’. I ignored her, but that only seemed to challenge her more, and then she swayed even closer to both me and JoAnn’s beer. To this day I’m still not sure which she was really after. However, I concentrated on trying to play pool by my wife’s complicated rules, and this time the pool game went on a bit longer, with JoAnn trying in vain to teach me how to play pool properly. Impatience got the better of me again, and I began potting every ball I could see, irrespective of its colour or number. I just loved the potting stuff and wanted to put every ball into any hole. This was causing amazement and entertainment for the growing number of onlookers, as well as the belly dancer who smiled all the time. JoAnn had laid her beer on a table beside us, and as if to make some kind of play for the drink, our belly dancer then placed her empty glass right beside JoAnn’s almost full one. Trouble was brewing, and as if to give her a clear ‘hands off’ signal, my beloved wife gave her a deadly black stare of ‘don’t fuck with me bitch’, and dramatically moved her beer to another table. It made no difference at all. The swaying only momentarily slowed and began again in earnest, while the onlookers all smirked with the knowledge that a ‘fight’ might be the night’s real entertainment. Taking the challenge, my groupie then sidled right up to the table and stared drunkenly across at me, totally ignoring JoAnn’s jet black stares back at her. At that point my groupies’ few girlfriends, fearing a real scrap, took her outside, and I continued to pot balls like a man possessed. With the excitement all over, JoAnn once again declared me a cheater and claimed the game, getting some applause from the onlookers.
It was time to leave, and as we did so we got nods of appreciation, or maybe admiration for my new form of ‘Irish’ pool, and a shake of the head from the old geezer at the door. I loved that place. It was real America, exactly what I had seen in the movies. No pretentious wealth, no falseness, just ordinary people living an ordinary life in a city built by the Riordan Irish. I could easily live there, but JoAnn had other ideas, and didn’t like it at all. Later that night it would be hit by five tornados while we slept.
We returned to our room, and being tired out from the days adventures, we both fell fast asleep, leaving the television set turned on, tuned to CNN. Around five a.m. I was awoken in terror to a constant blaring sound screaming at me from the television set. It was a tornado warning being transmitted by some kind of early warning system. JoAnn jumped out of the bed and ran to the window and looked out. She said excitedly, “That noise is a tornado warning, and it does feel like a tornado is near. Can’t you fee
l it?” I could feel nothing, and I could see a repeat of the plane incident was on the way, but at least we were on the ground this time. I threw on my pants and ran outside only to discover that a huge limb had been blown off a tree, landing beside our car. Another foot and our driving days were over. There were bits of trees and debris scattered all over the car park, but I could see no real property damage, so I dismissed all the panic as media exaggeration. I did notice however that the sky looked very peculiar. It was a strange colour, and the clouds were rolling by really fast. Rain was lashing the area now and again, but to me this was the kind of storm we had seen almost every day since arriving in Phoenix.
The newscaster on CNN was describing the damage done by the ‘five tornados’ that had hit the Flagstaff area during the night. Trains had been derailed, campers overturned, some trailer courts were totally destroyed, and whole streets were hit in the Flagstaff suburbs. We were in the suburbs, and had slept through it all. I sat on the bed transfixed as I watched the reports coming in. This was all so new to me, but very common to a woman from Tornado Alley, and she seemed to be hurriedly dressing and gathering our stuff. All the warnings were suggesting that new tornado cells were forming in our area, and would be slowly moving north of Flagstaff. This was exactly where we were heading on our way to the Grand Canyon. Months earlier I had figured out a short cut from Flagstaff to the Grand Canyon, and from the weatherman I could see that the cells seemed to be forming along the road right on our path.
Two Walls and a Roof Page 42
