Monument Valley
23 March 2024, Morning
Twenty-five miles south of Blanding is Bluff. It’s a bit early for brunch (I’m on a strict two meals a day - no fries; no desserts - regime, given the duration of this venture) but the Twin Rocks Cafe looks busy, even at 09:30. This is always a good recommendation so I stop.
In terms of alternative takes on Eggs Benedict, they are tied joint-first with Scoma’s in Sausalito, over the Golden Gate from San Francisco, whose version with lobster and crab should be given a citation in the Cardiologists’ Full Employment Act, should one ever be enshrined into law.
Twin Rocks version is fresh, fluffy Navajo bread (a bit like a over-inflated nan), with Anazi beans, pork Carnitas, two eggs any style and a green chilli hollandaise. It’s so good, it’s almost worth enduring a night in Blanding. Almost.
A constant surprise so far has been how good the roads are to ride between destinations and Route 163 is one such example. It’s possible to hack on, close to freeway speeds for an hour and a half, while being entertained the whole way by the changes in gradient and course.
Surfing one crest, I come across the view that readers of a certain age will remember from when British Airways used to heavily promote ‘FlyDrive’ holidays. It’s that shot on Monument Valley in the distance and the dead-straight road that leads to it. My take on it is below:
While I’m sat on my bike taking it in, Christine and Craig amble over to say Hi, like it’s the most natural act in the world. Which it is. I wish we English did this sort of thing as there is no reason why we shouldn’t. They’re terrific fun and we meet up again at the Monument Valley Visitor Centre when Christine sees me and asks “David?”, explaining I had sunglasses and a helmet on earlier so the only feature she could identify me by was my “great teeth”.
She didn’t add “compared to most other English…” as she is far too charming and polite, but we agreed it is a defining characteristic. They live in Salt Lake City which is relatively close at about 400 miles north. This is their first visit to the area and are as bowled over as I am. Craig is a keen biker (Christine, less so…) and we swap numbers and vow to stay in touch.
Monument Valley is busy, compared with the spectacles of the last couple of days. There are a couple of really badly-behaved French kids to make us Europeans feel at home, but other than that, the mood is oddly sombre. These huge, brooding monoliths are imperious, seemingly in contempt of the visitors that scurry like ants around their feet in open-top jeeps on sight-seeing tours.
For the rest of this post, I’ll just the pictures do the talking…
