Day 8 - Flagstaff, AZ to Cedar City, UT

Don't Look Down

I've mentioned before my fear of heights -- just the other day as a matter of fact! -- but today's post requires that I belabor this just a bit more.

People who aren't afraid of heights can't fathom the fears of those who are. Just as someone who thinks shrimp are delicious in every form would never believe that the little creatures are really just the cockroaches of the sea. This difference keeps the world interesting, and without it -- if everyone shared the same fears -- the world would be a whole lot less scary for everyone.

So it was with great surprise that I discovered the Grand Canyon is no place for someone with a fear of heights.

I've seen photographs of and television shows about the Grand Canyon for as long as I've been alive; even more so as I've been preparing for this trip over the last couple years. I was always struck by its grandeur and majesty and sheer geological beauty. But for some reason, those photos taken from one of the rims, depicting the canyon's vast depth and length and breadth, never caused my breath to catch in my throat or my bowels to feel loose.

Which is exactly what happened 60 seconds after arriving at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon.

Those photos and television shows don't do it justice. To stand in front of the canyon is to witness a tiny, infinitesimal part of the universe's enormity opening up before you, and to feel your true insignificance in response to it.

For some of us, that can be truly horrifying.

For others, not so much.

Whereas I had to turn away, my traveling companion, Jonathan, seemed to be drawn toward the canyon. He was happy to jump up on the low stone retaining walls that stood between us and oblivion as though teetering on the brink of nothingness was the most natural and comfortable thing in the world.

(Jonathan has sometimes commented, in response to my tendency to feel blue, on how comfortable I am "staring into the abyss." Funny that when confronted with the real thing I find myself unable to face it.)

Worse were the other people, those who would hike a trail down to a rock ledge and perch on it. Do you see them out there, perched on the edge of nothingness? Or the people who were blithely allowing their children to scamper and crawl on and over every fence and barrier. It's like the Grand Canyon was one of those inflated bouncing tents you see at kids' birthday parties, with a cushy pillow lining at the bottom.

In the great canyon's defense, I have to say that it is magnificent, awe-inspiring, breath-taking and stunning. I would love to see it from the floor, though I surely couldn't get down there by foot or on the back of a burro. Nothing short of being delivered to the canyon floor in the safety of a Life-Flite helicopter would do.

We spent a couple hours at the canyon, peering out of it from various viewpoints, and if that had been the end of my experience with heights that day I would have been happy. But as the saying goes, we had miles to go before we slept, so we took off across Arizona and on to Utah.

Incredible landscape along the way. Northern Arizona and southern Utah have incredible rock formations, hills and mountains and valleys and canyons. There's something amazing around every bend in the road. It's also very sparsely populated, and the few little towns that there are along the way are strange-looking affairs: a random scattering of little houses with almost no organization, as though someone just threw down a dozen or so houses in the middle of the land.

Our stopping point for the day was Cedar City, Utah, and to get there we had to take a twisting mountain pass that -- you guessed it -- freaked me out. This photo doesn't do the landscape justice either. Even the most casual reader of this blog should know by now how that made me feel. But we made it. And I've never been so happy to be inside the room of a Motel 6 in my life.

Or to drink a glass or two of Wild Turkey.

Day 7 - Flagstaff, AZ

Hole in the Ground

Flagstaff, Arizona is situated between two famous geological attractions. To the east, Meteor Crater; to the north, the Grand Canyon.

We came to see both.

And this is where things started getting scary for me.

I'm a Discovery/History/National Geographic/Learning Channel nerd, and have seen more shows on meteors hitting the earth than probably anyone on earth, with the exception of my traveling companion, Jonathan. And nearly every "meteors-have-hit-the-earth-before-and-will-again" show includes a bit about Meteor Crater.

Meteor Crater was formed around 50,000 years ago when a meteor approximately 150 feet across slammed into the earth at some 26,000 miles an hour. And after seeing so many geologists and astronomers wander its impressive rim and talk about its wonders, of course I wanted to see it for myself.

What I didn't think about every time I saw Meteor Crater on television is that I'm afraid of heights. Not just "I don't like heights" afraid, but sweating, trembling, anxiety-attack afraid. And that Meteor Crater is essentially a very big, very deep hole in the ground, and no place for someone with acrophobia.

We took a fair amount of pictures and even some video while we there, and none of them do the crater justice. Especially if walking up to its edge and looking down into its depths makes you feel the least bit dizzy or panicked, like it does me. But this will have to do.

Even in person, the crater doesn't look as large as it truly is. It's 550 feet deep -- deep enough to bring the roof of a 55-story building even with the rim. And the bottom of the crater is large enough to hold 20 football fields. That's big. And really, really scary if you're me.

As part of our tour, we hiked a trail that goes about 1/2 mile around the rim. This picture doesn't show it, but I was actually leaning away from the crater. I was that freaked out by it.

Toward the end of the hike, the group followed a more narrow trail that led into the crater a little bit. It was too much for me, and I had to hang back while the rest of the group went on. And probably made fun of me.

We spent the rest of the day in Flagstaff relaxing and doing laundry and getting ready to see the Grand Canyon the next day. Little did I know, my troubles were just beginning.

We're Not Here

It started with the 2007 publication of The World Without Us, Alan Weisman's meditation on what would happen to the world without the human race. His book struck a rare and profitable chord with the reading public and, apparently, programming executives at certain cable channels.

The History Channel was first to capitalize on the fascination, and premiered Life After People in January of this year. The "two-hour television event" brought Weisman's themes of gradual decay to creepy CGI life, demonstrating how our cars, homes, buildings and cities -- everything but plastics, really -- would eventually succumb and crumble at the hands of Nature, leaving Earth to its plants, wildlife and whatever feral pets were canny or lucky enough to survive.

Now, the National Geographic Channel has entered the fray with Aftermath: Population Zero, a two-hour me-too presentation that promises another lavish exploration of the world's slow grind to a halt and eventual rebirth as a people-free Eden. If you missed it the first time around, Aftermath will be broadcast again on Wednesday night at 9pm Eastern.

Post-apocalyptic speculation is nothing new. But in every other incarnation I can think of, there's always been a small band of survivors, or at the very least one lone man holed up in a house or a cave, fighting to stay alive and attempting to set things right once again. The sentiment has always been, "Yes, things are bad, and they'll probably get worse, but humanity will rise once again, and it will be better."

Weisman and his cable-network followers aren't providing us with this comfort, and that's what is new and interesting here. By dispensing with the notion of human survival -- what ultimately does us in is never really addressed -- and focusing on what happens afterward, we get the global equivalent of the suicide's wish to attend his or her own funeral. And just like that fabled funeral, it's ultimately a disappointment because not enough people show up and eventually life goes on.

The horror lover in me appreciates this ultimate end-game approach. It's the end of the world as we know it, with all the thrill of destruction and none of those pesky characters who'll either live or die.

But why this and why now?

One reason might be that our standard apocalyptic scenarios -- like most of our well-worn bogey monsters -- no longer have the power to excite us. We need something bigger, stronger and meaner to get our scare on and the no-people apocalypse fills the bills nicely.

A second possibility is that, like Kansas City in the musical Oklahoma, we believe we've gone about as far as we can go, and it's time to start collectively start contemplating our own demise.

Number three is the strangest and most upsetting. Perhaps the human race is tuning in -- even subconsciously -- to all those 2012 doomsday scenarios currently making the rounds. We're beginning to realize that the clock is ticking, time is almost up, and we need to get used to that idea.

It's this last one that gives me the most willies, since only the slow passage of time can confirm or deny all those dark rumors of apocalypse and doom. Stay tuned. There may not be anyone around to witness the world's rebirth, but everything leading up to it is sure to be a pretty good horror show.

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UPDATE: We watched Aftermath last night. It was boring.

Life Inside the Ouroborus

A new Associated Press report says that trace amounts of pharmaceutical drugs have been found in the nation's waterways and cities' water supplies.

Though only in the parts per billion or trillion, the discovery is worthy of concern, since few studies of long-term, low-grade human exposure have been done.

What is known is that the drugs are having an affect on wildlife -- particularly fish, who are increasingly displaying "intersex" traits, such as male fish possessing egg yolk proteins.

The drugs range from anti-convulsants and anti-depressants to painkillers, sex hormones, antibiotics and chemotherapy agents. Of less concern, but also present, are caffeine, nicotine and ibuprofen.

Drugs used in cattle ranching and other agricultural practices, as well as pharmaceuticals prescribed to pets, are also contributing to the problem.

While most metropolitan water supplies filter and clean their drinking water for germs and other biological contaminants, much of this purification is performed with chlorine, a chemical which, in some cases, could actually cause some drugs to become even more toxic.

Experts say bottled water is not immune to the problem, since much of it is simply tap water treated to provide a better taste. Home filtration systems, as well, are not effective in removing the trace chemicals.

The discovery is not new. The EPA and other government bodies have been aware of the problem for some time, and similar stories can be found on the web going back to 2005.

There's yet no consensus about what effect -- if any -- exposure to these compounds has had or may have on humans, and there's a good chance that the concern about this issue will eventually die down or be forgotten altogether.

But if you ever wanted proof that we live inside an ouroboros -- the mythical creature that consumes and recreates itself -- here it is.