Driving Arizona It's Thursday, so it must be Flagstaff. We stayed 3 nights in Vegas (and dined at Emiril's which was excellent) then on Wednesday we got up early and set off across country. We had decided on a rough itinery before we set off, but we also said that we wouldn't stick absolutely to it if something more interesting came up, or just if we couldn't be bothered. On our first day of travelling we went to the West Rim of the Grand Canyon to do the Skywalk, this is a scrotum tightening walk out onto a glass floored loop bridge which sits 4,000 feet above the floor of the canyon. Yes, you can see all the way down, between your feet. Yes, I was frightened, but I still did it. In fact once I'd made the initial slow shuffle out onto the bridge I got almost used to it and had a little stroll back and forth across the chasm. I'll post some photos when I get home, but the Grand Canyon is hugely impressive, it's worthy of pretty much any superlative you want to throw at it. The road in to the West Rim is 20 miles of rough dirt track, we have a giant Durango 4WD, Mrs YS was driving and laughing like a wild thing, and yes, I was frightened. Meg thought this was better than the cnayon, she just loved skidding our car/tank around wide corners and throwing up huge clouds of dust in our wake. After the canyon, we headed for Kingman, which looked alright in our guide book, but in reality appears to be a giant trailer park with a population of 35,000. We stayed in a very cheap motel which cost us about 20 quid, the best thing about that room was that it was cheap. In the diner & shop opposite there were a number of refugees from Jerry Springer arguing loudly and aggresively and with much public swearing, great, free entertainment. Today we have ploughed on and up, we're at over 6,500ft here in Flagstaff. The desert, scrub and prairie has given way to steep rocky hills, larger mountains and green pine forests everywhere. There is an 'historic old town' in Flagstaff, for Americans, this means anything built before 1950, they look rather non-plussed when I tell them that my home town was built by the Romans. We plan on staying here a couple of nights, then moving on South with the eventual aim of spending a day over the border in Mexico. I'm also doing my bit to confuse the Yanks by wearing a t-shirt which reads "The best test of a democracy is the freedom of it's critics", and it's in French. This gets the wholesome patriotic American in two ways, it's in French, the language of cheese eating surrender monkeys, and it appears that I might be criticising their government, which if they care to ask me, I am. I like to spread a little anarchy and confusion if I can.