The last couple of days we have been in Monument Valley, which is in both Arizona and Utah. The Valley is a region of the Colorado Plateau, characterized by a cluster of sandstone buttes, with the largest reaching 1,000 feet. The native Navajo Indians consider the Valley sacred, and it is within their reservation. You can either pay a fee to drive 17 miles on a dirt road to see the interior of the Valley, or you can take a covered truck ride with a guided tour. Vanna was not allowed, so we took the truck. It’s a gorgeous place.
Our guide today was Derek, who is a native of the area. Along with telling us about the geography of the area, he also talked about the Navajo or Dine (dih-NEH) tribe. The tribe is divided into subsets called clans, and there are around 140 clans total. Some of the clans names are the Tangle People, the Towering House People, and the Bitter Water People. Each person knows which four clans they belong to, and there are strict rules against marrying someone who belongs to either your mother or father’s clan. Makes sense doesn’t it?
Derek also mentioned the Navajo Code Talkers, a group of Marines in WWII who created a secret code based on the Navajo language. It was really a double code—for instance, for hand grenade they used the Navajo word nimasii, which translates to potato in English. For a tank they used Ch’ééh digháhii, or turtle in English. If you’re a history buff you probably know all of this, but it’s still pretty cool if you want to look up more details.
Remember Forrest Gump Point in Utah? Neither did I. It’s the place where Forrest stopped running after three years, two months, fourteen days, and sixteen hours. He turned to the waiting crowd who were expecting him to say something profound and said, “I’m pretty tired, I think I’ll go home now.” We went by there on Thursday and some 25 people were there, right in the middle of the road, taking pictures. Of a hill that was in a movie made in 1994. Doug, not to be outdone, joined them. Here’s the result:
Another place we passed yesterday in Utah was the Mexican Hat, which looks remarkably like a Mexican hat.
As we drove across hot and dry Arizona, I was reminded of a story my Dad used to tell. Back when he was just out of school, his first job was as a traveling salesman for his family’s business. For a while he traveled out west, and of course in the early fifties there was no air conditioning in cars. He said that had a small bucket and he used to stop and buy ice for the bucket, set the bucket on the seat beside him, then aim the vent over the ice bucket. Voila! Air conditioning of a sort.
Tonight we are in Page, Arizona camping close to Lake Powell.
A. Roam of My Own: Travels With Annie 
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