It was just before noon, Arizona time, on April 24, 2026, when the Grand Canyon appeared before me.
Earlier that morning, I was at a Meineke repair shop in Flagstaff, Arizona, getting an oil change for my car. I told the repairman I was a tourist, here to see the Grand Canyon for the first time. He said it’s quite spectacular, but as a local, you eventually see it as just a hole in the ground. He said he was a Bigfoot aficionado and asked if there were any Bigfoot sightings in Mississippi. I told him that if I heard any rumors of Bigfoot’s alleged whereabouts in Mississippi, I would give the shop a call.
Over the previous two days, I had driven nearly 1,500 miles—the longest trip of my life. I still had about 80 more miles to go. I took Highway 180 north through the San Francisco Peaks. I made it to my hotel in Tusayan, dropped my things off and drove toward the park entrance. Once inside the park, I parked my car and started walking. I walked with no real direction, other than following other people and assuming they knew where they were going.
As I approached, it was hard not to notice the excited chatter. Dozens of people like me were also experiencing the Grand Canyon for the first time. And, finally, I did as well. The whole place was oddly quiet, as if we had collectively agreed on some pact to treat this place with reverence.
I don’t get excited easily. I’m pretty even-keeled. But I couldn’t believe what was before me.
Not All About the Destination
I was able to keep to my schedule for my entire trip, which I consider almost as amazing an accomplishment as the creation of the Grand Canyon itself. Earlier this year, during Winter Storm Fern, a tree branch impaled my car’s hood, as if Zeus threw a wooden lightning bolt at my car specifically, sending it to the great junkyard in the sky. So I was prepared for the worst.
I left home at 4 a.m. on April 22. I got to drive through the Ozarks in Arkansas for the first time before reaching Interstate 40. My lunch stop that day was at the famous Sid’s Diner in Reno, Oklahoma, known as the birthplace of the fried onion burger.
I stayed overnight in Amarillo, Texas. I’m not sure if “remote” adequately describes the Texas panhandle. Other than windmills and a few cows, it’s flat grassland for miles and miles and miles. Amarillo seemed to appear out of nowhere. On April 23, I exited Texas, and the terrain changed from grassland to more mountainous with reddish soil. I stopped in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and from there, the American West really began to emerge.
My arrival to Flagstaff was interesting. I had never been to Arizona before, and I assumed the terrain would be similar to New Mexico. Instead, the city was covered in forest and greenery, wrapped around the base of Elden Mountain. The next morning—April 24, my birthday—I made my way through those mountains, up and down terrain that was invigorating to see.
All the driving was exhausting, but it was also novel. I had plenty of time to think, listen to podcasts and appreciate all the new stuff around me. I haven’t had the opportunity to travel much. I could have gone by plane, but something about driving all the way there and back appealed to me.
A Long Way Down
The Grand Canyon was formed over millions of years through the Colorado River carving through the earth. At the same time, tectonic forces raised what is known as the Colorado Plateau to an elevation of 7,000 feet. For context, that’s 6,000 feet higher than the “Mile High City,” Denver, Colorado.
The park consists of the North Rim and the South Rim. The two sides are about 10 miles apart, but if you wanted to get from South to North by driving, it would take you about five hours. There are also weather differences. The North Rim is about 1,000 feet higher than the South Rim, resulting in colder temperatures and more snowfall.
While the walking trail is protected by plenty of guardrails, there are areas you can explore at your own risk. I saw one, a narrow, white ledge jutting out into the canyon with plenty of people on it. I gathered it was one of those popular photo spots where a person gets photos with an unfettered view of the canyon behind them. The catch was that it was a pretty steep climb down, probably about 50 feet if I had to estimate. I’m not a fan of heights, but I was in the mood for adventure.
The rock formation itself was pretty narrow, and I became hyperfocused on my surroundings. I should mention that the canyon features high winds, winds that catch your attention when you’re attempting to keep balance and not fall a mile to the ground. I saw a man with his family at the edge of the rock face, posing for a photo with his arms outstretched, the canyon displayed behind him. He was laughing nervously. I could relate.
I tried my best to experience as much of the South Rim as I could, but I left plenty on the bone. It was a physically exhausting experience. The average elevation in my area of the Mississippi Delta is around 125 feet and the Grand Canyon’s South Rim is about 7,000 feet—you do the math. The air is thinner and oxygen is a bit more sparse. I probably overdid it all. But it was worth it.
Reflections
2024 was a tough year, and I mentioned to a friend on a whim that at the first opportunity, I was going to visit the Grand Canyon. I’m not sure why I chose to go to the Grand Canyon. I’m not a spiritual person, but it was as close to a spiritual mission as I can imagine having. And, because I’m me, I think back to a scene from one of the “Star Trek” films where James T. Kirk is scaling El Capitan in Yosemite National Park, and says he’s doing so “because it’s there.”
It’s been nearly two months since my trip, and I knew that once it was over, I’d be amazed at how quickly it passed. Time did its thing. I remember doing my best to enjoy my experience, and reminding myself to take my time, because I’d be sitting at my desk weeks later reflecting on it and wondering where the time went. I suppose all of us have that moment every now and again, with good experiences and bad.
Carl Sagan’s “Pale Blue Dot” quote has always stuck with me. It’s a photo Voyager 1 took when it was nearly 4 billion miles away from Earth. For perspective, you’d need to extend the Grand Canyon, in all its wonder, 13.5 million times end-to-end to cover that distance. Sagan observes that all of human history—with all its triumphs and failures—is summed up in a tiny speck against infinity. And at the Grand Canyon, I felt much the same way.
I suppose the Grand Canyon did end up being a hole in the ground, by the technical definition. But sometimes the simplest things are the most meaningful.
This MFP Voices opinion essay reflects the personal opinion of its author(s). The column does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to voices@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.
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