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Well, today was the day that we’d been practising for - the day of the great Red Rock Canyon trail ride.

At nine this morning, we presented ourselves at the trail ride office complete with hats, sunscreen, sunglasses, bottled water and cameras, and full of confidence. This confidence was a little shaken by the form we had to sign, stating all the things that could go wrong and completely absolving the company from any and all liability, and also by the fellow trail riders who went back for their sweatshirts. Sweatshirts? Really? We were in lightweight jeans and short-sleeved cotton and the sky looked clear and blue … maybe they knew something we didn’t? But no, as it turned out, they didn’t. The sky stayed clear and the temperature rose to the point where I’d personally have melted in a sweatshirt, but then, they were from Florida, so maybe Utah on a bright June day did feel a tad chilly to them.

So we all piled onto the minibus which was to take us to the trail head and the sweatshirt guy was chatting to the driver and telling him how he’d been on a horse once before, when he was six. He rather thought it was tied to some kind of carousel, but he couldn’t be sure. Anyway, he was sure he’d be fine and was looking forward to it immensely. Go Florida Guy!

The horses were waiting for us, all saddled up and ready in a corral, and one by one we were assigned a horse, told its name and mounted up. The ‘riding instructions’ promised in the brochure consisted of two sentences -

“Don’t yank on the reins, hold ‘em by the knot and let ‘em lie loose. Hold your hand this way for stop, this way for go, this way for left, and this way for right - and lean back going down, forward going up”.

Oh, OK - now we’re all cowboys! Yeehaw!!!

Actually, the ride was fantastic. The scenery was stunning, the horses knew what they were doing and where they were going … mostly … and nobody fell off or died of cold, or indeed, sunstroke. One guy did drop his camera case though. And OH and I survived very well indeed, although we were rather tired when we got off.

And Florida Guy? Well, he was a tad less chatty on the way back, but he was heard to mumble something about his thighs hurting rather a lot. Our thighs, on the other hand, thanks to getting a little practice in before we left home, were just dandy.

Just as well, really, because we’re moving on tomorrow and the last thing I need is to be hauling suitcases through the airport with legs like jelly, only more painful.

Next stop, LA and the girly Deppfest. I think that should be fun!

Well, since we’re in Las Vegas, we thought we’d go and see a show. It’s something we didn’t get around to last time we were here, and it seems a waste … anyway, by the time we got around to it this time, we were exhausted with the heat and the walking - and while I’m on the subject of walking, why doesn’t anyone tell you how much walking you have to do in Vegas? Listen, people, if you’re going to Vegas, take comfy shoes, and start training a few weeks beforehand, you’ll be glad you did. Um. Where was I? Oh yeah - we were so tired with all the walking that we decided the show had to be very, very local. As it happens, Elton John was doing his Red Piano thing in Cesar’s Palace, which is the hotel right next door to where we are staying, so we thought we’d go see him.

First let me say, the guy can still belt ‘em out - he was in very fine voice indeed! I was impressed! But bloody hell! Did it have to be so LOUD??? Did he really need two drum kits? Yes, really. Two drum kits, amplified, and manned by two guys who had obviously had their ears surgical altered to cope with the decibels they were inflicting on the general public. Still, I got used to it, sort of, as the evening progressed. And I even stopped laughing at the giant inflatables after a while .. that is, until the thirty foot* tall disembodied breasts began deflating and then I had a fit of the giggles. It was all very … um … Vegas, I suppose. Fifteen foot high bananas, flanked by six foot tall cherries, oh yes, very amusing. Tee hee. And what else did we have? Oh yeah, roses which must have been ten foot across, the bottom half of a woman wearing high heels - all of twenty-five feet long, that one - and then they tried to spell out the word ‘love’ in fifteen foot high red cushiony letters, only they couldn’t get the ‘O’ to inflate. Never mind. As I remarked to OH, a lot of men have trouble with providing the big ‘O’ from time to time. And they were very inventive and filled in the gap with a pulsating heart. If you can’t have the whole deal, I guess a little romance is always good, huh?

All joking aside, the show was very good, and fun to see, although I bet the cleaners curse the inch-deep drifts of rose petal confetti on a nightly basis, never mind the elusively bobbing balloons. And I’m just waiting for my ears to stop ringing and for the feeling to come back into my coccyx. I have a suspicion that it’s going to be painful when it does - and I also suspect that the seating in the Coliseum was not built with old fogeys in mind. I feel kinda battered and shell-shocked, but I guess that’s the idea, isn’t it? I mean, let’s face it, Vegas never intends to be forgettable on any level, and at least I know I’ve been somewhere!

* All dimensions are approximate, and I’m not very good at estimating measurements, but believe me, they were BIG and they were suspended from somewhere up on high. They’d probably have taken out ten men if they’d fallen.

Apparently, the most dangerous animal in the Grand Canyon National Park is not the elk, or the mountain lion - not even the rattlesnake. It’s the humble squirrel.

Just after I snapped this little fellow, he was preparing to launch himself at me, presumably in an attempt to rifle my pockets and bags for food. But although the tour guide’s flippant comment was that they’ll take the food right out of your mouth, the real reason they’re the most dangerous is that they carry rabies, hanta virus and bubonic plague, and they’re not afraid of people.

Yikes! Get away from me, you tree rat, you!

Cute though, ain’t he?

Well, the time has come, and after weeks of stressing about it, the cases are packed, and we are off on holiday. I’m going to visit my Depp friends in LA for a week, but there’ll be time for OH and I to do other stuff too - like that famous Bryce Canyon ride I’ve been getting in shape for.

Since we’re going abroad, I’ve just taken the dogs to their boarding kennel. Why does it rip your heart out to leave them, even though you know they are safe and well-cared for? They’re going to a lovely man and his sister who run a luxury boarding establishment for all small animals, and they really are lovely people. He remembered my dogs and what they were like last time they stayed with him, even though it was six months ago. They have their own beds and the Pirate has his beloved yellow stuffie, and they’ll be fine, I know they will. I just hate to send innocent dogs to jail.

Our son is looking after the house for us while we’re away, so we’re just waiting for him to turn up to give him the last minute instructions (there are always last minute instructions) and then we’ll be off.

Anyway. The next blog might be from the airport. Or it might perhaps be from Las Vegas. Of course, if we’re unlucky, it might be from Denver. We’re actually not supposed to be going anywhere near Denver, but it happened before, and we were stuck there for ages, so I can’t rule it out. We got landed at Hawaii once, too, when we were supposed to be going to LA, which would, of course, be far better, but we were coming from the other direction at the time so I think it’s probably unlikely to happen again. Do you detect a trace of hysteria? Yeah, I’m always like this before I fly anywhere. It’s nothing to do with being nervous of air travel, it’s just that I’m convinced I’m not ready and that I’ve forgotten something important. Once I’m in the air, I’ll be fine, but until then, stress rules. So you’d better just hope that the next blog is from somewhere - anywhere - on the other side of The Pond, because if I’m posting from Gatwick airport, it will only get worse.