The Times - UK (2022-05-28)

the times Saturday May 28 2022

48 Travel

T

here are some things you

should never do on an

American road trip: head

into the desert without

water (it’s stupid and

dangerous); brake sharply

for tumbleweed (ditto);

use the forecourt of a glitzy Las Vegas

hotel to turn your recreational vehicle

around (it’s not dangerous, or even par-

ticularly stupid, but it’s a sure-fire way

to annoy the bellboys).

Our weeklong road trip in an enormous

RV had started just fine. We’d set off from

the dusty Cruise America rental site in Los

Angeles, the kids whooping from their

seats at the kitchen table — yes, this RV

had an actual kitchen table, along with

an actual kitchen, plus bathroom, two

double beds and a fridge bigger than the

one we have at home — while my husband

muttered darkly about emptying our

“black water”. Sewage was to be his

responsibility, as were the fresh water and

electricity supplies, and the general

running of the thing. Our 13-year-old

daughter was to be musical director (in

charge of playlists), while the 10-year-old

was entertainer-in-chief (telling stories,

setting up games of Uno).

I was first in the driving seat and

quickly realised that navigating this

lumbering beast across LA’s six-lane

highways was going to be a white-knuckle

trial — the steering was stiff, there was no

rear-view mirror and the RV’s shape

meant that the slightest breeze pushed us

alarmingly around the road. But the traffic

soon calmed, and so did I, as we trundled

through dusty commuter towns.

And then — bam — emptiness. We

were in the Mojave Desert, just the RV

and us, cutting across cactus-filled plains

and shimmering salt pans, the hot desert

wind blowing in through the windows.

We pulled over often that first day, to

From LA to Santa Fe: our great

Francisca Kellett and family navigate open

roads and Vegas bellboys on an epic RV

tour via some of the USA’s best scenery

ed at each other as the sat-nav shouted at

us to turn around. And so it was that I pan-

icked and took a sharp right into the Cae-

sars Palace driveway, followed by a pain-

fully slow, red-faced trundle past horrified

staff and guests (I’m sure that somebody

getting out of a limousine shook a fist).

Shouting aside, that little detour put us

in the right direction, and soon Las Vegas

was behind us. Before we knew it we were

crossing into Utah — three states

in one day! — where the dry

earth folded in on itself,

creating the marvel that

is Zion National Park.

Zion is a glorious

introduction to the

canyons of Amer-

ica: not as big or

busy as the Grand

Canyon, but with all

the towering cliffs,

bizarre-shaped rocks

and plunging drops

you’d hope for. We spent

the day hiking along the

ice-cold Virgin River, and

clambered up to rocky lookout

points, where other hikers stopped to ask

where we were from in that disarmingly

friendly American way. Our campsite, a

peaceful riverside spot, was on the out-

skirts of the pretty town of Springdale,

where we spent the evening browsing gem

shops, before heading back to roast bur-

gers and marshmallows over a fire.

gaze out over vast, bone-dry valleys and up

at red-striped cliffs, not quite believing the

space and the views, and our luck. Our trip

to the States to visit family had been long

overdue, but the logistics of getting from A

(Los Angeles) to B (Santa Fe, New Mexico)

had seemed too good an opportunity to

squander on a boring internal flight. Why

opt for a quick hop when we could hit the

road and take our time seeing the bucket-

list parks and experiencing those famed

southwestern landscapes? The kids love

camping and I loathe packing, so an RV

seemed the perfect answer: we could take

it all wherever we went — including the

kitchen sink.

It felt as surreal as the landscapes to be

trundling through the desert — down,

down, down into the vast, dusty bowl of

Death Valley, 300ft below sea level — with

a sink on board. So Stovepipe Wells was

the perfect first stop that night: an

impressively inhospitable environment of

grey sand and scorched black rock (this is

officially the hottest place on earth), but

also with a well-stocked general store and

western saloon-style restaurant, where

the friendly waiter loved our British

accents and the steaks were nearly as big

as the RV’s steering wheel.

After dinner my husband got to grips

with the various plugs and pipes in our

parking spot — a neat, gravelly patch

between the warm lights of the general

store and the misty wilderness — and then

a fierce, dusty wind kicked up, making us

withdraw for an early night, the girls to the

big double bed at the back and us to the

even bigger one above the driving cabin.

We rose to watch the sunrise over the

desert and cooked eggs on our stove —

which felt convenient and intrepid in

equal measure — then plotted the

day ahead, spotting that Las

Vegas was “more or less”

en route to our next

stop. And here’s what

is so good about

RVing: there’s no

checking out or

packing up of bags

(or tents), just a

quick tidy and we

were off, carving

through the bleached,

empty desert with that

intense David Hockney

blue of the Californian sky

above us.

Then it was across the state line,

plunging into the spaghetti highways

around Nevada’s largest city, before being

spat out amid the flashing casinos and

hordes of gamblers on the Strip. The

sat-nav was furious — while the girls

oohed and aahed at the fakeness of it all

(“The Eiffel Tower! The Statue of Liberty!

Is that Venice?”), my husband and I shout-

On the road in

Monument Valley

Los

Angeles

Lake

Powell

Santa

Fe

Gallup

Las

Ve g a s

Mojave

Desert

Death

Valley

Zion

National Park

CA

NV

UT

NM

100 miles

Monument

Valley

Tribal Park