Antelope Canyon, undiscovered by tourists until recently, has long been the secret spot of serious photographers looking for a surrealistic fairyland carved out of multihued sandstone slickrock. This slot canyon is only a few feet wide in some places and never wider than a small room. It wanders and winds for a quarter mile before opening up again on the other side. The red, orange, and yellow sandstone walls of the canyon are scoured, rounded and sculpted by the periodic floods that rush through the narrow defile at speeds up to 80 mph and nearly 50 feet deep. Thus, the canyon is constantly reshaped and formed. The soft sand floor of the canyon immediately begins to build up again with sand blowing in from the narrow crack a hundred feet above. It is because of this flooding that care must be taken and weather reports checked, especially in late summer, when thunderstorms miles away can flood the canyon without warning. In 1997, 11 hikers were killed in a flash flood in Lower Antelope Canyon. The thunderstorm that caused the flood was 10 miles away while the skies above Antelope Canyon itself were clear. Yet the beauty and lure of this canyon is undeniable. The light filtering through the narrow slot above usually never makes it directly to the canyon floor, instead illuminating the walls with a constantly changing kaleidoscope of light and color. Photos require a tripod and some experience. I found that my average exposures were 20 to 35 seconds. During a three-hour visit to the canyon, I traversed its short length more than a dozen times, each wonderfully, rapturously different. “I walk in beauty.”

Ten days later, we returned to our entry point on the Grand Loop. We had ridden 2,600 delightful miles—plus the 1,100 miles each way getting there. We saw new things, met new friends, relearned the joy and importance of riding with a buddy who sees things and experiences life at the same level, bought wonderful Navajo jewelry, saw our first giant condor in the wild, walked in the tracks of ancient peoples and even dinosaurs, and found the world’s best Navajo taco at the Tuba City truck stop. But mostly on this road trip through canyon country, we did indeed live (a slightly reworded version of) that Navajo chant. “I ride in beauty.”