Dear Blog
Day One - Our Grand Canyon Trip
After hitting 125 countries, we finally decided to check out one of the world’s wonders that’s been sitting ridiculously close to home this whole time — the Grand Canyon. We’ve flown over it countless times, but this is our first time actually stopping to admire it like responsible adults. And before you ask: no, we are not riding mules. People call it a “once‑in‑a‑lifetime experience,” but at our age, we prefer experiences that don’t involve handing our lives over to a moody, long‑eared animal. Yes, I know mules are basically geniuses compared to horses, but if Jay didn’t enjoy riding a horse in Africa — on flat ground — I’m pretty sure a vertical drop on a mule isn’t going to be his thing. So we’re taking the train. Smooth. Scenic.
The trip kicked off with a Reno–Phoenix flight and a quick connection to Flagstaff. We picked up a rental car and were at our downtown hotel in about ten minutes — right on old Route 66. That whole stretch still feels frozen in time, with glowing neon motel signs, classic diners, and a dusty Old West vibe that refuses to fade.
And get this: Route 66 turns 100 this year. I had no idea until I actually opened our AAA magazine instead of tossing it. The cover was all about the centennial — 100 years of Route 66 “Get Your Kicks on the Mother Road.”
Flagstaff feels like a town with two personalities. On one hand, it’s surrounded by stunning scenery — the Grand Canyon and Sedona are practically neighbors — and at 7,000 feet, the elevation shapes everything. Summers stay mild, winters are long and snowy, and the thin air plus intense sun take some getting used to.
But the other side of Flagstaff is less romantic. The cost of living is high, and everyday expenses stack up fast. Its proximity to world‑famous landscapes brings a steady stream of tourists, especially hikers and climbers. And as someone who battled allergies in both Sacramento and San Diego, I can confirm Flagstaff’s tree pollen is no joke. Good thing I packed the Allerest.
After settling into our hotel, we committed to the two things to do in Flagstaff we’d already been thinking about back home: walking the historic Route 66 corridor downtown and weaving that walk into a search for Flagstaff’s haunted past. This city is considered one of the most haunted in America, shaped by frontier violence, railroad disasters, and tragedies that left their mark on buildings still standing. Jay and I are drawn to places with that eerie edge. Years ago, we took a Jack the Ripper tour in London and loved the mix of history and darkness. Flagstaff isn’t as brutal as Whitechapel on London East end, but its stories come from real frontier-era heartbreak. Instead of foggy gas‑lit alleys, you get old brick hotels, shadowy back lanes off Route 66, and creaking 1900s architecture. Different setting, but same thrill of walking through history when the sun goes down.
Our walk’s standout moments were the hauntings at the Hotel Monte Vista. In Room 220, guests report cold hands grabbing their ankles and the smell of raw meat — tied to a man who once hung meat from the chandelier. Room 305 has a rocking chair that moves on its own every day. And many guests hear the Phantom Bellboy cheerfully announcing “room service” to an empty hallway. At the Weatherford Hotel, we learned about the newlyweds murdered on their wedding night. People staying in that room still hear screams, footsteps, and heavy furniture dragging.
After all that, we needed a drink, so we circled back to the Monte Vista lounge — another hotspot for ghost stories. The Phantom Bartender is known for whispering greetings and knocking glasses over. We didn’t witness anything, but the bartender told us her firsthand accounts of being haunted.
Well enough excitement for one day sweet dreams to all and to all a good night. Tomorrow we drive to Williams.
