Weekend Road Trip Sale

There are several ways to get to Las Vegas. But only one begins on the back of a mule at the Grand Canyon.

It’s nine in the morning and the canyon is still wearing the soft colors of dawn. The enormous canyons and plateaus below us shifting between dusty rose, pale terracotta and various shades of lavender as the sun slowly climbs higher. The crisp morning air smelling of dewy ponderosa pine and wild sagebrush. A long-eared jackrabbit hurries across the trail in front of me, briefly breaking the tranquil morning stillness.

Peaceful Tranquility & Camaraderie

As we rode on, the trail followed the rim, at times close enough to the edge to make my stomach flip. From the saddle, the landscape felt completely different. We weren’t simply looking into the canyon—we were moving with it.... in slow motion. A peaceful tranquility settled over the group, broken only by the occasional snort from a mule or a burst of nervous laughter whenever one wandered a too close to the edge. Somewhere along the trail, a camaraderie began to take hold—the kind that develops quickly among a group of strangers who have collectively decided that riding a mule around the rim of the Grand Canyon was a perfectly reasonable way to spend the morning.

Leaving the Grand Canyon behind, I picked up AZ-67 toward US-89 and headed for Antelope Canyon. Almost immediately, the landscape began to shift and reveal itself in unexpected ways—long, wonderfully empty straightaways stretching across the high-desert tableland, silver-green scrub scattered along the roadside, and distant mesas blurred by heat and haze. There was something exhilarating about the openness of it all, the road disappearing toward the horizon beneath the forever-expanding desert sky.

Wind Caves
in Antelope Canyon

Colorful layers of the Painted Desert appeared in broad strokes of dusty reds, ochre, and chalky white. The Echo Cliffs rose alongside me as I drove through the great walls of weathered sandstone glowing rust and burnt orange beneath a brilliant Arizona sky. Rickie Lee Jones playing Night Train in the background-the moment was perfect.

The tightness in my chest softened as the open road collided with the endless sweep of sky. With every exhale came the irresistible feeling of becoming lighter, as thoughts of business and everyday obligations slowly gave way to the freedom of simply being.

I covered 140 miles that morning and arrived at my next adventure, the wind caves of Antelope Canyon. I have only seen pictures of these caves and always wanted to see them in person, to be in them and explore the textures and colors. I chose a company called Antelope Canyon Navajo Tours because they struck me as a fun company-and I was right. We all climbed aboard a rugged tour truck painted Navajo Blue, both sides lined with benches and covered with a canopy. Calling it transportation would be underselling the experience. It was more like a ride.

Our guide, David made the tour an adventure I won’t forget. He was a local Navajo and the grandson of a Navajo chief. David had grown up hearing ominous stories about the canyon. The elders warned the kids never to venture near it—if they did, something terrible might happen. I found myself wondering how a place this magical hadn’t become the neighborhood hideaway, somewhere to play, wander and ponder.

When we stepped inside, the desert disappeared and the cave enveloped me in curving walls of sandstone that seemed more sculpted than eroded. Thousands of years of wind and rushing water had worked the rock into waves, folds and narrow passages. The cave changed color every few feet, a mix of dark shadows and gorgeous earth tones as rust, burnt orange, and copper seemed to burst from the walls. Then somewhere above us, sunlight found its way through a narrow opening. The cave changed shape as highlights and lowlights danced around. David asked for my camera. I gave it to him. Within seconds he handed it back with one of the most breath-taking photos I have ever seen-I call it The Money Shot. The outline of a kaleidoscopic heart telescoping towards me, created only by earth, light and the hand of God and David. And it was exactly at that moment that I realized I was living my dream.

Wow, I love life.

Route 66 or Bust

I left Antelope Canyon bound for Flagstaff and historic Route 66. The desert stretched ahead for miles, changing imperceptibly as afternoon slipped toward evening. I suddenly noticed it was to dark to see through my sun glasses.

Somewhere between an open road, a questionable turn, and an increasingly suspicious GPS, Route 66 never happened. By the time I realized it, it was too late to turn around. I was headed to Vegas, baby!

I hope this mini-road trip has entertained and maybe inspired you to do something you’ve never dared yourself to do. Ladies, get out there every once in a while. Take the trip. Make the turn. Get a little lost. Take a chance on life and see where the road takes you.

Since I never made it to Route 66, I thought I might go there symbolically and I’m taking all of you with me. I am offering 66% off everything all weekend long. So pack your bikini and a book let’s hit the road!