So we took Pug-A-Boo to the cutest dog park in Arizona. The locals call it the grand canyon (probably because it’s such a grand place to walk your balloon pug!).
It’s a weird feeling when you’re writing a blog but you still can hear no one laughing at your own jokes. Fine, douchebags, it’s the Grand Canyon and, while we’re on the subject, pets technically aren’t allowed. (But we brought Pug-A-Boo anyway).
This place is friction’ crazy. People should really talk about it.
Anyways, as you can imagine, the colors here are bonkers. Ceil would like to note that “they rock.” Get it, because of the rocks? Maggie would like to note that she’s going to effing kill herself. Get it, because of the rock joke Ceil made?
With so many different layers deep within the canyon, and so many different shadows depending on the time of day, there’s no real limit to the colors you’ll find here.
The most striking, and famous, is a level called the Redwall Limestone. It’s what gives the grand canyon its notorious orange-red color because of the iron-oxide in the sediment. Iron is behind a lot of things that are famous for being red.
We actually hiked pretty far down into the canyon. We wanted to see the color gradation for ourselves. We got pretty far and it was spectacular. BUT THEN an old, old man (think Jafar’s disguise in the beginning of Aladdin) who “volunteers” for the park told us we had “probably gone too far and it was too late in the day and we better turn around.” No joke, guys, it was like 2:30 in the afternoon. This guy was batshit. But he got into our heads and we turned around before we had planned to.
Later, when we returned to the top, we spoke to a ranger who told us there hadn’t been any volunteers in the canyon since 1948. My bones went as ice-cold as the Colorado River. Pretty eerie, right?!
Okay, another bad joke that no one’s laughing at. The volunteer did really exist. But, honestly, that’s how old he was.
Look at the other asshole we met on the trail:
And, for a bonus, here’s another pic of Pug-A-Boo.