A Tale of Two Canyons

After four days in Sedona and twice as many unsuccessful wizard battles we were anxious to get back on the road. Adding to our excitement was the fact that our next stop was one of the most impressive sights in the United States, one of the seven natural wonders of the world, Grand Canyon. Although I had always been eager to see Grand Canyon, my interest in Grand Canyon had grown exponentially since I discovered Kent “Dr. Dino” Hovind and his creation science. I could barely contain my excitement to see first-hand what the power of one giant flood could do to the earth. As we drove up to Grand Canyon we noticed that the temperature was steadily dropping and by the time we reached the entrance it was down to twenty-five degrees with blizzard-like conditions. Apparently some of our christian readership had informed god about this blog and the big guy decided to take a big godly shit on us for mocking him. Not being ones to let “god” get in the way of a good time, we threw on our snow gear (rain coats, llama wool hats, sweatpants, shades and flip flops) and headed out to experience Grand Canyon in all its glory. Unfortunately for us it was snowing so hard that we couldn’t see a fucking thing, let alone take in the awesome beauty that we imagine Grand Canyon to be.

Fortunately for our incredibly demanding and illiterate fan base, however, we spent the next two hours attempting to create humorous videos. If you like this, you’ll love our upcoming feature film Incoherent Rambling Nonsense, filmed by Michael J. Fox. Also, you’re probably an idiot.




With our hopes of future success as indie filmmakers all but secured we left Grand Canyon and headed east, settling for experiencing the second greatest canyon in Arizona, Canyon de Chelly (pronounced, for some reason, Canyon de Shay). Our journey to Canyon de Chelly took us straight through the heart of Navajo country. There were no formal signs proclaiming that we were in fact entering the reservation but I could tell fairly easily by the tense look on Corey’s face and the slew of racial slurs, such as Crapajos, that he was shouting out the window. On the way through Navajo country I spotted a sign advertising real life dinosaur footprints and naturally decided to pull over, despite Corey’s vehement protests and patented Blackfoot Indian Burn (calling me an Uncle Eagle Claw*). I soon discovered why this once-proud tribe was now referred to as the Crapajos. This “attraction” consisted of three “dinosaur footprints” located around thirty feet from each other and more than likely caused by slightly larger than average chickens.

Shortly after our “dino track” stop we got to Canyon de Chelly and decided to stay the night at the Spider Rock Campground. It was absolutely freezing so we started a fire in an attempt to make the rest of the night somewhat bearable. About an hour later we had a fire large enough to cook a can of chili on but too small to give off any warmth. We did our best to recreate our famous chilidog tacos but all we had was tortillas and a can of watery chili**. Needless to say, it failed pretty miserably, leaving us hungry and covered in chili stains. After the chili debacle we decided to cook up the can of Wolfgang Puck’s Split Pea Soup that my mom had given us. Apparently the can had been mislabeled because it was clearly Mr. Puck’s famous recipe for Baby Vomit Soup. We were able to force down a couple spoonfuls before it started snowing and we called it a night. Fearful of freezing to death we put on every layer of clothing that we had brought and went to bed for what would prove to be the coldest, most miserable night of my life.

I woke up around five in the morning with an uncontrollable need to urinate but unable to leave my tent due to the subzero temperature outside. After a couple unsuccessful attempts to simply stick my dick out of the front vestibule (just one of the two vestibules on my dual-vestibuled tent***) I forced myself out of my urine-soaked sleeping bag and went outside like a real person would do. The ground and our tents were completely covered in snow, making it nearly impossible and completely shitty to pack up our stuff. After we finally piled our soaking wet, red dirt covered camping supplies into the Stink Wagon we left, freezing and dejected, to go experience the canyon.

Once we left we headed out to check out our campground’s namesake, Spider Rock. We found it to be amazing but you can judge for yourself.



As I was driving around the canyon I noticed that Corey had taken it upon himself to divide up a couple portions of mushrooms and realized that we were in for another day in Psychedelicvaniaburg. Shortly after arriving at the trailhead we nonchalantly ate a pile of mushrooms and started hiking down the canyon****. Near the top of the canyon we were met by a mangy old one-eared dog. Although I was convinced that it was a spirit guide sent to assist us on our hike, Corey, not one to trust a dog, was of the opinion that it was out for his coveted granola bar stash. By the time we reached the bottom, however, Corey had realized the true nature of the dog, even going so far as to ask it important life questions (What is death? What are we doing here? What was Parker thinking when he took Drew Bledsoe in the third round in last year’s fantasy football draft?).


What we found at the bottom of the canyon was not, as we had anticipated, a tranquil dessert setting but rather a post-apocalyptic village with the only inhabitants being Indian bead peddlers and a creepy guy driving around a circa 1937 military truck. Normally this would have been a frightening place for two non-zombies but luckily we were still accompanied by our spirit guide dog and therefore had nothing to fear. That was until the dog noticed an elderly couple that was giving away their granola stash and left us on our own, forcing us to explore this strange new world alone. We walked carefully between Shit River***** and the row of merchants trying to keep our distance from both of them. Toward the end of the corridor we were cornered by an older merchant who tried to pawn off his expansive dreamcatcher collection on us. We were too high to interact with another human being so we just laughed hysterically and walked off awkwardly in the other direction. After this failed attempt to purchase a much-needed dreamcatcher we continued to wander around aimlessly, attempting to gain some sort of grasp on what the fuck was going on, until we noticed a large group of hikers on the other side of the village taking pictures. We headed in their direction so that we could see what the big hubbub was all about. It took us only around two minutes to reach the tourist gathering and only around two seconds to forget why we had come over in the first place and immediately walk back to the trail. Although we would have liked to stick around and further explore this enchanted land of desolation, we were beginning to receive an abundance of weird looks from everyone so we decided to take our trip elsewhere and hike back out of Canyon de Chelly. In the name of refusing to submit to conformity we chose to blaze our own trail up the side of the canyon, costing us at least an hour and earning us even more weird looks. Once we took a rest from trailblazing and decided to throw on some tunage the trip went from a crazy hysterical adventure to a silent self-exploratory vision quest. The next three and a half hours were mind-altering, insight-filled and most likely mind-numbingly boring to read about so I will go ahead and spare you the details. If in the unlikely event you can’t live without hearing my thoughts on hallucinogenic-drug-based spirituality you can just go ahead and poke me on facebook (no dudes please). On the other hand, it wouldn’t be right if we robbed you completely of the experience so the following is Corey’s first and only attempt at a shroom video, a small glimpse into the mind of a boundary-breaking shroomhead. Disclaimer: video might seem boring and nonsensical to those not tuned in.




We left the canyon at the tail end of our trip and Corey piloted our spaceship along the highway with the windows down and Neil Young a’blastin, heading towards New Mexico, hoping to find a slightly warmer climate.

*The Blackfoot equivalent of an Uncle Tom.

**Hormel Extra Watery Tabasco Style Chili is no longer a roadtrippin recommended brand of chili.

***In contrast, Corey’s faggy tent only has one vestibule…what an idiot.

****By nonchalantly I mean that I tried to force them down my throat without throwing up, clumsily spilled half my stash, then picked through the dirt for the remains while Corey stood over me asking me “you gonna lick out the rest of that bag?”

*****A flowing river of dog-feces-laced water.

-Spencer