Marble Canyon on the Trip Home

August, 1960

Heading eastward and thinking about the trip home, we left the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. We scared up this group of antelope. But fleet-footed as they were, they had nothing on us. We had scratched all the way across the country and now halfway back in less than a week.

As we roared along beneath the spectacular Vermillion Cliffs, we approached and crossed a rather insignificant looking bridge, at probably better than 70mph, if Sam was driving. As we crossed that bridge, someone commented "Hey, there was nothing under that bridge!" The bridge from our perspective seemed to be just hanging in space. So we screeched to a halt and went back to have a look. Sure enough, there was nothing under it - at least for a long way! It was a bridge over a crack in the earth called Marble Canyon, and it seemed to be an incredible distance down to the small river which ran through the bottom of the canyon.

Marble Canyon distant view to the south.

Some of the structure of the bridge over Marble Canyon.

We headed on east across the desert, headed for Santa Fe, New Mexico and the Glorieta Baptist Assembly.

The brilliant flowers surrounding the Glorieta Assembly were a welcome contrast to the parched landscape of the desert. Having never been west until last year, this was my second year in a row to visit Glorieta Baptist Assembly. We had come through here last year on the way back from my summer mission experience in Hawaii. Since John had just come in from Alaska, we represented some of the geographic extremes of the BSU summer mission work.

Continuing eastward, we were struck by the incredible brilliance of the night sky and the stars. We decided to just put down our sleeping bags and sleep out in the open. We enjoyed it immensely, and didn't think about the risk of rattlesnakes and such until the next morning.

We rolled on to Arkansas and stopped off for a brief visit with my family outside Newport, Arkansas. It was good to see Shirley, Jim and Suzanne. Then we were off for the return trip to Atlanta.

Campground cooking

West Trip,1960

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