Grand Canyon Day 3, Part 3: Freedom Tour

12:15 p.m. As advertised on Amtrak itinerary, we departed straight from the train to a bus for the Freedom Tour (which ran concurrently with the "Grand Tour" bus). It wasn't clear which bus was ours, so we just followed the herd until we were within earshot of an authoritative-looking person who pointed the way. Make sure the sticker provided with the tickets is visible on your chest, they demand 'em like an old school marm.



The tour was narrated by an old salt named Jerry who seemed to have some Navajo Indian in him, as well as some Mork from Ork. He had hitchhiked in 48 different states and never held a job for more than a year ("doesn't do much for the retirement plan," he joked - though I must admit I was wishing he had a family depending on him whenever we approached those hairpin turns at the canyon's rim). Jerry was a fast-talking, colorful character (who pretended to break down in tears at one point) and we tipped him gladly.








It was actually a two hour tour rather than three as advertised, so we got our box lunch early (Max and Thelma's came through again, this time with a turkey sandwich). There were three 20-minute stops along the route. The first was a slight descent below the rim.





What struck me right off the bus was the conspicuous lack of safety rails. Literally, had I happened to stumble very badly coming off of the bus I'd have gotten the gravity-powered express tour to the bottom!








I also discovered that while I don't have much fear of heights, I get antsy about other people falling. So whenever Dena wandered remotely close to the edge I had to look the other way. Who knew what gusty wind, rock squirrel or misstep could happen?



One mother was herding five children under the age of ten. Elsewhere, two teenagers were goofing around on a rocky ledge. One woman dangled her feet over the edge. Enough!