I’m still awake, even though I plan to get up early to see the wonder of wonders called the Grand Canyon. Not the OK Canyon, the Pretty Good Canyon or the Fucking Fabulous Canyon, but the “Grand.” Breaking it down that way, as GRAND, I wonder if Holden Caulfield would have thought the canyons neighbors phony.

My sleeplessness is my proximity to the wilderness, here somewhere in the mountains where the motel is. (I don’t know why, except, of course, ignorance, but I was surprised as my car rose in elevation as I drove here. In my head’s world, vast canyons somehow sink deep into the earth’s surface, taking elevation from 0 at sea level to a negative number. Stupid brain. Turns out the bottom bit where the water flows is the bit that’s leveling out to the sea. Outside the canyon, I’m at 6,000 feet.)

The woods make my heart palpitate and muscles tense in fear.

In the city, I am at ease walking after midnight alone and confident. In the woods, I’m twitchy. Really twitchy. I saw some lights flashing overhead as I took in a sky loaded with stars, and I thought of UFOs and abductions and danger.

I think of blood-thirsty and poisonous animals, bears, spiders, asps, scorpions, I think of serial killers, I think of falling 6,000 feet, I think of the Bates hotel, I think of all manner of wild destruction. Here I am vulnerable.

My peace is the certainty of crime and danger in the city. I know what to expect, I can anticipate. Here I am without tools or weapons. I know nothing, so everything scares me.

Although, free-floating anxiety aside, I am still pumped about the trip and what I have and will see. Perhaps the nervous edginess is the first crack of road fatigue.