Two Walls and a Roof (56 page)

We left the Native American trading post of Cameron
,
and after about ten minutes dri
ving I noticed, by pure accident,
that JoAnn was driving with the wrong foot. Obviously the pain had finally won out and she had been sneakily driving our little automatic car very dangerously for hours. I had no choice but to become the driver and put our lives in my hands. The last time I attempted to drive an automatic was in a state park in Missouri
,
and that time we both painted our faces on the dashboard. I was a disaster with automatics
. A
s well as that, my brain could not get used to the
‘
wrong side of the road
’
driving, so when I nervously pulled out in front of a huge speeding semi, JoAnn nearly lost her life. “Speed up, speed up will you, before we are run over
. Y
ou
’
r
e
not in Cork now
,
” she roared at me in fright. The car was small and sluggish
,
and the semi bore down on us so fast that again I thought we were gonners
. T
hen with its horns blaring and slipstream tossing us all over the road
,
he passed us by. It was a scary
,
bad start, but based on our earlier frights, I felt we would be ok no matter what came at us, so I relaxed and began to just drive. After half an hour I was a ‘seasoned veteran’ and from then on I drove most of our journeys.

When we took the fork for highway 160, I knew we were getting real
ly
close at last.  We sailed along now in the sunshine, with a big storm away off in the distance, but the evening was closing fast, and I really wanted that day to end with me seeing the Valley. I began to have inner panics when suddenly
,
away off to my left
,
I got the first glimpse of Monument Valley. We shot into Kayenta
,
and there in
a
McDonald
’
s restroo
m I changed into my blue shirt
and black pants, just to keep the magic on track and authenticate my dream journal picture.

Turning left onto highway 163 I sped forward, feeling the adrenalin rushing through every cell in my body
. T
hen a kind of euphoria started to flow through me as well. The first mountain came into sight and I swung over for a photograph. As I did so, JoAnn pointed to a single tumbleweed that blew right across the road in our direction. There was no wind and no reason for it
to move at all, yet on it came
as my dream picture was completed in minute detail. Then in a fever and with the light fading fast
,
I drove like a demon to get to the Forest Gump spot on the road. We drove and drove and passed the Mittens
,
and just as I did so, my wonderful American wife pressed a button on the dash and out came U2 from the speakers. Months earli
er she had secretly created a CD
of my favourite music, and somehow managed to get it into the player while I was in McDonald
’
s changing. This was the most wonderful thing she had ever done for me, and I fought back tears as we drove on to the Forest Gump spot on the road.

With the sun setting in the west, and while watching the sky change into colours of unimaginable beauty, I had arrived. I spun around on the road so as to face in the direction of that famous photograph, and jumped out of the car. I had no words for a long time. After a lifetime of dreaming the impossible dream, I was standing on the road, on the very spot I had imagined, wearing a blue shirt and black pants, and was driving a car of the exact colour as my dream picture back in Ireland. The photo was now
complete in every detail. Again
I thanked God for that day, for the miracles, and for all that we had in life. All too quickly the sun set and darkness fell almost instantly.  We sat and savoured the dusky
,
starry sky, and felt the energy in that awesome place. We had somehow lost a day, and we had to register at the Grand
Canyon within thirty six hours
or lose our cabin, yet I just could not leave Monument Valley like this. I needed to see it in the sunshine, like I had all those years before in Kyrl’s cowboy films. I needed to see where John Wayne stayed, and where he worked. I needed to see the movie museum in Goulding
’
s, and right then we both needed to find a place to sleep. We decided to return to Kayenta, find a motel and return
next morning before dawn
to see the sun rise over the valley. As we drove back
,
we passed the entrance to the Goulding
’
s Lodge, John Wayne’s favourite place
. O
n a whim JoAnn decided we should go ask if they had a room, despite my assuring her that they did not.

At the reception desk we were told that they were fully booked up except for a complete chalet, which came with an exorbitant price tag. There was no argu
ing about the cost of it either;
the price was fixed and that was that. We left and drove off down the road, but again JoAnn persuaded me to go back, feeling that she could still get it. After all I had seen happen in recent days, I was not going to argue with her, and I really did want to stay in the valley, so back I drove. The receptionist was surprised to see us back and JoAnn arguing began in earnest, but it did no good. Finally
,
as if wanting to real
ly get rid of us, he assured us
that there was no way it was within his power to change the rates
. O
nly the manager could do that, and she was away for the day. We turned to leave and in wal
ked the manager. She was a nice-
looking lady, but had the air of a tough businesswoman
. JoAnn explained our situation;
how I was from Ireland, wanting to stay in John Wayne’s
hotel since childhood
,
she told of our limited budget an
d embellished nothing. The manager
looked at us both for a while
. L
ike many others, she was
puzzled with our personal story;
an Irishman and an American together
. T
hen she said
, “A
hh ye have caught me at a weak moment, give them the chalet at whatever they can afford
,
” and that was it. She left, and we were staying in the famous Goulding
’
s Trading Post with
fr
ee entry into their John Wayne M
useum
next morning, and all of this
at a rate which was less than half the nominal price. Yet another miracle had happened.

We can’t say for sure, but I believe I slept in the same room as my cowboy idol did, and that night I dreamed of Big Kyrl smiling at me a lot. Was all of this a sim
ple co
incidence
, o
r is there much more to our lives than we have ever imagined? I believe there is for sure, but no one has told us about it.

We rose before dawn and sped off to our spot on the road.  Then as the sun came up, we were bathed in the most beautiful light I had ever seen in my life. The whole area became magical
. R
eds and golden rays flooded that incredible place, and I could clearly feel the good energy known best to the Navaho Indians. We took picture after picture. JoAnn photographed me in my many poses, especially my dream one of me stand
ing in the road in the sunshine
with the Mittens spread out behind me. At long last I could say that my American dream was complete. We sat on th
e road and shared our breakfast;
a banana, a muffin and water. We were about five thousand miles from home, and forty five years away from Kyrl’s movie hall.  I longed to stay longer, but we could not. We rushed back to Goulding
’
s and saw the museum. I saw just how small I was, and how tall my idol was. Another photo kept this memory alive for posterity
,
and we headed across the road to the View Hotel in the Navaho Reservation.

The Hotel is aptly named, as without a doubt the view from any part of that hotel is spectacu
lar. We were unable to stay at T
he View on that trip, but it would be a terrible shame if we could not at least have lunch in their rest
aurant. This beautiful glass-
enclosed eating area had been cho
sen so as to give their patrons
a spectacular view of the entire Monument Valley vista.  We ate almost in silence, taking in the surroundings and revelling in the atmosphere of a place I had dreamed of seeing for so long.

Then i
t began to rain, an unu
sual event in a desert, and
like Forest Gump, it was time to turn back. As we headed south my heart became deeply sad inside, and I felt a terrible longing to stay just a little bit longer, but we could not. We had reached the turning point of that amazing journey, and a peak in my life had occurred. Now my return journey had begun in the rain, and it felt like Ireland was calling, reminding me of my
homeland
and my roots. When I finally
dragged my soul away from the V
alley, I could not bring myself to look back, it was too hard. We
began heading back to Flagstaff
and the Grand Canyon in yet another violent thunderstorm, and even though deeply saddened inside, I still loved it all.

We drove for hours and hours in a kind of downpour that I had never seen before. The lightning flashed and struck things at random some miles away, but it never once occurred to me that we might be in any danger. We hit old Route 66 on the outskirts of Flagstaff and found an old 66 motel
where
we decided to stay for the night. It had clean rooms and a bar which doubled up as their restaurant. After some food, we decided to attempt to play pool in the bar. This little bar had its locals sitting around drinking beer, and when we set up the
table and I explained to JoAnn
that I never played pool before, my strong Irish accent became the centre of attention. I could not help noticing people nudging and nodding in our direction, and a kind of quietness descended on the place. I played like a mad man, hitting the wrong balls into the wrong holes, and at such a speed that the first game ended very fast. JoAnn declared herself the winner by default due to my cheating, so another game was soon set up. There was a look of astonishment on one old guy
’s face near the door
as he took a great interest in us and in our ‘story’
, and most especially i
n this new version of pool, but he never said a word.  A rather portly lady of mixed blood, mostly Navaho I believe, took an even keener interest in me, even though it was obvious to all that I was there with my wi
fe. She soon began a slow
belly dance
while standing facing me, and
was
giving me the Navaho version of ‘the eye’ or a ‘come on look’. I ignored her, but that only seemed to challenge her more, and then sh
e swayed even closer to both me
and JoAnn’s beer.  To this day I’m still not sure which she was really after. However, I concentrated on trying to play pool by my wife
’
s complicated rules, and this time the pool game went on a bit lo
nger, with JoAnn trying in vain
to teach me how to play pool properly. Impatience got the better of me again, and I began potting every ball I could see, irres
pective of its colour or number.
I just loved the potting stuff and wanted to put every ball into any hole. This was causing amazement and entertainment for the growing number of
onlookers, as well as the
belly dancer
who smiled all the time. JoAnn had laid her beer on a table beside us
,
and as if to make some kind o
f play for the drink, our
belly dancer
then placed her empty glass right beside JoAnn’s almost full one. Trouble was brewing, and as if to give her a clear ‘hands off’ signal, my beloved wife gave her a deadly black stare of ‘don’t fuck with me bitch’, and dramatically moved her beer to another table. It made no difference at all. The swaying only momentarily slowed and began again in earnest, while the onlookers
all smirked with the knowledge
that a ‘fight’ might be the night
’
s real entertainment. Taking the challenge, my groupie th
en sidled right up to the table
and stared drunkenly across at me, totally ignoring JoAnn’s jet black st
ares back at her. At that point
my groupies
’
few girlfriends, fearing a real scrap, took her outside, and I continued to pot balls like a man possessed.  With the excitement all over, JoAnn o
nce again declared me a cheater
and claimed the game
,
getting some applause from the onlookers.

It was time to leave
, and as we did so
we got nods of appreciation, or maybe admiration for my new form of ‘Irish’ pool, and a shake of the head from the old geezer at the door. I loved that place
. It
was real America, exactly what I had seen in the movies. No pretentious wealth, no falseness, just ordinary
people living an ordinary life
in a city built by the Riordan Irish. I could easily live there, but JoAnn had other ideas, and didn’t like it at all
. L
ater that night it would be hit by five tornados while we slept.