Thirty miles southeast of Las Vegas we passed the Hoover Dam–which used to be the tallest dam in the world–and then gunned the Sebring into Arizona and toward the Grand Canyon National Park.
After bumping along dusty tracks we eventually found the Skywalk, a transparant glass bridge suspended 4,000 feet above the Colorado River and built by the Hualapai tribe.
Never having been a great one for heights, I got a little queasy at the sight of little kids jumping up and down on the glass as I gripped the rails till my knuckles went white.
Once back on firmer ground we headed toward the city of Flagstaff and arrived still wearing our shorts and T-shirts and absolutely freezing, due to a major increase in elevation.
At this point the rigours of our evenings in Vegas caught up with me and I turned in for the night leaving Pete to go and find a bar, have a drink and a read of the newspaper on his own (I told you there was no stopping him).
Next morning began with me resolving not to neglect my wingman duties again, and with a choice of warmer clothing, after which we found a diner, loaded up on pancakes and checked the map.
Swinging onto Interstate highway 17, we descended back to the desert heat, made a quick pit stop to resume the wearing of shorts and T-shirts, and continued toward the setting sun and lights of Phoenix.