Sometimes, when things go awry on the road, the morning’s rays make up for it, as they did in the Grand Canyon

I was ready for the big moment, that spectacular moment when day wanes and the sun drifts toward slumber at the Grand Canyon.

And … I blew it. By five measly minutes.

A spectacular twilight provided some solace, and I vowed to wake early for the next sunrise.

I had purposely set out on my Mother Road trip hoping the highway would dictate my journey. I never dreamed my time management skills would come into play.

The next morning I woke up long before the sunrise. Because I couldn’t stay at the majestic El Tovar hotel, I figured I’d eat breakfast there in preparation for my two-hour hike into the canyon.

After breakfast, I caught the first rays of light as they painted the canyon walls. Not as dramatic as twilight the previous night, but just as awe-inspiring.

The steep descent on the Bright Angel Trail worried me because I knew every step into the canyon would be twice as difficult on the way out.

The huffing and puffing hikers heading up the trail looked the same. Some said it aloud: “Am I close?”

I encountered María José from Argentina, who had just wrapped up a six-mile hike and gave me a little encouragement.

“It’s not so bad,” José said. “You’re going to enjoy it.”

She was right.

The farther I descended, the more my perspective of the canyon changed. The intermittent sunlight and shadows brought out an array of colors in the striations of the rock layers.

After about an hour, I reversed my course and began my ascent.

I took advice from the guy in front of me who had camped for three days on the canyon floor: Take it slow.

The view from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon near the El Tovar hotel.

(Brady MacDonald / Los Angeles Times)

Back up on the rim, where it was 50 degrees and windy, people were bundled up like it was winter in Buffalo, N.Y.: hats, scarves, gloves and parkas. Hot from my hike, I was wearing only shorts and a T-shirt.

“I’m cold just looking at you,” a shivering woman said.

On the South Rim, I watched some lunatics climb out on a craggy point of the Grand Canyon for a photo op.

“Americans are crazy,” said Lucas from Munich, a burly, bearded fellow with “HELL” tattooed on his left knuckles.

“We’re crazy in Germany, but not like that.”

A senior citizen with white hair and purple and pink bangs lamented the changes in the park.

“You used to be able to drive right through,” said Marvel (like the comic book), who hadn’t visited in decades.

“Now it’s like Disneyland.”

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