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Meteor Crater is a meteorite impact crater located approximately 43 miles (69 km) east of Flagstaff, near Winslow in the northern Arizona desert. Because the US Department of the Interior Division of Names commonly recognizes names of natural features derived from the nearest post office, the feature acquired the name of "Meteor Crater" from the nearby post office named Meteor.
The owners of the Crater proclaim it to be "the first proven, best-preserved meteorite crater on earth."[3] Meteor Crater lies at an elevation of about a mile above sea level. It is about 4,000 feet in diameter, some 570 feet deep and surrounded by a rim that rises 150 feet above the surrounding plains. The center of the crater is filled with 800 feet of rubble lying above crater bedrock. (From Wikipedia)-------------------------------------------------------------
Just yards before the road reached what appeared to be the meteor rim, the column was halted by a sturdy cyclone fence. The pilgrims now sat silently, alone with their thoughts, as they contemplated the meaning of the sign. "Meteor Crater, Open 8 a.m. to 5 p.m."
Eventually, the Minnesotan stepped out of his vehicle onto the bituminous apron in front of the locked gate. He made eye contact with the German in his rented Chevrolet, as he looked up from a lap full of maps and guidebooks. The window lowered and he shrugged. "It opens at eight," he said, his accent not quite thick enough to disguise moderate disbelief.
The Minnesotan grinned, shrugged and walked back to the third car. Ernst rolled down his window, shaking his head with incredulity. "It's a fricken hole in the ground," the Minnesotan laughed, "It's a HOLE!" The strangers bonded in common befuddlement, grousing about how American ingenuity could make a commercial enterprise out of a hole in the ground in the middle of nowhere. "You just stretch a fence and charge admission. By the time you get this far, you're not going to turn back."
"Perhaps it's a safety issue. The fence protects people from falling in," the Minnesotan said nicely. Ernst didn't think so. "Look at the Grand Canyon, you can fall to your death anywhere there. Nobody cares." Ernst had actually been to the canyon on the previous day. He was a bit tired today because he'd stayed in Flagstaff motel, unaware that it was located adjacent to a busy railroad track, a major transportation corridor from LA. Night and day, freight trains pass on the double-track right-of-way, pulling goods from China for eager Walmart shoppers. "They blow their horns, all night, all the way through town," he laughed, in remarkably good spirits for someone who had now made two bad travel decisions in a row.
No prices for a peek into the crater were posted and the gatekeeper wouldn't be coming for another half hour, so the Minnesotan bid adieu to his Ohio friend, explaining he had other priorities and had to be on his way. A few pictures, perhaps, of the cyclone fence, the rising desert sun, and the cluster of buildings servicing this outpost. But no pictures of the hole today, no sir.
He drove off about a quarter of a mile, got out and framed up some landscapes, then noticed that Ernst had followed. Had he, too, given up?
"Wait," Ernst yelled from his Buick. "I found a picture of the crater in my Atlas. You can just take a picture of that," he gleefully offered, proud of his discovery, hoping to make lemonade with this ridiculous gesture.
Sure enough, on the overleaf, was this natural wonder, this hole of renown.
The Minnesotan took this photograph, waved goodbye and drove on to Meteor City, there to see the World's Largest Map of Route 66.
Free, open 24/7.
