No breakfast at this hotel, so I had to pop to Burger King! Then I was ready for a day of heat and parks. I'd picked Green River wisely as it allowed me to get to Arches National Park by 8.30 well before all the crowds, though there were already bus-loads of tourists arriving when I got there. I don't know where they all stay; I only see them in the parks and never anywhere else – maybe they sleep on these huge coaches. The entrance to the park was the usual efficient welcome. And then the road swept you straight up away from the valley and into the park itself. This is not a big park and the main sites are connected by a road that you could get round in 30 minutes if you really wanted to. But it is pretty dramatic, especially in the morning light and worthy of a proper linger. Obviously, the arches are the showpiece, but there is a lot of other impressive rock-work too. I met one biker here who had ridden down from Montreal. He was French Canadian and hardly spoke any English. Unlike the other national parks I’d been to, there were a lot less bikers here. Too hot? Too remote? Had I missed a quieter alternative? Who knows. I found a nice spot to sit, under one of the arches and slowly watched the number of coaches increasing in the car park. This was a wonderful spot, straight out of the brochures. But the volume of people was an issue. Everyone wants their picture taken under an arch. At least I had finally found the Utah I’d seen in so many photos!

Next it was time for some even more serious views. I knew Canyonlands National Park was good for this and close (a hundred miles is close out here!). But I was also told at the Arches visitor centre that it would be busy with long queues to get in. I should try Dead Horse Point instead it was helpfully suggested. This is a State Park, not a National Park. State Parks are often better I find; cheaper, emptier and not on the coach to-do list. It was a simple ride up to it across gently rising plateaus and the views were, as promised, pretty damned spectacular. I’d never seen anything like it – and I’ve been to the Grand Canyon. It took in a large stretch of meandering Colorado river way below us, and included views across the mesas of Utah and across east to the Rockies in Colorado. And it was quiet. A few tourists but mostly empty. Safety barriers not needed. One parking spot was right next to a 2000ft vertical drop. This was the sort of place that I could happily sit for ages and dissect the view. And I did.

Finally, well rested, it was time to head deeper south towards Arizona. The towns on the way were not worth stopping at. Mostly scrubby little dust holes. Not certain who chooses to live here but, again, I suspect a lot of it is reservation land. After Bluff, I entered Navajo country and headed into Monument Valley, a place on most tick-lists for people crossing America This was as dramatic as expected and worthy of the detour. The land feels special round here and you can see why the natives respect it so much. I managed to get my money-shot of the bike, a long straight road and the huge mesas made famous by John Ford. This was a sight I’d waited many years to see. Unfortunately, I was hit by an almighty storm as I headed away from the valley. It was on with the waterproofs, even though it was in the 30s and I sweated all the way down to Kayenta. The reservation towns didn't improve as I headed on and I was glad I had booked a place in Flagstaff which I assumed would be back in some sort of civilisation.

Monument Valley marks the crossing point into Arizona and even though I’d seen some great sights today, I wasn’t sorry to leave Utah behind. America isn’t just about the views. The people, the rhythm, the vibe all matter. And Utah just doesn’t have it for me. It’s an unhappy marriage of reclusive Christianity and Native Americans and it just doesn’t work.

I knew of Flagstaff as a famous Rt66 town in the middle of Arizona, so I was expecting some huge high street in the middle of the desert. I couldn't have been more wrong. The scenery changed as I approached Flagstaff from the north. It went green again. There were snow-capped mountains. I climbed up and up to about 5000ft. Flagstaff is a lovely city in a green oasis. It has a trendy downtown with a big craft beer scene and is home to one of the country's largest universities. Not only that, as I said, it's on Rt66. Six days after diverting from it, I had re-joined the Mother Road again. That was one huge alternative route but I'm glad I did it.

My motel was central and clean. They've all been this way. For $50-60 a night, you always get a big clean room with two queen beds, fridge, microwave, decent bathroom. They’re mainly motels, so you park right outside your door. And there is never any problem getting a room. I've booked all my rooms during my lunch stop every day. What I don't understand is, in a country where everything is super-sized, why are their bath towels so small?

Dinner had to be in one of the quite tacky Rt66 diners done out to look like something that probably never really existed. But there was a live guitarist too, mainly singing songs about the road – yes you can sing about roads out here! It was fun but I was glad I hadn't spent my whole holiday as a slave to the Rt66 tourist machine.