A road trip from LA to Santa Fe: cactus-filled plains and the dazzling lights of Las Vegas (2024)

There are some things you should never do on an American road trip: head into the desert without water (it’s stupid and dangerous); brake sharply for tumbleweed (ditto); use the forecourt of a glitzy Las Vegas hotel to turn your recreational vehicle around (it’s not dangerous, or even particularly stupid, but it’s a sure-fire way to annoy the bellboys).

Our weeklong road trip in an enormous RV had started just fine. We’d set off from the dusty Cruise America rental site in Los Angeles, the kids whooping from their seats at the kitchen table — yes, this RV had an actual kitchen table, along with an actual kitchen, plus bathroom, two double beds and a fridge bigger than the one we have at home — while my husband muttered darkly about emptying our “black water”. Sewage was to be his responsibility, as were the fresh water and electricity supplies, and the general running of the thing. Our 13-year-old daughter was to be musical director (in charge of playlists), while the 10-year-old was entertainer-in-chief (telling stories, setting up games of Uno).

I was first in the driving seat and quickly realised that navigating this lumbering beast across LA’s six-lane highways was going to be a white-knuckle trial — the steering was stiff, there was no rear-view mirror and the RV’s shape meant that the slightest breeze pushed us alarmingly around the road. But the traffic soon calmed, and so did I, as we trundled through dusty commuter towns.

And then — bam — emptiness. We were in the Mojave Desert, just the RV and us, cutting across cactus-filled plains and shimmering salt pans, the hot desert wind blowing in through the windows.

We pulled over often that first day, to gaze out over vast, bone-dry valleys and up at red-striped cliffs, not quite believing the space and the views, and our luck. Our trip to the States to visit family had been long overdue, but the logistics of getting from A (Los Angeles) to B (Santa Fe, New Mexico) had seemed too good an opportunity to squander on a boring internal flight. Why opt for a quick hop when we could hit the road and take our time seeing the bucket-list parks and experiencing those famed southwestern landscapes? The kids love camping and I loathe packing, so an RV seemed the perfect answer: we could take it all wherever we went — including the kitchen sink.

It felt as surreal as the landscapes to be trundling through the desert — down, down, down into the vast, dusty bowl of Death Valley, 300ft below sea level — with a sink on board. So Stovepipe Wells was the perfect first stop that night: an impressively inhospitable environment of grey sand and scorched black rock (this is officially the hottest place on earth), but also with a well-stocked general store and western saloon-style restaurant, where the friendly waiter loved our British accents and the steaks were nearly as big as the RV’s steering wheel.

After dinner my husband got to grips with the various plugs and pipes in our parking spot — a neat, gravelly patch between the warm lights of the general store and the misty wilderness — and then a fierce, dusty wind kicked up, making us withdraw for an early night, the girls to the big double bed at the back and us to the even bigger one above the driving cabin.

We rose to watch the sunrise over the desert and cooked eggs on our stove — which felt convenient and intrepid in equal measure — then plotted the day ahead, spotting that Las Vegas was “more or less” en route to our next stop. And here’s what is so good about RVing: there’s no checking out or packing up of bags (or tents), just a quick tidy and we were off, carving through the bleached, empty desert with that intense David Hockney blue of the Californian sky above us.

Then it was across the state line, plunging into the spaghetti highways around Nevada’s largest city, before being spat out amid the flashing casinos and hordes of gamblers on the Strip. The sat-nav was furious — while the girls oohed and aahed at the fakeness of it all (“The Eiffel Tower! The Statue of Liberty! Is that Venice?”), my husband and I shouted at each other as the sat-nav shouted at us to turn around. And so it was that I panicked and took a sharp right into the Caesars Palace driveway, followed by a painfully slow, red-faced trundle past horrified staff and guests (I’m sure that somebody getting out of a limousine shook a fist).

Shouting aside, that little detour put us in the right direction, and soon Las Vegas was behind us. Before we knew it we were crossing into Utah — three states in one day! — where the dry earth folded in on itself, creating the marvel that is Zion National Park.

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Zion is a glorious introduction to the canyons of America: not as big or busy as the Grand Canyon, but with all the towering cliffs, bizarre-shaped rocks and plunging drops you’d hope for. We spent the day hiking along the ice-cold Virgin River, and clambered up to rocky lookout points, where other hikers stopped to ask where we were from in that disarmingly friendly American way. Our campsite, a peaceful riverside spot, was on the outskirts of the pretty town of Springdale, where we spent the evening browsing gem shops, before heading back to roast burgers and marshmallows over a fire.

We soon adapted to the pace, which was slow, but that was the point. Travelling in an RV is all about taking your time, seeing as much as you fancy, and being spontaneous. My husband and I took it in turns to drive, each day revealing more gobsmacking views. Brits are quick to judge Americans for their lack of passports — just 37 per cent of the population own one — but when you spend a week driving around these parts you can understand why. Every bend revealed something extraordinary: soaring red cliffs; layers of mountains streaked orange, yellow and green; vast empty plains cut through with just one arrow-straight road. The girls would listen to music, read or play games on their tablets, and sometimes we’d all sing along to a strange mix of John Denver, One Direction and Willie Nelson — and I’d think, “I could do this for ever.”

We took impulsive detours, such as the one to Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park, where we headed out on foot — without any water, like idiots — to leap about the salmon-pink dunes in the searing sun, until our eldest took a funny turn and we had a long, nail-biting trudge back to the shade and water in our RV.

Nothing serious, thank goodness, so on we went, to Lake Powell, a strange, otherworldly place where the barren mountains drop down to a glassy network of lakes. That day was spent on a boat tour on the jade-green Colorado River, slicing past 1,000ft scarlet cliffs and along Horseshoe Bend — famed for featuring as a Microsoft screensaver.

On we drove, across Arizona, for more staggering russet mountain views and the new excitement of tumbleweed, which would hurl itself into the road in groups, like lemmings. Don’t, by the way, brake suddenly in an RV. You can drive straight over tumbleweed and braking only unleashes all kinds of chaos — books, cups and bags shooting about; general screaming and admonishment. And the ominous swoosh of the black water on board is a sound I won’t miss. Then we arrived at Monument Valley Tribal Park and the awe shot up another level. This is Navajo land, so we opted for a community-run tour (RVs are not allowed on the rocky roads), during which our guide drove us around the bonkers rock formations immortalised in John Wayne films — not that this big-screen fame did the locals much good: poverty is rife among the Navajo, and the 18 families that still live within the park have neither running water nor electricity.

Our last night was in Gallup, New Mexico, a windswept town beside a railway track that left us uninspired and realising how tired we were — RVing is an incredible adventure, but it’s not relaxing. Then, finally, on to Albuquerque, where it was time to leave the RV and head north to visit family. And what a wrench to leave Harvey behind (of course we named him).

Would we do it again? In a heartbeat. We’ve already decided. You can’t beat an RV holiday for the freedom, fun and crazy Americanness of it all. And next time we’ll know exactly what never ever to do.

Francisca Kellett was a guest of Original Travel, which has seven nights’ RV hire from £1,615pp for a family of four, including flights and two tours

Three more brilliant US journeys

1. Florida Keys

Many people assume the Keys are a scattering of tropical islands only accessible by boat. In fact they are seamlessly linked to the US mainland, and each other, by Florida’s glorious Overseas Highway. Your drive starts in the swampy, atmospheric Everglades, then passes through laid-back Key Largo. Include an overnight stay in pretty Islamorada or Marathon, where you can feed hawksbills at the Turtle Hospital. Then it’s a wind-in-your-hair cruise to raucous Key West, via Seven Mile Bridge, where the Caribbean Sea dazzles on both sides.
Details Seven nights’ room only from £2,229pp, including flights and car hire (americaasyoulikeit.com)

2. Boston to Cape Cod

The car-rental sat-nav wants to whisk you out of Boston on Highway 3, delivering you to Sandwich — first town on the sweep of Cape Cod Bay — in one-hour flat. Ignore it and follow the 3A, through mom-and-pop seaside towns and wispy-grassed nature reserves. Once you reach the base of the curve (the cape looks like a strong-arm flexing), follow the 6A as it hugs the coastal “biceps”, taking in lobster shacks, pretty lighthouses, even the Mayflower Beach as it goes. On your return trip drive Highway 28 along the south coast, through blue-blooded JFK country at Hyannisport.
Details Seven nights’ room only from £767pp, including flights; car hire extra (virginholidays.co.uk)

3. Pacific Coast Highway, California

Think of this iconic route and you’ll picture the cinematic scenes: soft-top classic cars, lofty redwoods, surf beaches, perhaps a seal or two; and the arc of Bixby Bridge near Big Sur, with its wind-battered arches (and the school run for stars of Big Little Lies). Drive this baby north-to-south, not vice versa, so that the coastal scenery is closest to you on the right, and dedicate at least three days to the trip, with pitstops in maritime Monterey, San Luis Obispo wine country and historic Santa Barbara. You could drive it in six hours, but why on earth would you?
Details Eight nights’ room only from £2,990pp, including flights and car hire (elegantresorts.co.uk)
Katie Bowman

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