What's up with You-Tah?

I flew in to the US Southwest on Monday via Phoenix, AZ to pick up a vehicle being delivered by hittheroad.ca and bring it home to Toronto. Never having been to Arizona before, it took me a while to find my way around...anything at all. If anyone is wondering where the big-box store phenom was born, wonder no more. Except it's worse in Phoenix as there's no highway signage and every store is colored the same identical shade of sandstone.
I'm on a delivery deadline so no time spent to try and figure out where the Coyotes play, where Austin Matthews' house is, and why the hell my shuttle driver can't pick me up where he is supposed to. After grabbing the car from a cookie cutter house in suburbian Scottsdale that looks like it was lifted straight out of the 2001 Pier One catalog, it's away we go on I-17 North to finally do what Danny Glover instructed us all to do in Lawrence Kasdan's 1991 flop: get my ass to the Grand Canyon.

I'm too tired to get to anything about Utah. Trust me, it's a weird place. I'll tease with saying Donald Trump doesn't have to worry about building a wall to keep Mexicans out of there, as I somehow managed to find the only Mexican Restaurant in all of America with no Mexicans working in it.
In the meantime, here is a cactus.