You step off the bus in the thin, high air of Bryce before dawn and the hoodoos are already turning from ochre to flame. On day one you left the neon glare of Las Vegas behind, trading slot machines and striplights for canyon walls that rise like folded maps. Over the next 11 days the landscape shifts as dramatically as the light: towering sandstone fins at Zion, the alcoves and arches of Arches and Canyonlands, the wide, wind-sculpted flats of Monument Valley, the vertiginous rim of the Grand Canyon and the lunar salt pans of Death Valley, before alpine domes and waterfalls announce Yosemite and the final hum of San Francisco.