road journal 2004

On the road in the Great West. Of course my computer battery died and I forgot my charger, so I will have to actually use a pen again, on this trip through Utah. Its Labor Day weekend, 2004 and Arches campground is booked solid. As we— Robin, Rich and myself discuss other campground vacancies further off, the sky darkens. Just outside Moab, ugly clouds appear and close in on us, bringing light rain and distant lightning flashes. We agree it’s probably wise to rent a room at Best Inn for the night….

 

After a black cloud passes, we hop in my truck and drive into Arches National Park and explore two hiking trails— Park Ave and Windows. First, Park Avenue and its turning shifting walls— spikes remain on the surface left behind by climbers. Small lizards scoot across red clay, worn down from hiker’s boots. I yell. My yell echoes, fading into eternity. The sun falls over the great red landscape; night flexes its muscle, moving in quickly. We climb and crawl, hands over rocks and flashlights are brought out. I look through Windows— an arch that, I assume, has a view like a window and the darkness is deepening. A complete silence comes over the desert. A slither of sunlight is framed within the arch, behind the mountains. Across the landscape shalestone figures— like carved busts of men or in the shape of a hard penis or a pharaoh— and towers and buttes, insane silhouettes that I perceive in the forms, like a great art exhibit....

 

Tonight the sox won 2-0 against Texas and Yankees lost 3-1 and their lead is down to 2 ½ games….

 

The next day, we cruise into Delicate Arch, the Arch of all arches— its picture is displayed on the Utah license plate. It is a good hike to reach it however as we ascend rugged dirt pathways, slip rocks and shrubs. Despite the blue sky and cool temperature we consume a lot of water. It’s at least a mile long hike, probably longer but worth every strain, every bead of sweat. The sand, rocks, hills and formations, as I’ve said, are a rusty red hue and the land is how I would imagine Mars to be….

 

 

 

We explore Landscape Arch, the furthest northern point. I don’t think Rich is up for this trail but he comes quietly. This particular arch spans across a great distance, certainly the longest arch in the park and perhaps the world. Rich enjoys the hike after all. Robin is up to her shenanigans again, feeding chimpmunks and crows handfuls of Apple Jacks….

                                   

It’s a 5 hour drive to Bryce Canyon— 70 west to 89 south. At one point, as I’m driving, a wild terrifying rainstorm overtakes us on a single lane highway. Huge rigs barrell passed in the other lane, dumping buckets of rainwater on the windsheild and at moments, the water is so much its blinding. I focus and stay straight. Almost as quickly as it had come, it leaves, forging south. I won’t pretend that I wasn’t scared for my life. At Bryce Canyon campground, our prearranged meeting place with old friend Anna, we discover this campground is full too however, Anna beat us here and she found nearby, Ruby Campground and had already booked us a spot for the night. We set up tents, a good fire and drink whiskey and laugh and reminice about our California days….

 

The next morning, hangover from hell. Robin had a sleepless night between the cold wind and my whiskey induced snoring and she is in a bad mood. Rich wants to hike a trail alone today. We drop him off at Sunrise Point where he is going to hike into the ampitheater. The rest of us start afoot at Fairyland Trail then to the Rim Trail that skirts the entire ampitheater and we hike on, all the way to Bryce Point. From there it is a 7 mile hike into the ampitheater. We move passed it, deciding to do it later that day or tomorrow. Cool blue skies. Moderate trails filled with scattered burnt Ponderosa Pines, yellow desert shrubs and small lizards that zip across our path beyond out steps. The views, without sounding cheesey however unsuccessful an attempt are absolutely heavanly— hoodoos, fins and rock plateaus— at Rainbow Point, deer between the woods and road’s edge feed on grass and a prairie dog meeps at us….

           

 

At the campsight, a small creek runs behind our tents. Beyond the creek is a wide open field. On this night, the moon is half full and four deer wander close to the creek, feeding and drinking. They are alert to us— their ears twitch at each sound— a pan and utensil. There is just enough moonlight to see them as we sit around the campfire. Oh clear crystal starry night and milky milky way. Ahh, the great west….

 

We hike Navajoe Loop Trail into Bryce Canyon. It’s just amazing— a red planet parked on earth, rock tower formations and buttes and old ponderosa pines growing out of shaded sandy floor, high above the sandstone walls; a fine sand like powder and loose slippery rocks near picuresque pathways and cactus and caves and dried out river beds and warm blue skies. The trail becomes quite strenuous on the ascension back to the top but again, it’s worth every bead of sweat, as we hike through the ampitheater.

 

At Zion National Park, I am once again blown away by the grandeur and beauty and power of the natural world— a steep formidable valley of mountains, carved by the Virgin River. The landscape reminds me of Yosemite except here its mostly sandstone and shale cliff walls instead of granite. We descend into the valley, driving along switch back roads and passed not quite complete arches that are carved into the cliff. Rocks twist, spiral and the road falls all the way to the valley floor. My neck and eyes hurt from stretching and staring. Once we arrive at South campground, we set up tents just beneath the great cliffs, so high they seem to block the sky. We relax and drink beer at the picnic table until it is dark and we brighten things with a campfire. This night at least is not cold and windy; I’m still wearing t-shirt and shorts— not the pants and jacket from last night. At ten, a warm wind descends over the campground. It remains overnight and into the morning, gusting. It becomes so strong that the wind beats on our tent. It blows on it; it breathes in and out like a beating heart. Outside, Rich is sleeping on the ground, in his sleeping bag. Anna had slept beside him in her own sleeping bag. He wanted to “sleep beneath the stars.” Then joked that he “ thought that big ass tree was coming down.” Lucky it didn’t. Anna is in a bad way, having stayed up late drinking. I don’t know how many beers or shots or whatever but she will be dragging….

 

The wind kept at it all day. We gather our stuff and make a quick exodus. We catch the park shuttle into deeper and more remote parts of Zion, where cars are not permitted to go. Some of the animals I wanted to see but didn’t were a cougar, bobcat, tarantula, condor or rattler. Animals I did see were two lizards sunning themselves on rocks, a mother deer and her two fawns. Oh well. We follow along the North Fork Virgin River as it cuts its way through the valley. The mountains just plain envelope us. Despite the feeling we had to get moving to Flagstaff soon, at Robin’s urging we manage two more hikes, down to the Weeping Wall where water drains through a section of limestone wall, falling like rain along a fifty foot rock section. Then we move on to the lower Emerald Pool. At this point Anna stayed behind, feeling the effects of the hangover. Two waterfalls feed each side of the icy pool. A garden snake slithers by my foot….

 

We made Flagstaff in 5 ½ hours despite stopping for gas, food, road side shopping and slow crawling traffic as we left Utah on 89 south. Once there, Anna and Rich got a room, two doors down from ours. Great night relaxing. I worked on my book for the first time since Missouri from the back seat of my truck. Later that night, me and Rich drove downtown to San Francisco street where we stopped into a coffee shop and watched the train roll by. While I wrote, Rich sat outside at a table and read and smoked and observed the women walking by. He is still dealing with his Paula ghosts and maybe Flagstaff will give him some closure. Later we stopped into Fratilly’s Pub and had beers and brought a pizza home for the girls, much to their delight.

 

The next day we drove to Sedona. Now I will say this: the red rocks and buttes and formations and Snoopy’s for the most part, are not even in Sedona but outside it, even though chances are, on the post cards they probably say Welcome to Sedona. Rich bailed on us again, choosing to be off by himself. I suspect something is going on between he and Anna but I’m staying out of it. Perhaps drunken moves were made and rejected or welcomed. Later he would say that he just went shopping and thumbed around a bit. Then conceded he visited an art gallery, looking for the pieces of his life in scary subliminal abstract paintings. So the three of us went on a sweaty hike, Eagles Nest Trail, a 300 feet ascension in the terrible heat across dusty sand, cactus groves and shrubs of purple and yellow, buzzing cicadas in a green field and lizards. In the end however, I thought Sedona was by far over rated. I would have preferred, in hindsight, Oak Creek Canyon along 89, right between Sedona and Flagstaff. I guess for me anyway, it was too touristy and locals a bit unfriendly. It is a confused place, a town that has struggled to find its identity….

 

Later, me and Rich sought out the old motel (The Flamingo) where we stayed on our first road trip in 1992. We found it. However the new name escapes me because I never wrote it down. We saw the big hill we climbed and the Piggly Wiggly (now a chinese food restaurant) where we tied one on with Chris, a fellow traveler that we met in the Flagstaff woods. And of course our Greyhound station is still there….