Spanish Fork, 6:00am. An early start to a long day, a long day followed by a series of other long days, one after another after another. The days of slow enjoyment were over. Time was running out. No more days spent moseying around a single area, no, no no. That was done. No more of that! Now was the time to hightail it across the west as fast as possible, hitting up spots on the map like dots on a bingo sheet. No time for slow absorption, no time to get to know a place, no time to crawl around in the dirt and smell the bugs and get a few cuts and scrapes and meet Bigfoot and maybe a few little green aliens and stuff like that. Nope! All that we had time for was to arrive, look, leave, repeat. Not a very enjoyable way of travel, but it does enable one to see a lot of things. And boy did we see a lot of things.
Driving along Highway 6, the sun just barely cresting the horizon, the clouds smattered with the faintest dusting of pink, we made our way towards the first location on the list: Canyonlands. None of us had been there before, so we decided to give it a little look. Down through Colton, out past Price, we drove through one sleepy desert town after another with not a single thing of interest happening in between. The trees disappeared, the hardy flora emerged, the dirt and sand became more prominent, skinny valleys and blocky cliffs materialized on the horizon, the sun came up and everything was golden—at long last—morning in the desert. Nice and calm and warm. 80℉. Yep. it was gonna be a warm one.
And then we hit I-70 and drove through Green River and then made a hard right and zoomed down good ol' Highway 191, surprisingly busy for Thursday morning in late August. And we could see off in the distance the craziness of the desert, the disturbingly intricate layout of the land, the red rocks, the infinite canyons, the strange arches, and the high, hazy peaks looming over the whole scene, so tall and wide and grand they looked like a cluster of giants sitting down on their haunches observing their domain.
And then we turned right again and drove straight to Canyonlands, a place that has both plenty of land and plenty of canyons. We stopped at the visitor center, I inhaled a granola bar, Grace used the squat pit toilets (a new design feature, perhaps?) and this group of bikers pulled up and every single one of them stopped and smoked a cigarette. They were all over 60, and they all looked hardcore, leather and chains and skin that looked like burnt chicharrones. And Grace and I walked into the Visitor Center, she got her coin, and we learned as much as we could from the various signs and displays and what have you about the place we'd be exploring for a small chunk of the day. So much to see, but no time to see it. Ah well. Sometimes it happens that way. We'd be tourists, so we were gonna live up to the role.
The only thing that I wanted to see, Grand View Point, was closed due to construction, so we settled for a smorgasbord of popular destinations: the Whale, Upheaval Dome, and Mesa Arch. Spent about 30 minutes at each location, hardly any time at all. It was like licking an ice cream cone and then immediately licking another; no time for enjoyment, no time for understanding, no time to gobble it up and digest it and then lay down with a full stomach and happy mind. We'd arrive, we'd look, and then we'd leave. That was the name of the game. And before we knew it, we'd spent all the time we could in Canyonlands and had to move on to the next attraction: Arches.
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Mesa Arch |
On our way to the extremely popular Arches National Park, we stopped along the side of the road to view some ancient graffiti. Within a wide canyon of high red walls and velvet soft sand, there exists a one "Intestine Man." What is "Intestine Man?" Frightening, that's all I can say. Whatever it was that inspired the ancient artist to draw "Intestine Man" high up on the cliff is of no interest to me. No thanks. I like my sleep, and I intend keep it. I don't need to stay up all night conjuring in my mind's eye the true image of the anthropomorphic entity with an insect-like head and a strange, intestine-like tubing moving through its body situated in between two other anthropomorphic entities of similar Lovecraftian appearance, all three of them standing next to a weird, flame-like structure that may or may not have people in it. I don't know what the artist saw, I don't know what the artist imagined in their mind, but whatever it was, their drawing is strange enough for me. "Intestine Man." One of the most interesting things I've ever seen.
And then there are the "TV Sheep," which look like TV sets with little legs and little tails and little heads sticking out of them. I guarantee that the artist who painted those originally painted TV's but then the alien who gave them TV said, "Nope, gotta change that, the people in the future can't know that you guys had TV's" and the artist went, "well I already carved them into the rock" and then the alien said, "well change it, dang it!" and then the artist said, "fine, I'll turn them into sheep" and the alien said, "yep, that works, cool."
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"Intestine Man" |
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"TV Sheep" |
And we gazed upon this art and we wondered about the lives of the artists and the people who inhabited the canyons all those years ago and then switched gears and drove into Disneyland. Lots of cars, lots of people. The visitor center was slammed, the rangers at the front desk answering a never ending stream of questions, everyone sweaty and walking around and living in the moment. Grace and I refilled our water at the visitor center, and then quickly spat it back out. The stuff tasted like metal and chlorine; not even a hint of "water flavor." We gave the water to the plants. At least they'd enjoy it.
And we drove through the park for the very first time, gawking and gazing at all the sights and sounds like all the other tourists. The place really is something fantastic; one of the most unique and serene and beautiful landscapes I've ever seen. But there was no time to see it, to really see it—the sun was moving fast, we had to go, go go, see the spots, check 'em off the list, and then get out of there.
We drove straight to Devil's Garden without stopping. Got out, put on the sunscreen. There was a sign at the trailhead warning the masses that it's dangerous to hike in the heat, especially if the temps are over 90℉. It was 107℉. And there were loads of people, walking in, walking out, walking this way and that, taking pictures of the formations, kids running around, everyone seemingly energized from some unknown source, everyone far too distracted to notice the heat. Grace and I hit the trail, observing the scene. Slow walkers, fast walkers. People in the shade, people soaking in the sun. Some people were completely covered from head to toe in sun-repellant clothing, others were practically naked. This one guy was walking down the trail in nothing but flip-flops and a pair of black shorts, but he had his shorts rolled all the way up to his crotch, like a speedo. It took everything to keep us from laughing; the guy just looked completely ridiculous.
And then there were the influencers with their cameras and gadgets; this one guy had his own professional photographer with a tripod and everything. And there were the European tourists, mostly Germans, dressed in funky clothes and funny hats and talking about who knows what. And then there were those who walked quietly and touched the walls and took no pictures and didn't make a scene and respected the area and vanished into the background like ghosts. All of humanity was on display in this small section of 107℉ desert. It was quite interesting indeed.
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Landscape Arch |
We saw Landscape Arch, took some photos, and then turned around. We had a tight schedule, and we had to pack in as many sights as possible. Skyline Arch, Sand Dune Arch. These were briefly explored, followed by a distant view of Delicate Arch, the most famous arch in all of Disneyland. Didn't feel like hikin' 3 miles in 107℉ temps just to see a silly ol' arch, so we didn't. Plus, we simply didn't have the time. So we walked the half mile jaunt to an overlook and gazed upon this natural wonder from across a canyon, Grace rather perturbed by my tendency to gaze over sheer cliffs. And then it was off to the Windows area where we'd check off more boxes and see even more sights and sounds and people and hopefully no more guys with shorts rolled up to their crotches.
And we saw the Windows, and we saw Turret Arch, and they were grand and they were cool. The breeze kicked up and Grace said I smelled bad which was stating the obvious. It seemed as if every ounce of water I consumed was immediately excreted through my skin, and this had been happening for the past couple of hours. I was a sweaty mess, a sweaty mess wandering amongst the arches. And we took more pictures and took pictures for people and we stood in the arches and raised our hands in the air and did all the things that the tourists do because we were tourists and that's what was expected. And then we drove to Double Arch and it was quiet there so we zipped our lips and reveled in the majesty of nature along with all the other people with zipped lips, laying on the ground, looking at the sky through the arches, covered in sweat and smelling of stink but happy nonetheless.
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The Windows |
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Turret Arch |
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Double Arch |
A quick drive past Balanced Rock finished off the day and that was it—we'd seen all that was needed to see for a mere taste of the sublime. And we dove out of the park almost entirely alone, hardly any cars on the park road which was a rare sight for sure. And the sun was starting to go down and we drove toward Moab but never got there; we turned left onto Highway 128 and embarked on one of the most scenic drives of our entire lives. Hardly a word was spoken between the two of us for the duration of the drive, it was just us, our eyes, the Colorado River, the high red cliffs, the high red towers, and the distant mountains. And then the prettiness disappeared and we were back on I-70 and we drove straight into Colorado and off to Grand Junction where we got some "Gourmet Chinese Food," Grace falling asleep while eating her string bean chicken. And then it was a long drive to Montrose in the dark, and we got there, checked into the hotel and promptly passed out. It had been a stupidly long day filled to the brim with sights and sounds and activities and it was exhausting, and we were about to do it all over again in the morning.
Lo and behold, around 6:30am, we checked out of the hotel and drove the long drive to the north rim of Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park. Grace and I had been to the Gunnison wayy back in 2012 but had only explored the South Rim. Now it was time to see what was poppin' at the north rim. The answer: not a whole lot. We drove through bucolic town after bucolic town, the western Coloradan scenery legit, the Rockies visible in the distant east. We rolled into the north rim and drove through the campground, walking on a nice little loop that had great views of the canyon. It was just as insane as the last time I saw it 13 years ago, seemingly unchanged, the cliffs just as high, the water just as angry. I had an intense urge to throw a rock over the side but numerous signs advised against that, as did Grace, so I reluctantly obeyed. And then we walked on a short little trail out to Exclamation Point, a spot that offers what I believe is the best view in the entire park. I let out a small exclamation ("yep") and sat down and looked at the cliffs and the river, my mind unable to comprehend the sheer size and scope of what I was observing. We took some pictures, absorbed the scene, and then proceeded on the nearly two hour drive to the south rim, a place that rested just over a thousand feet as the crow flies from the north rim.
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View from Exclamation Point |
There was a fire that had burned much of the south rim earlier this year. We could smell the smoldered remains of the dead flora from across the chasm while we were on the north rim. It was a foreboding smell, a smell of uncertainty. And we got to the south rim and found out that basically the entire thing was closed, save for one turnout and the visitor center. So Grace got her coin, we made a picnic lunch, and then sat in the shade of the visitor center and thought about what all there was left to do on our trip back to Tennessee, which was a lot. And we got back in the car, drove out of the park and then down to Ouray, a small tourist trap in the high mountains that Grace and I had also never seen since 2012. Like the Black Canyon of the Gunnison, Ouray hadn't changed much either. We walked the streets, went into a few shops. The wind was blowin' and a late afternoon storm was a brewin' and Grace was tired so we didn't stay out for too long. Back in the hotel, back to sleep, another night that would transition into another busy busy morning.
The next day we got up, threw our crap in the car and hit the road, this time bound for Mesa Verde National Park. Ahh man. We had National Park fever. Just checkin' them off one after the other, rackin' 'em up in our inventory like they were Pokémon or something. It was stormy that day, teasing rain. The ranger at the visitor center said that it had rained buckets the day before, and that more rain was scheduled for the afternoon. But it never rained. Perhaps the weather gods recognized us as Southern Californians and refused to grant us the gift of rain. Who knows. Regardless, the clouds made for pretty skies and somewhat cool temps.
We learned about the history of the area, learned how the inhabitants acquired water (the sky), how they constructed their houses and shelters and granaries and whatnot (brick!), and of the various theories as to why they inevitably abandoned everything (aliens, of course). Grace and I hadn't been to Mesa Verde since 2010 so it was cool to see the dwellings again. Now that we were much older, I feel like we gained a deeper appreciation of the area and the fascinating history that inhabits it. Spruce Tree House, Cliff Palace, Sun Temple; they were just as amazing as the last time I saw them 15 years ago. We didn't get to see any of these placed up close this time (curse you Rec.gov!) but that was ok; seeing them from afar was just as remarkable.
Afterwards, we drove to Durango and had an early dinner and walked the streets and checked out a bookstore. Our hotel that night was the most expensive of the entire trip, and we soon found out why. A beer festival was taking place, the whole town blocked off, drunk people stumbling around everywhere. This one drunk gal walked up to a ceramics gallery and said to her friends, "Oh my God! I had a teacher that tttaught me how to pot!" And one of her friends went, "She taught you how to pot?" and the gal said, "Yeah! She taught me how to pot!" And then all three of them went inside and who knows what happened then. Drunk people in a ceramics gallery. What could go wrong?
And then we got up the next morning and high-tailed it to Alamosa Colorado, stopping at Chimney Rock National Monument along the way, because, why not? And there we learned about more ancient builders, much like those that constructed the structures at Mesa Verde, except these people liked building stuff in the most ridiculous spots possible. We saw the kivas, saw the rooms, saw the two natural rock spires that possibly served as a lunar calendar of some kind. And then we were done with that spot and drove across the Rockies and down into town and ate at the spookiest Mexican restaurant I've ever seen. Cobwebs, bats, spiders, pumpkins, werewolf and ghoul and skeleton figurines, halloween-based TV shows playing on every TV—the place was damn spooky.
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Chimney Rock |
And then we checked into our hotel and them immediately drove to Great Sand Dunes National Park, the final park on the list. And we spent hardly any time at all there 'cause a storm rolled in and there was thunder and lighting and a sand dune is NOT the best place to be in a situation like that. But just before it got REALLY bad Grace and I joined the other idiots and clambered around the dunes for a bit, sand blowing everywhere, getting in our eyes and ears and hair. And it was here, walking on the largest sand dunes in North America, where we realized that Cinder Cone is in fact harder to climb! Yep. Cinder Cone in Lassen Volcanic National Park is harder to climb than a damned sand dune. Who woulda known?
We left the dunes, brushed off the sand as best we could, and then drove on out of there just as the sky began to throw a temper tantrum. We couldn't even see the dunes from the road anymore; the sky was just a sheet of dark grey angriness. And we drove back to the ol' hotel, had some ramen for dinner, and then called it a night. Nothing fun to do in the morning. Just driving. Endless, monotonous driving. Ooh boy. It was gonna be good.
And we got up the next morning and left the hotel at 6:00am, Blanca Peak's summit obscured in clouds. And we drove east on Highway 160 through the Sangre de Christo Range and met up with I-25 and drove through Trinidad and down through New Mexico and into the Texas Panhandle. And it was there in the panhandle where we entered the clouds and we stayed in the clouds all the way into Oklahoma City, 350 miles away. And we stayed in Oklahoma City and Kevin, the receptionist, needed a break...desperately. And then we slept and got up in the morning and drove nearly 700 miles to Nashville through torrential rain and wind and slick streets and crazy drivers. And the skies cleared in Memphis and it was sunny the whole rest of the way, and in the following morning we made it back to the Grandparent's residence and our trip had finally, finally come to an end.
It was a long trip, full of everything expected from a long trip, full of highs and lows and everything in between. Got to see some splendid country, the two of us grateful to be able to see it at all. We're both very fortunate to be able to realize and execute a trip such as this, and we're thankful to all those who helped us along the way. It's one I won't be forgetting anytime soon; this was one to remember!