Utah Day, Colorado Night

I-70 Colorado

Towns such as Vail, the famous ski resort town for the wealthy, probably as well-known as nearby Aspen, are lit for the holidays, aspens and some kinds of pine trees bound in multi-color or all white electric glow.

Smoke issues from chimneys as my mother cautiously drives the interstate, often as much as ten miles below posted speed limits, the shoulders covered with small amounts of freshly fallen snow as we approach Brekenridge, where National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation was filmed, as if the hill Clark W. Griswalk, AKA Sparky, sledded down like greased lightning could exist in the suburbs of Chicago.

Half hour ago my feet were freezing as I foolishly wore sandals in the snow we've finally encountered and traveled via US-highway 50 to avoid. Snow was reported along Interstate 80 by my cousin, telling us it melts by day, but high winds may cause drifts.

Less than two hours from Longmont, via the outskirts of Denver, Mother Moon casts her glow through the tops of forty-foot pines though just two hours ago her glow could scarcely be seen over the crests of some of the tallest mountains in the country.

We pass through more towns, trees still lit, icicle-style lights still dangling from awnings, as if Christmas is eternal here in this skiers' paradise.

Earlier in the day we dallied through Eastern Utah, having taken our first interstate in days. I-70 winds through canyons carved by winds and water erosion and highway engineers. Other times we passed near sheer drop-offs. Occasionally the landscape is fenced in, cattle grazing, we wonder if we'll see more headless animals, having already encountered a cow and deer that have gone beyond lobotomy. That's my new phrase for beheadings, jihadists beware. No, not “jingoists”, Mr. Spellcheck.

Here were are in snowy Colorado again, about to head into one of many tunnels carved through mountain slopes when it's not easily possible to build the road along the bends the rivers take between mountain passes. We just have to be cautious of tunnel cannibals. This tunnel has a stoplight. We're at 11,058 feet or so and the radio turns to static.

Mom eats some peanuts as this is one of the more easily-driven portions of the road, the runnel possibly over a mile long as Patty breathes heavily with anxiety in the back seat. The tunnel continues on, further than a mile perhaps. Night skies again as we pass a junction for US-6 West and the roadways dives into the valley at 5- and 6-percent grades, darkness enveloping any visibility beyond. The tail lights of the cars ahead act as guides, pied-pipers leading us with only 92.3 coming in on the radio as more snow is announced and “Closing Time” opens.

I begin to feel emotional as I realize how effortlessly I am writing this, hoping to get back into the practice of writing frequently and keeping up with my blogging.

Sunrise in Fillmore, Utah hadn't happened until after 7 am, when I'd hoped we'd be on the road by. Alas, we had another late start as my father and I enjoyed our free breakfast and I worked on adding a few revisions to my syllabus that are now required by the college. After a sleepless night of crying and whining dog snuck carefully into the motel room we headed onto the road after filling up the family truckster at $3.05 a gallon.

Almost immediately we stopped at an antique store in Scipio as we headed for the merger of US-50 East and I-70. My father bought a 16-inch dutch oven for $35.00 cash, after the “New York” discount of $3.00. With little room in the jeep we placed the oven atop on of the bins of Lego my aunt had acquired.

Onward we traversed through all shades of brown, red, and gray, some layers of rock, black.

Presently the moon's light peeks over a ridge beautifully lighting a plane's contrail.

At one of the first rest areas on the highway witnessed rounded rock formations speckled with swiss cheese holes, my mother referring to them as Martian rocks, for once the caves were not declared bear caves, though one other time the “caves”, mostly scarcely shadowed spaces below short overhangs. My mother has more of an imagination than I.

As my parents used the flushless facilities I ran and leapt down the rock formations that reminded of Sedona, Arizona sans redrock coloration, scrub grew here and there. Always, I think of the original Predator movie when I leap, bending my knees to send the shock of impact harmlessly up my body or whatever it is that happens when I do that. There I took the following pictures.

My mother asks me which path we're taking to Longmont, if it's I-25. Not doing a good job of taking the tone of annoyance out of my voice as I think about how the TomTom GPS will tell her when to turn off and which way to go, I tell her, “No, we're taking US-6 around this side of the city.” Then she changes lanes on a curve as my father tried to water the dog (merely meaning “give the dog water”) and it sounds like he spills it as he curses, my father often being quick to swear in such instances. Yes, I think that's where I get it from, the Old Man, who weaves a tapestry of obscenities which still hovers over Huntington today.

Minutes later we drive over Clear Creek and pass some brightly lit excavation, some sort of heavily-glassed building seemingly built into the mountainside. Dry snow crystals sparkle beyond the shoulders and orange warning lights flash over diamond signs depicting hugely antlered elk, Denver not far off as the freeway opens into three lanes.

At the Sedona-like rest stop I return to the parking area to pee and see about a dozen blankets of “Indian” pottery and jewelry neatly laid out beneath the signs stating “No Vending or Soliciting”. What would people solicit out there?

On I-70, writing this, I find I'm sweating too much and deign to emerge from the cocoon of sweater and jacket, struggling to not elbow my mother, as if I'm molting, Houdini-like. A sign warns truckers to, “not be fooled” about the 4-percent downgrade over the next mile. A runaway truck ramp sign appears followed by one more, with flashing warning lights. My mother scrapes the rumble strip in the shoulder, perhaps preparing to take the ramp. Denver's lights sparkle beyond the mountains in eternal Christmas.

PS: Speaking of eternal Christmas, we just passed a bicyclist safely decked in reflectors, to which I explained, “It's Tron!”

The Mostly Hetero Adventures with the Two-Spirit Kid

So far:

Day 1: Tuesday: My suitcase that I did not want to check, but had to because of the tiny ass plane, was left in Atlanta as the flight attendant said it would be transferred to my next plane.

After arranging to have my suitcase sent to Durango, Dan and I left Phoenix and took the old highways to Payson, where Fire in the Sky happened. Then we went through Snow Flake and um.... I forgot. Then we went up to Holbrook and I saw the dinosaur on the cover of my book, Roadside America, and it was awesome. There was a family of dinosaurs and dinosaurs eating dinosaurs.

Then we took that dreadful patch of I-40 to US-191 into the Navajo Rez (reservation) and saw what was probably a drunk, sort of ambling and meandering in what is almost to which Dan said, "Come on. Don't be a typical Reservation drunk." A little later we saw a dead dog on the side of the road to which I said, "Come on. Don't be a typical Rez dog."

We arrived at Canyon de Chelley around 7:00 and bought some food. At the Basha's supermarket I felt like a minority for only the third time in my life. It's somewhat disconcerting at first. Such is white privilege. There were many mutts roaming the parking lot.

I wanted some hot food that wasn't fast food, but it seems there are no restaurants there, so I had Burger King. Of course it was getting dark and the free campground was closed, so we drove into the growing darkness to what the sign referred to as Spider Rock campsite. On the sides of the roads were loose horses, many adults with babies.

We set up a fire and warmed ourselves. We had no tent so we set up blankets and what not in the back of Dan's Saturn View. We didn't have much firewood, so we bought some from the campsite owner, Harold. Then we made a nice fire and toasted some of the giant ass marshmallows we'd bought.

We went to sleep and some time later I awoke with the sweatiest of balls.

I have no idea what time it was, but it was dark and windy as fuck when I could no longer sleep through the diahrea pangs. In the ladies outhouse I had to let it rip while the cold winds ripped into me. It finally ended and I walked back to the car in the slight moonlight and got settled back in after waking Dan. Then the pangs began anew. This time I realized the men's outhouse was just on the other side.

At some point it began to rain. I did not sleep well.

Day 2: I reluctantly awoke a bunch more times and Dan stayed away at around 5:30 and walked some trailed while I attempted more sleep. We finally left the site at around 7:00 am and checked out some scenic overlooks before heading to the Four Corners.

The Four Corners costs $3.00 per person. It's not all that impressive, but since Tyrel and I never made it four years ago, I had to go for that symbolism and the fake four corners symbolism, as apparently the true four corners is elsewhere. I bought some fresh fry bread with honey from a cute old lady. I took two loperamide (anti-spasmodic) after my previous night's horror.

Then we drove on to Durango, about two hours away. Most of this part of southern Colorado is so lush. Since I'd heard nothing regarding my suitcase, we hung in Durango for a while at the Durango Coffee Company so Dan could do some homework or work. Fucking responsibilities.

Once he was done we walked down Main Ave. and found a sweet foot path along the Anima River. It was really beautiful and it sucked that I had no charged batteries because my car adapter was in my AWOL suitcase.

I checked out the fares on the narrow gage railroad, but it's expensive and an all day affair. We ended up eating at this funky taqueria. The tacos were decent.

Durango seems a lot nicer than Flagstaff, with huge green mountains on all sides and an awesome river with rafting trips. Perhaps we'll get a chance to do that on the way back through after the Great Sand Dunes and Gunnison, and perhaps Black Canyon National Park. But Durango is still small, probably gets a shit ton of snow, but might be nice to live in one of the river overlook apartments that probably cost an arm and a leg, and I'd only want to try it for six months. Colorado is so much better than Arizona.

Anyhow, about that time it was pouring ass rain and six, so if my suitcase didn't make it on the noon flight (which it probably did), it would be there in the six o'clock flight. And so it was. By time we arrived at the tiny airport the rain had ceased, but once we'd gotten back on US-160 it began raining like a mothafuck again, off and on.

The speed is normally 65, which is fine, but not when there's a deluge. When twilight began we came upon the impressive and snow-capped Rockies. It's a beautiful sight: clouds passing between mountain peaks, green trees everywhere, a river to the left. At this point it was not raining, so I pulled over and Dan took some photos. I don't know if they can capture the majesty.

Then we realized we'd have to drive into those snowy mountains.

Up we climbed at 30 miles per hour, slowly, slowly, crawling, the temperature dropping until it hit the mid-thirties. We finally crested in the darkness, snow and ice on the ground, water gushing from the mountain tops. Yeah.

The next signs said 8% downgrade and so I decided I needed to piss before committing to the downhill onslaught to the Death Proof soundtrack.

More to come regarding this night soon...

The Place to Beat Speed Records... Salt Flats, Utah

Be sure to use flashers when on the highway.

The Devil Ain't Got Nothin' On Us! - Saturday, September 3, 2005

Tyrel’s voice woke me at eleven in the morning. Eleven was check out time! He realized that he’d not set the room alarm clock for eleven in the morning, but perhaps eleven at night, so we immediately called the front desk and were told it was all right and we could take a few extra minutes to clean up and not get charged extra.

We headed up the road into the town of Moab, filled with new age type shops and sporting equipment for biking and other such activities. Tourist information signs guided as to the tourist information center where I decided to be a Parks Pass, which is good for a year for only $50.00, which would pay for itself by time I left for New York. I could have used it at Montezuma’s Castle a few days earlier.

Next to the info center was a small shopping center with a used book store/café where I bought myself some Belgian waffles to fuel up. Tyrel declined to eat, probably having had ten chocolate bars while I wasn’t looking.

We drove along the roads of the park, getting out where we could, to take pictures and hike around. At one of the early stops we came across what we believed was Balance Rock. There’s a lot of similar formations like this out there. It’s a very phallic place.





There is Tyrel atop that rock formation, having free climbed it.


Here are some storms coming in.


Our first arch up close.


If you look carefully, you can see me climbing this thing.


There I am!


Here come more clouds.


Is the sky getting dark?


Hiking up the primitive trail to the Devil’s Playground (but I think it should be named Tyrel’s and my playground, because we kicked its ass!), we could see the storm fronts off in the distance and by time we got to the top, we had a spectacular view of lightning all around as thunder rolled across the land and echoed off the sandstone walls.


Here are some people hiking acorss what is probably one of the highest points in the park.


Rains drenching the lands for miles.


The two incoming storms were very exciting, but not wanting to get struck my lightning, Tyrel and I cramped into a small overhang. Water starting flowing into the alcove from above, due to adhesion and cohesion of the water molecules to the rock and to each others' molecules respectively. Tiny frogs or toads began to hop out from unseen crevices within the alcove.

We hung out there for a spell, and then when the weather seemed to calm down some, we took off down the gorge only to be caught in the monsoon rains. This made the trip to Arches so much more worth it. It's not fun with nice weather and regular touristy stuff. It's my family's luck to have something like this happen while out in some badlands.

Tyrel cowering. :-)


Water running in along the ceiling.


Me inside the alcove.


It's difficult to tell by the picture, but those rock ridges looked amazing, as the rain had glazed them like so many donuts. If we hadn't known it was in the eighties, we'd have though those rocks were iced over. (This picture was taken from inside the alcove.)


The skies soon ruptured a second time, deluging us this time around. We sought cover underneath one of the arches, but it proved futile, so down and down we ran, hopping across slippery red rocks, over once dry crevices, turned to gushing waterways and falls.

A trail that was bone dry an hour before.


The next spot we sought cover was against a cliff wall, where I discovered a small black spider, with a red hour glass figure (I mean its marking and not is physique) and it was thusly killed by Tyrel, as he did not want to worry about the sickness that would follow a bite from such an infamous arachnid.


The view from the rock wall where the black widow had lived.


The water rushed by and the levy we tried to make from sand and dirt did not hold, so we had to make a dramatic leap onto a rock that lay midway in the stream, to the other side with no hesitations. We then had to travel along some once dry water washes, now almost raging mini-rivers.




Next we came upon a large family, having to cross the rapids by scaling across a wooden fence, one at a time.


After that we thought we came upon a shortcut, hopping from the next fence railing to the other side of the torrents, but luckily Ty tested the posts first, as it would have fallen over and Tyrel with it, had he attempted the leap off of the fence as the posts were greatly loosened by the rushing waters.

The rest of the journey down was accomplished by avoiding the now submerged trails and running up and down cacti populated dunes, which was fun, because once at the top of one dune, with some good speed, one could make a thrilling eight foot or greater leap down the other side. It's like gravity was lessened for a few moments and time slowed as well. It's a wonderful feeling.