By now you’re probably tired of hearing me talk about sandstone. Too bad. So far on Road Trip IX, I haven’t had the pleasure of talking about RED sandstone.
After zipping across western Kansas and eastern Colorado (please somebody tell me something interesting about western Kansas or eastern Colorado!), we spent the night with a friend in Denver. Full disclosure: this stop was in full Carolina Tarheel Fan Mode, not our usual Outdoor Adventurers In Search Of the Ultimate Bike Path or Hike Mode. Our friend is from Chapel Hill. Together we ate pizza and happily whooped the Tarheels into the Round of 32. Mission Accomplished.
Next day we braved the passes of I-70 through the Rockies, blessing the weather gods and Colorado DOT for keeping the roads clear, even though the roadsides looked like this:
11,000+ feet, 20 degrees…and 55 mph!
Safely on the other side, temperatures back in the 40s, we took a recreational stop at Grand Junction’s not-so-hidden treasure, Colorado National Monument. We’ve camped there before, and know that its red sandstone towers and hollows and who-knows-what-to-call-its are the equal of anything outside of Arches National Park. We didn’t have the time to go deep into the park, but a single swift hike through the very corner yielded this:
“The Devil’s Kitchen”
Inside The Devil’s Kitchen. The Devil has some cool appliances!
After that, we said goodbye and thanks to Colorado, and zipped on down to
Mecca Moab, Utah.
Why do I call it Mecca? Because Moab is the holy city for people of The Mate’s and my religion, The Church of the Great, Dirty, Sweaty Outdoors. In Moab, every other car looks like ours.
Red Rover says, “Finally! I’m one of the cool kids here!”
Wheels, wheels, wheels! Granted, some are attached to monster engines on scary-looking jeeps and ATVs. But most are some form of bike. And even those folks who aren’t there to ride around on something are still there to play hard and get dirty.
These families are climbing this super-steep red dune to race and slide back down. That could be the definition of cheap thrills.
While patiently waiting for the Heels to play their Round 2 game, we delighted ourselves with bike rides and hikes in some of the most perfect, astounding, God-given terrain available to mankind. Now when I say bike rides, I do NOT mean this:
I’m sure mountain biking is fun. I’m equally sure that I would kill myself if I tried to do it.
I mean this–this amazing trail that runs all the way from the rim of the valley,
Yes!!!! 7% grade…but the scenery takes your mind off the grind.
through town, and along the Colorado for who knows how many more miles (I had to turn around before finding out).
Sun started disappearing. Scenery stuck around.
As for hiking, well…the entrance to Arches National Park was two miles from the campground we were staying in. And if you don’t know Arches…
…please allow me to introduce you! This is the famous Landscape Arch.
And this is Balanced Rock. Not sure where the name comes from.
Pine Tree Arch is one of my favorites, mostly because it’s off the main trail. We actually had it to ourselves!
My hope was, if the weather was decent, we could spend a night camping after having safely seen our beloved team into the Sweet 16. (Pause for wild cheering from Tarheel Nation.) But stupidly, I’d been so deeply enjoying the fact of all these other fans of the Great Red Outdoors, I’d missed the obvious: those fellow red-rockers were our competitors for camping spaces. And unlike us, they’d been smart enough to make reservations. Months in advance, probably. The Arches campground was, of course, FULL FULL FULL.
So much for my “Peaceful, Easy Feeling” image of “I wanna sleep with you in the desert tonight/With a million stars all around.” Yes, there are first-come, first-served BLM campgrounds scattered about, but you can camp in those for up to two weeks. What were we supposed to do, hang around all day waiting on the off chance of being there when someone pulled up their tent stakes? C’mon! We have trails to hike, basketball games to watch!
No room at the inn for these ol’ lovebirds.
So…Irony. The very thing that draws us to Moab–the joyous celebration of its dirty, sweaty beauty–prevents us from engaging in that highest of ceremonies, spontaneous camping. Yeah, I suppose we could’ve acted like our younger selves and just pulled off the road somewhere to pitch our tent. But in the Church of the Great, Dirty, Sweaty Outdoors, I guess these days we’re those Establishment types who claim front pews. Next time, if I possibly can…I’m making reservations!
One last morning hike before we have to go… 😦