ab iter

We’re running into the final days of our big adventure. Once we hit Dallas we’ll be there for five days; after Christmas we’ll have two stops and then a quick drive home. So it seems fitting that today we have our day of off roading and a near-accident experience, in addition to a few 1000 foot road drop-offs.

Boulder is a small town in southern Utah. The sun rose over some beautiful rocky peaks while I ran, huffing, through the bitter cold morning. Cows stared at me in disbelief. “What is that orange thing and why is it out here in the cold?” I imagine them saying. Then they started chasing me; they didn’t get far with that fence in their way. The post-run hot tub was serene. Three horses talked to each other over a fence behind the lodge. Walking back to the room, steam rose off of me as every step I took left an icy footprint.

By the time we left the lodge the temperature had risen to a balmy 22˚F. The desert adventurer from dinner last night advised us to take the Burr Trail Road, which cut across the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, and would be a scenic shortcut to get us to Farmington. After a stop viewing some Anasazi ruins (why did they leave?), we were off. The road took us down into a beautiful canyon. Red walls rose on either side of us. Holes in the wall look like they had been formed by acid being dripped on the rock. We stopped the car and walked into a gulch cut out of the canyon. In the still morning air we felt like the only people alive. I wonder what it must have felt like to have ridden by horse into this canyon, to have galluped through here with maybe only a horse to keep you company. This land feels like that. Even though the road is paved, I couldn’t help but imagine what it must have been like to have been the first person to have walked here. Or to have simply stumbled upon this gorge while looking for water or food, or pushing cattle north. In the morning sun the colors were vibrant and alive.

Once we left the canyon, we reached a plateau, where it seemed most cars would turn and go back. That, in fact, is what we had been advised to do, but I suspect that was because most people head north from Boulder. We were driving southeast. I had asked at the lodge before we left if the Burr Trail Road would take us all the way across, and the woman had said, yes, we could take it all the way through. Then she looked at her watch and said, “If you hurry you should be able to make the ferry.” This is dry, high desert. The only water we had seen, aside from the dam in Page, was tiny creeks that were frozen over. Where could there be a ferry around here? If you look at a map, you’ll find the Glen Canyon National Recreation Area, and it is indeed the only visible water in the entire Four Corners area. And it is huge. In the middle of Lake Powell, which is the lake formed by the Glen Canyon Dam in Page, a ferry will take cars across. In order to save time, and just for the adventure of it (a ferry, in the middle of the desert!) we decided to try for the ferry.

About two miles past the Burr Trail canyon, the paved road turned to dirt. A sign said we had only 34 miles until the ferry, and the land was incredible. Over a rise we would see in the distance Glen Canyon, and behind it a mountain range. With the sun behind us, and a little haze over the horizon, the distance vistas looked like a matte painting, like we were driving onto a movie set, and at any moment the director would yell cut, and we could eat. At one point the road hit a 600 foot drop-off with switchbacks we had to take at a crawl for fear of going right over the side. We could see in the distance below the road stretch into the horizon. We were on top of the world.

Finally the road began to level out, and became paved in sections. I picked up speed, now worried about meeting the ferry on time. I was going perhaps a little too fast for the road conditions, but I was worried about the time and the road seemed smooth enough to reach 50mph. I passed a pickup truck hauling a horse trailer, the first car we had seen in over two hours. The road was paved, and in the distance I could see Lake Powell. We were so close I could taste it. So I kept driving. Ahead the road rose to a slight crest. Normally, I would slow coming to a rise like that, but since I could see the road beyond I continued cruising at about 50mph. Mithila next to me was looking out the window at the scenery, shielding her eyes from the sun. When we hit the crest, my heart lept into my throat. The road turned immediately to dirt, and dropped into a frozen creek, before rising again on the other side. I slammed on the brakes, but the dirt road caused the car to simply slide. Mithila put her hands on the dashboard. I pulled my foot off the brake, not wanting the wheels to be stopped when we hit the creek. My first thought was that we would hit the opposite side of that rise and the car would simply get stuck in the dirt and mud. We came down and slammed into the creek. The car lurched. I think I hit my head on the roof. Mithila screamed. Huge chunks of ice exploded from both sides of the car. We had enough momentum that we were carried to the top of the next crest. My heart was pounding, my hands were shaking, my palms were sweaty. I could hear Mithila breathing next to me. I listened for anything that might be wrong with the car, but heard nothing out of the ordinary. Despite what we both thought would be a terrible crash, we were still moving. The speedometer read 40mph. I couldn’t see the creek behind me; dust rose from the road. Still worried about catching that ferry, I kept driving.

We were only about 10 miles from the loading dock, and we made the ferry with fifteen minutes to spare. In hindsight, I wish I had stopped only to take a picture of that creek. But I can still imagine it, those chunks of ice scattered around the desert, two tire tracks running down one side and up the other of that wash.

We’re in Farmington, NM, now, visiting with my grandmother. We’ll be here until Monday, when we head for Alamogordo and White Sands. A day’s worth of home cooked meals and a brief respite from driving. No internet here, so my next update will be Monday night.

Today was a whirlwind. Two national parks, too little daylight. We left Page this morning in awesome wonder at its beauty. Just two blocks from our hotel, Glen Canyon Dam greeted the sun like a stalwart prince. The city, in infinite kindness and wise to tourism, created a scenic viewpoint from which one can climb rocks, and get great views of the dam itself. We spent at least an half-hour there, climbing along the edges (ha!), rubbing our hands against the cold, and taking pictures. Perhaps we tired ourselves out early.

Zion was a spectacular surprise. We arrived around noon, and though this is apparently one of the most popular national parks in the region, the place was virtually deserted. Why it’s one of the most popular, though was readily apparent. We had been advised before we left to see the Utah parks before the Grand Canyon, because the latter would make all the other parks seem pale in comparison. On the contrary, I found Zion to be much more amazing than the GC, if only because of the accessibility of it. Zion, much like GC, is a great canyon, carved from sandstone and limestone and rock over millions of years, and it’s still changing, still being formed. One main difference is that Zion takes you into the heart of the canyon. Being at the bottom is the main purpose of Zion, and it is spectacular. We were able to walk a short trail to one of the Emerald Pools, so called because in spring and summer they shimmer green like emeralds. In December, they are a cloudy green and icy cold. No matter, as we enjoyed the walk. Another path led to the other two Pools, and a sign at the exit read, “Warning! The trails to the upper and middle Emerald Pools has fallen into the river. Use extreme caution.”

After Zion, it was a rush to get to Bryce before nightfall, when, though the stars would be bright, we would not be able to see the colors and sights of the brightly painted hoodoos we had read so much about. We picked a couple of the most promising overlooks for stopping and rushed to them before the sun sank too low for pictures. We may have still been too late, but there are some good ones there. (You guys get to see only the good ones, of course. There are a lot more than what’s posted here.) Again, spectacular views, and in my opinion much more accessible than the Grand Canyon. And for those of you interested: Bryce is one of the least visited of the National Parks, getting less than 1/3 of the visitors of nearby Zion every year. While Zion is much more incredible, and there is a lot more hiking to be done there, Bryce is not to be missed.

Bryce apparently has quite a prairie dog population, and one of the cautions about visiting is the possibility of becoming infected with bubonic plague. Not that I want to scare you away if you want to visit, but it’s something to keep in mind. Getting a disease that wiped out half of Europe’s population 500 years ago may not be your idea of a good time. When I asked a ranger about the prospect of catching it, she laughed. “You’d have to get pretty close to the prairie dogs,” she said.

The highlight of the day was getting to our destination: Boulder, UT. We are staying the night at the Boulder Mountain Lodge, a nice little place nestled in this incredibly small town. How small? We arrived to check in at about five minutes to seven PM, and the clerk asked if we had eaten. When I said no, she immediately called the only restaurant in town to tell them we’d be right over, because the only restaurant in town closes at seven PM. When we got there, they were incredibly nice. I ate quite possibly the best hamburger I have eaten in years, with a roasted and sliced green chile on top, and hand cut french fries. The guy who served them, a native american born in Arizona who used to give river tours through the Grand Canyon, moved here only a couple years ago with the promise that he would soon be able to offer his own tours from the restaurant, through nearby Bryce or Zion, or through the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. He was a rugged outdoorsman who was not afraid to “get lost in the desert.” From him, we learned that there are two ways to find water in the desert: follow a crow, or follow your instincts. One or both of them might kill you, but at least you’d be in the desert when you die.

We’re looking forward to leaving the desert.

I’ve discovered Podcasts, and have soaked myself with them. While scouring through the mind-boggling long list of Podcasts on the iTunes music store, I came across something called Road Warrior Podcast with two friends Omar and Pia, who are currently driving across the country, working in a big loop from Ft. Lauderdale, FL, through Chicago and across the northern planes and into California, then down the Big Sur Highway, across Nevada, through the Grand Canyon, New Mexico, Texas, and back across to Florida.

For the most part, the ‘casts consist of the two of them talking about their trip, which is pretty boring conversation. Podcast number 3 started with talk of Pia cutting her cuticles, and consisted mostly of what the hotel is like and why they can’t afford to stay in them anymore. There are, however, a few gems: in episode 5, as they are asleep in the Grand Tetons, freezing in the cold weather (26 degrees in the morning!) they talk of how gorgeous it is there, the stillness of the air and the quiet of the forest. Just hearing the rustle of the sleeping bag is getting me excited about our trip, about just driving, with the merest idea of a destination, a few sights to see, and nothing but miles of open road before us. I have no urge on our journey to spend more time than absolutely necessary on any interstate. I want to see backroads, state highways; I want to drive through towns and eat at diners where the locals eat. I want to sleep in the car for a few hours so we can drive all night to get to our next destination. I want to experience America, to be able to say I’ve been to a state, not just stepped foot in an airport somewhere. I want to smell winter on the plain. I want to drive across the Rockies in the dead of winter. I want to slide down a gritty hill in White Sands with my wife. I want to wake up beneath a sky so big it seems bigger than the world. I want to stand on a hilltop and see for miles and see nothing but trees and grass and dirt and water and earth and earth and earth and earth. I want to remember that life is simpler than the complications of the modern world make it out to be, that there’s more to the world than a 5 hour daily commute and frustrated exhaustion at the end of every day.

I guess I’m still a romantic; the very thought calms me.

Road Trip Ameria

This could prove to be a very useful site!

Mithila is in the middle of her fourth year of medical school, and she gets the entire month of December off. We haven’t really taken a proper vacation since Paris last July, and so the desire to cram as much into this one month of freedom as possible was potent. Last weekend, during much discussion and debate, we thought, “Wouldn’t it be fun to drive across the country?”

That was all it took for this little idea to germinate. Within a few hours, roots had grown, and Jeff had taken out his two year-old Wal-Mart Road Atlas to do some preliminary route checks. Where would we go? Were there specific sights that either of us wanted to see? How long would an adventure like this take? Would we kill each other before Omaha? Mount Rushmore was a must, as was Yellowstone, and Mithila wanted to take Jeff to Niagra Falls and Canada. Despite having a grandmother who lives an hour away, Jeff has never stood at the four corners. Mithila wanted to drive through Death Valley, and the idea of riding down Route 1 in California, the Big Sur highway, appealed instantly to both of us. We wanted to visit Meera in San Francisco, and Dallas for Christmas was a must. The petrified forest near Yosemite in eastern California; Nebraska; Idaho; Graceland; Yogaville in Charlottsville, VA. This is a vast country (hell, it’s a big world). This is our opportunity to see more than either of us have ever seen.

Google Maps estimated 2800 miles from Naugatuck, CT, to San Francisco. From SF to Plano, TX, is another 1700, and yet another 1700 from Plano back to Naugy. 6200 miles, and that’s taking straight shots, which we plan on not doing. Google’s route takes us straight through Nebraska, Idahao and Nevada before hitting California. We want to go a little north of there, to see Mount Rushmore and Yellowstone. (We’ll miss the biggest ball of twine in Minnestota, unfortunately.) Roughly, I’d estimate the whole trip to run about 6500 to 7000 miles. (Which, I suddenly realize, means we’ll theoretically have to change oil in the middle of the trip, if we stick to the guidelines.)

Preliminarily, we think the Honda is our best bet. With gas prices as high as they are, the 45-50 miles-per-gallon we can tug out of the hybrid will save us a lot of money. However, we are planning on driving through the northern plains states in the dead of winter, so the idea of saving a little money might lose out to the idea of not getting stuck in a snow bank in rural western Wyoming. Chains at a minimum.

Keep checking back for updates on our planning progress, as well as the trip itself. We’ll post pictures, and each of us will keep journals of our journey. We won’t share it all with the world, but some of the highlights will make it here.