Utah

   Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may be in Utah.

 

We travel, it is said, to sharpen the edge of life. We travel to lose ourselves, & to find ourselves. We travel to become young fools again, in search of some pure hazard, to taste some hardship either our own or others... to leave all beliefs and certainties at home and see things which you thought you knew in a different light.

 Take for instance Newspaper Rock, Canonlands National Park, Utah. A huge wall of drawings, pictographs & petroglyphs that pretty much sums up 5000 years of human endeavor. From ancient hunting scenes to strange alien creatures, to Bob Loves Urma.

 Standing in front of this written history tiny icy feet run up your spine as you realize this is not just some antique graffiti but your DNA, your own evolution spelled out before your eyes. An Indian poem surfaces in the depths of your being:

                     You see, I am alive.

                      You see, I stand in good relation to the earth.

                       You see, I stand in good relation to the Gods.

                        You see, I stand in good relation to you.

                          You see, I am alive, I am alive.

 Now, if you’d seen a picture of Newspaper Rock in say the National Geographic, the same feelings may not have surfaced. But to see it in person...is the reason we travel.

 

 As we travel through Southern Utah, we are overwhelmed by the majesty of natures power and beauty, the millions of years of geology exposed for our uncomprehending eyes, and mans own contribution to this awesome landscape...the trailer house.

 In fact entire towns have sprung up in this natural wonderland, entirely made of tin, squatting on flat tires, as if to say, ‘just passin through.’

 Nowhere in America or perhaps the world can be seen such dichotomy, where man no more blends into the landscape than a hooker in Church, a fly on a wedding cake. Whereas the Indian built magnificent cliff dwellings that seem to grow from natures own, present day man could not be at more odds with his surroundings. Tucked in his aluminum home watching his satellite TV, the inhabitants of Southern Utah are aliens to their environment. Strange, large, bearded fellows, accompanied by buxom blonde teenage girls, appear on the dusty horizon in late model Ford Econoline vans, the windows blacked out, & covered with NRA and God Bless America stickers.

 Now we too, my soft middle-age self and little family tucked safely inside an air condition Chevy, Baby Beluga blasting from the stereo, pass through this harsh, thorny landscape totally alienated but for the occasional gas station confrontation.

 Into one of these aluminum stations I now wander...Escalante Utah.

“Afternoon ma’am, Could you tell me anything about this Smoky Mountain Road?”

“I can tell you to go on down to the Church, it’s a brown double wide on main street, & take a left. That’s the Smoky Mountain Road.”

“Well, what’s it like, can a basic 4 by 4 truck make it?”

“Don’t know....never been on it.”

“Never been down the Smoky Mt. Road? How long you lived here?”

“Sixty years, all my life...almost.”

“Well it says here in my Utah Byways book that this is the most remote road in America, you can get farther away from civilization than anywhere in the lower 48.”

“That’s probably why I never been down it.” She eyed me suspiciously. “So why in tarnation do you wanna drag that little family y’orn out there?”

“I dunno...cause I can I guess....thanks.”

“Take plenty of water.” She said to my departing back.

“ Is this smart?” asked my wife.

“Probably not.” I reassured her and pulled into the Escalante Forest Service building.

“Can you tell me anything about this Smoky Mt. Road?” To the blue hair receptionist.

“Long hot & dusty...take plenty of water. Never been down it myself.”

In Escalante Utah there are two roads, Highway 12, and the Smoky Mountain Road.

You would think in the 120 years that the two inhabitants I’d talked to had been there, one of them might have ventured down the other road. The travel bug does not bite all.

 At the start of the Smoky Mountain Road someone has spray painted a huge crude nude, a wealth of obscene words accompany it. Modern day petrogylphs. I wondered why, in the 5000 years of art depicted on Utah’s canyon walls, no generation thought to paint a dirty picture along with some swear words....until our generation.

 The road disappears into a dry wash, crawls through narrow canyons and onto juniper studded mesa’s. You can see for 50 miles every direction...there is no one.

“Is this smart?” asked my wife.

“Probably not...ain’t it great?”

 The movie Planet of the Apes was filmed on this patch of Utah and it’s becoming apparent why. There are few landscapes as baron & alien.

We drive for hours across a thorny wasteland, the occasional hand painted sign points out Dead Man Ridge...Hole in the Rock Road.  There is nobody. It is wonderful.

“WE’RE OUT THERE KIDS...THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED!! THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE!!” MAKES YOU FEEL LIKE THE ONLY ONE ON EARTH!!” and thirsty.

“What’s wrong with Disneyland, Dad?” My son was missing the point.

“EVERYBODY GOES TO DISNEYLAND!! NOBODY COMES OUT HERE!!!”

“Cause there’s nothing out here!” says Christo.

“EXACTLY!”

The sun was sinking in the western sky, turning this inhospitable wasteland a dusty golden hue. Unfortunately in the last 50 miles I had not seen one campsite that would make even a rattlesnake comfortable. An observation not lost on my wife.

 “We’ll camp at Last Chance Creek,” said I confidently. “Smack dab in the middle of nowhere.”

 And then, as if ordained, a patch of lush green appeared. “Cottonwoods!!” Water!!!

Winding down into a small canyon, Last Chance Creek appeared. Alongside the crystal clear little brook, under a spreading Cottonwood, a tiny firepit had been built.

Campsite at the center of the universe. Campsite in the middle of nowhere.

  In the sand around the firepit lay ancient brass shell casings from some cowboys pistol. On top of the casings & on down the road wandered a set of fresh, fat mountain lion tracks.

 We set up our little camp, opened a bottle of wine & watched the sun disappear, serenaded by the babbling stream & cooing Morning Doves.

 This is why we travel.

                                                        The End