My motel in Moab was short on breakfast options, and it’s a super-hip town (in a funky, Monkey Wrench Gang kinda way), so I presumed that I would find a cafe latte someplace. I did, and learned of on a hike to take where a dog could be off-leash, AND got advice on a spot for breakfast.
Breakfast was at a cafe called Eklecticafe; it was interesting and pretty darned fabulous.
The tables were small display cases for hand crafted items from local artisans. You stared right at the things while you ate. Good marketing and efficient use of space, non?
Then we set off for a good dog walk.
Being the sort of person I am, I couldn’t just turn around after our hike and drive back to town, even though I’d planned to go directly to Arches National Park.
We drove a bit further and at a put-in for the Colorado River, I saw a sign that lead me to believe there was a short, scenic drive that I could take and end up near the ranger station of Canyonlands National Park. So I took it.
I took a picture of the two of them with their camera, and one of the fellows returned the favor.
When they asked if was “going the whole way” I didn’t think much of it.
I just kept driving because it was so beautiful.
That fissure is only about six inches wide, but it is wicked deep. Look at these pictures of Chico. He wanted nothing to do with hopping over it, even though he can broad jump his own length on an agility course.
It was beautiful, the sun started to set,
and I realized that I had no idea exactly where I was or why I was still in the park after so many hours. There was a clear and recent set of tire tracks in front of me, I kept seeing campgrounds (deserted of course) and I just kept going. Eventually I rejoined improved, and then paved roads and found my way back to where I wanted to be. It did take eight hours to drive 100 miles, and based on how hairy the road was in the dark, I missed some hella-good views, but in the end, it all turned out fine. I drove on to a room I had reserved for the night in Salina, UT. The fates handed me a snow squall as I went over the last pass on I 70 and the proprietors of my hotel, presumably for safety, tied the fire exit door shut with an electrical cord, but, as you see, I lived to tell the tales.
Next morning I gave a small lecture to the desk clerk about the fire door being tied shut (he shrugged) and blasted out of there. We drove US 50 all the way to Fallon, Nevada and a friendly little Super 8 motel with its own casino.