Friday - August 4, 2006

Today we awoke early enough to reach our destination in terrific time. We left with higher spirits than when we arrived last night. One reason: the air was cool at last, a welcome respite from the hot and humid weather we've confronted over the last few days. Our goal was to visit Moab, Utah, and hike some of Arches National Park. Departing Denver, we began our ascent into the Rockies, marveling as the landscape transforms from open plains to towering mountains dotted with chalets and sky lifts. I still remember our first drive through this part of the country ten years ago when we were driving home from our first Route 66 trip. That time we were heading east and I was stunned by the huge expanse of flat land beyond the Mile High city. I recalled this as we drove through the 1.7 mile-long Eisenhower Tunnel. The landscape is so inspirational that I suggested we return to our efforts to memorize the Gettysburg Address.

I was amazed that so much of last night's efforts stuck with me. I managed to glide through the first several lines and only got stuck on that frustrating section about dedicating ourselves "to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced." Then, like a break of sun through the gloom, the speech ascended to its resolutions and its magnificent conclusion, "…that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth." We did it, we'd committed the speech to memory, and we then practiced it throughout the morning. It was so much fun to accomplish a task we set for ourselves as a family. By early afternoon, drops of rain began to fall and we understood even more vividly why the temperature had gotten so cool. Passing into the Utah desert, spotting hawks beating their wings against the fierce wind in an effort to reach roadside carrion, I cranked up the best song I can imagine for this sort of day: Riders on the Storm by The Doors. Its droning beat and tinkling electric piano made perfect rhythm with the rain.

We took the scenic route to Moab, State Road 128 near Castle Valley, and were amazed by the red cliffs and balancing rocks that we saw. The pavement hugged every undulation of the land, and driving a few miles above the speed limit turned the road into a roller coaster. Even as the rain removed the power of light and shadow to offer its contrasts, we couldn't help but call this place a mixture of God's country and Roadrunner country. Looking above as the clouds gathered and broke in alternating turns, I knew that we'd see a gorgeous sunset that evening.

Rolling into town, we entered a world of bike shops, "adventure" tours, and ubiquitous advertisements for wireless internet. Extreme sports addicts have discovered Moab and converted this sleepy town into a college-hipster hangout. But the vibe is relaxed and mildly funky. We ate at Eddie McStiff’s and agreed that this is an essential stop for hungry road trippers, despite the slightly higher price (no thanks to a couple of stiff Mai Tais that I ordered). Jenny flipped through a real estate guide - she loves to look at house prices, planning ahead for when we will retire - and noticed that this restaurant is for sale. So gather ye stiff Mai Tais, while you may.

We grabbed our Kabin at the KOA and took their advice that we get to Arches that afternoon. They'd received a downpour in the morning and warned that we might get soaked again the next day. So we headed back through town toward the park entrance, paid our ten bucks, and began the ascent. Within a couple miles, we were met with the most beautiful collection of impossibly balanced boulders and reddish gold arches I'd ever seen. My main goal was to see Delicate Arch, that huge ring of stone that I'd seen in countless photographs. The clouds swirled around, offering hints of sunlight and threats of rain. But Jenny wisely insisted we see other formations too. So we made the hikes to Double Arch (left), the window arches and Turret Arch, resting in the cool of the curved stone doorways as the breeze blew against us. We passed alongside canyons and cliffs, each one worth the trip to this park. Yet as the clouds gathered and darkened, I feared that we might not see more than a sad gray hole where my visions of the arch stands.

Nevertheless, we stopped at Wolfe Ranch and began our hike to Delicate Arch. The map informed us that we'd be embarking on a 1.5 mile-trek each way, but I had no idea of how steep a grade it would be. While Jenny and Vienna soldiered upward, I grew to regret my lack of conditioning. But we continued our climb, sometimes upon bare stone marked only by rock piles that marked the path. After a while we would reach a peak only to see other folks higher up, impossibly distant. Surely they had gone off the trail! But no, that was the trail. Then I began to understand why the park posted signs warning visitors to bring plenty of water. We downed hearty gulps, splashing our foreheads, and scrambled along. As we reached a final peak, drops of rain began to fall. For a moment I thought that we might as well turn back. But the drizzle felt cool and I reconsidered. We would press on, even if only to see the unlit shape of the thing that had drawn us here. As we neared the end of our climb, we began to see smaller arches, and I distressed, "tell me that's not it!" A returning climber assured us that the real arch lay just around the corner. The "corner" turned out to be a narrow ridge around an impressive hill. I thought once more, "this had better be worth it." Then we turned and saw it at last.

Delicate Arch is worth the trek. Hidden from the cliffs and hills, it rises and curves majestically against the landscape that seems smaller in comparison. One portion of the arch explains its name, as smaller sections tenuously balance the weight of the massive rock. We find that dozens of people have positioned themselves along the bowl that halfway surrounds the arch, each snapping photos and looking at the sky beyond, hoping that the sky will clear enough to let the sun shine. An older fellow with a high-end camera takes requests to shoot photos for couples and small groups who stand within the arch. He exudes the kind of calm that flows from knowing that everything will work out all right. I can tell that he too is waiting for the clouds to break and reveal once more the sun, which itself will light up the arch in gold. We sit down and wait, happy just to relax among so many people who are exactly where they want to be.

Almost imperceptibly the clouds begin to part and distant canyons brighten and glow as the sun pours its twilight color upon them. The light advances steadily toward us, playing with the arch, dancing along its surface. At last the ring begins to radiate its reflection of the sun that now reveals itself. The arch becomes a portal separating the brilliant light of this world and some dark world that seems to lie beyond its window as eastern clouds roil and turn. We watch the sun continue its steady descent and smile at strangers who are equally glad to be here at this moment. We stare and stare, taking photos from all angles. After about an hour when we feel right about leaving we begin our own descent. Around the ridge, we pass by a woman who is plainly exhausted by the hike. I tell her that she's almost there; she looks so relieved that I my own struggles to reach this place seem lighter.

Walking back, following the cairns that mark the path, we spotted a rabbit and tiny chipmunks and listened to distant bird warbles. The clouds glowed red amidst the sunset and the sky behind us assumed a silvery hue. Within a half-hour, we returned to our car and began our drive downward. Following the switchback roads out of the park, our sunset became almost surreal in its beauty. Our camera could hardly capture some of the light. To the east, dark storm clouds glowed blue with hints of yellow. Rolling westward, the clouds formed into purple and pink strips. The array of clouds most directly lit by the sun resembled striated rock faces, and I started humming "The White Cliffs of Dover." Driving back to our KOA Kabin, we agreed that this stop was a highlight for the trip. We will awaken tomorrow and sunrise and, if the rain doesn't return, go back to see more of this gorgeous place.