Saturday - August 5, 2006

We awoke to a brilliant blue sky and a cheery sunrise that promised a gorgeous day and warm hiking weather. Jenny set her mobile phone to wake us at sunrise, but distant mountains obscured its ascent for a while. So we returned to bed for an hour or so. Upon reawakening, we packed our gear for a return trip to Arches. Admission to national parks has gotten pretty expensive in the past few years - another example of how a government that distains "taxes" has no problems with "fees" to balance the books. But one decent part of the deal is that your admission covers a full week. So we flashed our receipt and drove back into the park, ready to see some of the sections we'd skipped yesterday.

Our first stop was Park Avenue, a one-mile hike through a narrow canyon lined by towering rocks and sandstone cliffs. I dropped Jenny and Vienna off and parked the car at the other end of the trail; we would meet roughly in the middle and hike back together. I'd miss the first half of the hike, but it'd be nice to have a car waiting for us. I enjoyed a few moments of solitary walking, the silence marred only by my clunky tennis shoes. Following the rocky path, I looked down more than up. No doubt, a twisted ankle here would definitely be no fun. Keeping an eye on the path before me, I spotted parallel lines in the sandstone that twisted in a manner that resembled a vast topographic map. Then I saw a thin line that stretched across the arching pattern. With a little effort (and some creative cropping) I could imagine that I was a hundred miles above the earth staring down on the deserts of Africa.

Before long I met Jenny and Vienna. Our daughter was fashioning her own arch out of larger and smaller stones. Jenny and I offered our various types of advice. My approach was always to find a larger thin rock to create the top of the arch, but Vienna is much more patient than I. She balanced smaller stones to draw the two sides closer together. With one perfectly placed stone she created her arch and set back to survey her creation. For the rest of the day she would wonder aloud whether her creation continued to stand. I imagined that it could solidify somehow and that thousands of years from now, tourists will gather to this place to witness the world's smallest arch. Vienna and I were pleased enough with our return visit, but Jenny was determined to see everything she could before we returned to the highway. So we headed back to the park road and sought out Sand Dune Arch. The hike to this one was easy, even though the ground was essentially beach sand. Again, Vienna and I were satisfied, but Jenny was just getting started. Our goal would be a series of arches near Devils Garden.

We started with some easy ones - Pine Tree and Tunnel Arch - but we knew that Jenny would settle for no less than Landscape Arch, about a mile's hike distant. The morning sun beat down upon us and I figured that fellow visitors could stand the site of my bare chest for a bit. Even with the high temperature, the trail blessed us with a steady breeze that cooled the sweat on our arms and faces. Rising and falling with the path, we made our way along. At one point, we saw two large deer relaxing in the shade, far enough from the trail that they hardly reacted to our presence. High in the air, we saw Landscape Arch. At first it hardly seemed worth the trouble, being merely a slender ribbon of stone. But as we got closer, its serendipitous play with gravity became increasingly impressive. We could not spot a trail leading directly to the arch, but I climbed a nearby outcropping that offered a close enough look, following a "primitive trail" that demanded some scrambling and balancing of my own. I rejoined Jenny and Vienna and we rested a while, proud that we'd come this far. We'd seen the park in the gloom of threatening rainstorms and under the glare of harsh sun, and we knew we had seen little of what this place has to offer. But at last we'd seen enough for this trip.

Lunch brought us back to Eddie McStiff’s and a reconfirmation that this eatery is a great deal: friendly service, tasty food, and free wireless internet. We then set about our long journey out of Utah and into Nevada. We started on Interstate 70 whose magnificent views of bluffs, buttes, and crevasses rivaling the Grand Canyon, is one of the most awesome drives we've ever taken. For a trip that's earned its share of superlatives, southern Utah is particularly stunning.

By mid-afternoon we stopped for ice cream in Salina, while I scrambled into and away from the intersection to photograph Mom's Cafe (lower right), which glowed against the darkening sky of an imminent rainstorm. Thereafter we joined US-50 and headed west for Nevada. Soon after our crossing, we had to slow down as a fox lazily crossed the road. We had no idea of our destination for that night; we would drive until we had to stop.

As the sun descended before us, we planned to pass through Ely and aim for Austin; there we would grab a cheap room and crash for the night. We entered Ely in time to enjoy the twilight "golden hour" for neon photographers when the light begins to glow and you can still see the surrounding signage and building detail. Jenny and Vienna agreed that some Mexican food would be nice. Oddly enough, we hadn’t had any for the entire duration of our trip. As if the town responded to our request, we quickly found La Fiesta, a perfectly tasty place that offered cheap and filling plates. Passing through the main street, we felt optimistic that comfortable lodgings were just a couple hours away. After all, how many people plan to sleep in the tiny mountaintop city of Austin in the middle of Nevada desert? Is that enough foreshadowing enough for you?

We entered Austin at about ten, a bit later than we prefer but hardly too late to find a room, we thought. But there they were, in quick succession: three red neon "no" signs. We couldn’t tell if the motels were filled or if the owners had simply decided to close their offices, but we knew that our evening slumber would be far less relaxing than we'd planned. Looking ahead, we could see that the next likely candidate for lodging was about a hundred miles away in Fallon. I decided to get some gas and ask the attendant whether more local options could be found. She assured me that, indeed, the motels were full. She looked at our car and saw Jenny and Vienna waiting. Then she called a local boarding house that sometimes has extra room. "I'm sorry to wake you,” she said, "but I've got a family with no place to go." But there was no room left.

Jenny and I considered our options as Vienna slept in the back. I was almost relieved when Jenny said she didn't want to drive another hour and a half just to pay for an overpriced room. Along the way we'd seen plenty of rabbits and deer, and I had visions of a midnight car wreck in the middle of the open range. So we turned the car around and began our climb to the nearby mountain summit we'd passed on our way to town. Perhaps a campsite in Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest might offer a place to rest. Within a few moments, I spotted a promising stop: a turn-off that led toward the makings of a construction site. Piles of gravel suggested the necessary protection from passing headlights, and we were sufficiently away from town to avoid the glare of a cop's flashlight (we hoped). For a moment, I feared shutting off the headlights, knowing that the lack of nearby illumination would result in a complete kind of darkness that can be a little scary. But, flipping the lights off, we discovered that we were flooded with the light of the almost full moon. It was so bright that we had to hang pillowcases from the window. At last we configured ourselves - Jenny and I in the front seats, Vienna across the back - and began our wait for sleep.