It’s Saturday, and because I’m headed for Arches National Park, I get up extra early, have a quick breakfast of 3 eggs and a coffee, and down the mountain I speed to avoid the crowds. Heading towards the park I tune into Arches’ info station on AM radio and feel discouraged when a message warns me that if the line to the park extends to the motorway, I should drive on and come back another day.
I get to the park just after 8 am. There is no line. In fact, the entrance booth is not yet manned by a ranger and people just drive on through. At the Visitors Centre, though, there is already a long line that leads to the rangers. A notice alerts me that the next available Fiery Furnace hike is tomorrow at 4pm. I want to do this hike, and as I wait in line to make the booking, I think about the next few days; the beauty of travelling without plans is that it’s easy to change them: so I’ll stay here for an extra few days.
When at the ranger’s station I announce that I’d like to buy a ticket for one for tomorrow’s walk, the ranger perks up.
“Do you want I go today? I’ve just had a cancellation for 9,30am. Are you ready? You have 45 min to get to the meeting point.”
Of course I’m ready. Thank you, universe. I have enough time to fill my water bottles, put on my hikers, cover my body in sun cream and drive to the trailhead.
When I get there, a group of people is already standing around a ranger who looks at me and asks if I’m on the 9,30am tour.
“Yes.” He then proceeds to take the group of people down the trail. I follow. It’s a steep descent, and after crossing the first wash we stop at the first ‘talking point.’
“Oh, you’re not on my tour. You’re on the next one,” Matt the Ranger says. I ask if I can stay down there until the next tour comes, but because they take attendance, I have to hike back up. Matt comes with me part of the way because he’s afraid I’ll get lost or twist an ankle.
So, I have a warm up.
Ranger Isaac is my next tour guide. He sets up a jolly, jovial atmosphere: he wants all 14 of us in the group to be friends, so we play games and learn each other’s names. I spend majority of the walk with Lennie, Lenin originally from Russia, and now a high school guidance counselor in Boston. We talk about education, books, the top 100 novels and which ones we’ve read; we talk about Russia and politics in the States, though Lennie does whisper conspiratorially, “We shouldn’t be talking about that here.” His wife smirks. His 2 children are delightfully quirky.
The hike is an incredible way to start the day, especially when I’m crawling through holes, squiggling between two boulders, and scrambling up and down rock. Some solo-hikers pass our tour – you can do the hike alone so long as you watch a safety video, chat with a ranger and get a permit, but I’m happy to be on the tour. It’s been a little while since I’ve had a sustained conversation with another human: it’s actually quite pleasant. Also, I learn about the rocks, the plants, the ponds and the tiny shrimp-like creatures that live in them when the rains come. Near the end of the hike Isaac gets us to lie under an arch for a minute of silence. It’s magical, even though I can’t stop looking at the cracks in the rock.
It takes some patience to find a parking spot, but I’m here to see the Arches, so I visit Sandstone Arch and Broken Arch, but at midday I’m done with the crowds and skip the famous Delicate Arch and drive out to Tower Arch, a hike Ranger Isaac promised would have no line of tourists along it. So, in the middle of the worst heat of the day, I drive the 12 mile gravel path to get to Isaac’s recommended Tower Arch trail. There are no other cars on the road: I’ve left the RVs and vans looking for parking on the park’s main paved road.
A red cabriolet with big wheels, a blue water jug and a red gas jar strapped onto its boot sits at the trailhead. It’s so cute I snap a photo and wonder who else is on the hike.
A couple enjoying their retirement? Some man experiencing a midlife crisis? A handsome man? A fiesty woman who’s on a road trip?
It’s gone two in the afternoon, and the red earth is radiating from below. There are sections where my feet sink into hot sand as I climb. The sand spills into my hikers, burning my skin. Still, it is marvellous. I am surrounded by incredible rocks. I see only two sets of footprints on the path; this really isn’t a popular walk. I wonder if the both of them belong to the travellers in the red cabriolet.
When I get to Tower Arch there are two young men snapping photos under the arch, making their way down as I come up: the owners of the cabriolet, and the only other people that braved the trek. We say hello as we pass each, as is custom with all hikers: we’re a friendly lot.
I climb under the arch and sit in it’s shade. Walking in the soft dunes was hard and hot enough to make me sweat, and this one of the few shady spots – I need to dry off a little before making my way back. I chomp on a protein bar and drink water. I take photos. I lay down to listen to the silence and watch the sky. I sit up and gaze at the scenery.
Then I see the boys. They have gone on a bit of an exploring trip, I guess, and are coming back.
I wait a few minutes to give them some headway and begin my trek back.
I’m surprised to see them not far ahead of me. They must be stopping to take lots of photos. I slow a little, taking my own shots. They came here for peace, presumably, and so did I, and I do not want to disturb their tranquility.
Still, every time I slow down, they do too. I’m forced to forge ahead and find one of the boys waiting.
“Hi. Does that little red car belong to you?” They laugh. It is their friend’s; he lent it to them. Suddenly, we are all walking, and walk the rest of the trail together. They are Ben from New Zealand, and Ricardo from Spain; they met in New Zealand, and are now visiting a mutual friend who lives in Colorado. When we get to the trailhead, hot and sweaty, there’s some awkward, what now? silence. I’m not good at this spontaneous friendship stuff. I’m really not good with people at all. They suggest beer.
“Beer sounds like a great idea.” I follow their red cabriolet back into Moab. Driving behind them feels a lot like shooting the perfect American road trip movie. A little red in the distance, dust, red cliffs all around, a narrow, bumpy, curvy dirt road ahead.
Over cold, 3.2% beer (the limit for Utah-brewed beer) we learn about our trips and our lives, then we part and say bye: we each have our late-afternoon errands. Before we leave I tell them where I’m staying in the mountains, mentioning the 45 min car drive is worth the 10C cooler temperatures.
I pootle about town where many of the shops have already closed, and a quiet is descending, then make my way up cooler temperatures.
When I arrive I see the boys. They are setting up their tent across from my site.
“It’s destiny,” Ricardo chimes.
They invite me to bring over my dinner to their site and I do. There is a fire ban, and we don’t have beer, but we do enjoy each other’s company until the stars are brightly scattered above us.
Ben and Ricardo are an amazing duo. I’m sitting across from them at the picnic table, feeling like I’m at a live comedy sketch. Ben is organized, knows what he’s doing and where he is; he is a scientist. Ricardo is on Spanish time, he’s soft spoken, gentle and doesn’t really know where he is. I go to sleep laughing.
It has been a day of bonuses. I woke up to fresh mountain air. Then, a solo traveller cancelled their Fiery Furnace tour, opening a spot for me. I met Ranger Isaac and Lennie, and Ben and Ricardo. Beautiful. It’s nice to have company once in a while, and today’s been a treat sprinkled with laughter. These shared experiences make everything a little more real.
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