The sun’s just risen, and I’m wide awake, scrambling my eggs, remembering yesterday’s adventure, and thinking about spontaneous friendships, when Ricardo comes over to my campsite with a, “Good morning,” and an invitation to join him and Ben for breakfast. Since my eggs are already done and quickly getting cold, I spoon them into my mouth thinking I’ll go over in a minute and bring coffee, but suddenly the boys and their porridge are at my picnic table. I make hot cups of coffee and we plan our day.
The boys and I are headed to Canyonland’s Island in the Sky, but I want to attempt the steep Shafer Trail to get there, and leave before them. We don’t make plans to meet up.
The descent from the cool mountains and into the hot valley is majestic. The smoke from the fires raging in California has cleared and for the first time in days the morning sky is blue and the air fresh (and the fires in California are slowly running out of steam.)
I take Hwy 279 to Potash. A railroad line hugs the road; a cliff rises high from the edge of the railroad, from which mountain climbers are already hanging, looking for the next toe hold; the Colorado River meanders along the other side of the road.
Then, the railroad tracks end, as does the pavement. There are 19 miles of the Shafer Trail ahead of me, and I’m feeling confident – my car is capable, is my motto.
I drive, cautiously. The road narrows. I hit a few difficult spots where I have to lift my ass out of my seat to better see the rocks, holes and sand that make up the uneven road: this makes shifting gears difficult. I’m driving at 6 miles an hour and wonder if the next two hours of slow driving are worth it. I also imagine my tire popping. Or the Honda getting stuck in sand. Or the car, me inside, falling down the cliff’s edge.
So, I bail. On my way down, I pass a car, a little sedan like mine; the driver and I nod to each other, in acknowledgment of my failure and his hopes of succeeding where I could not. A few minutes later I see his dust behind me.
I’m not the only quitter this morning, and that makes me feel better.
When I get to Mesa Arch at Canyonlands National Park, Ricardo and Ben’s little red cabriolet is there. It’s not hard to spot the boys and we’re quickly a gang of three again.
There are a few people climbing a cliff’s edge, off the trail, and we decide to do a bit of our own exploring, though the park doesn’t recommend it as traveling off the beaten path means you are breaking the crust that helps to preserve the natural beauty of the park, is home to thousands of organisms, and takes decades to regrow – we tread slowly to minimize our impact. Ben leads the way. The rock is like a gigantic layered crepe cake. We have to scramble up the rock, finding hand and footholds, trying not to do any damage to the soft rock, conscious also of the precipitous cliff edge that’s just there…
At the top we stand, astounded. The fear of death was worth it. We see the mass of people who crowd about Mesa Arch while we get to see the Arch, and a whole new world.
I take a ‘my feet are dangling off the edge’ shot to send mum, and Ben joins in. Ricardo needs some urging to get to the edge – edges scare him. Slowly, he slides over but refuses to look ahead of him and down into the canyon.
“Don’t,” he warns, nervous, when we try to pull him just a little closer.
Cautiously, we climb down. The boys are good – they stop and stick their arms out, ready for me to grab if needed to save me from a fall. I don’t need the help, but it’s nice to know someone is there in case I do.
Our next stop is Gooseberry Trail – the park newsletter says it is the most strenuous hike, so likely the least populated on this Saturday. The boys first join me for a picnic lunch which we have with three other travelers, retired friends meeting up for a little RViing (I’m sure this is now a verb.) Of course, people ask the boys about their car. That little red cabriolet gets them a lot of attention.
The first part of the Gooseberry Trail is a steep descent with a series of sharp switchbacks every four steps. Not long after we start the walk our minds jump to the future, when we’re struggling to climb back up. Down and down and down we go. There are points where I have to slow down because moments of dizziness overwhelm me. Behind us, the cliff gets longer and larger, looming above us; we get smaller and smaller.
When we arrive at the flats and walk the wash-out, dark clouds close in on us. There’s lightning in the distance. A strong wind gets trapped in the canyon; the sand blows so hard it pierces our skin, gets into our ears and hides in the crevices between our teeth, though we do our best to hide our faces and keep our mouths closed.
At the White Rim, where the water has formed another canyon, we stand at the edge, looking down, feet planted wide apart, braced and ready for gusts of wind. There is one couple there who kindly take our photo. Ricardo sits, as he usually does, a little way away from us.
“Contemplating the meaning of life?”
“How did you know?” he laughs.
His answer is, “to be happy.”
My answer is, “to be curious.”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
“I still have my nine lives.”
The climb back up is difficult. When I’m leading, I want to go fast so I don’t slow the boys down, but my heart pounds, my breaths become shallow, and the sweat that drips into my eyes burns. Of course, on our ascent up, the sun also decides to peek out and shine directly on us.
We stop to take many breaks. I am the weakest link, but the boys stop and sit and snack; we talk about jobs, tattoos, the meaning of life, whether the walking man on the pedestrian traffic light is white or green, and word differences between British and American: with ease, we move from one pertinent topic to another.
As the sun begins its descent to hide behind the horizon, we drive to Dead Horse State Park, famous for the scene in which Thelma and Louise drive their car off the cliff. A crowd’s already gathered there to watch the sunset. The canyons shimmer in the dimming sunlight. Everything goes still as the sun sets. The air cools. The breeze refreshes.
We have dinner at Moab Diner. Ben and Ricardo have never been to an American Diner and are buzzing with energy. They eye each dish curiously as it comes out of the kitchen. I ask our waiter, in a kind of chuckle, if he can call the boys ‘muffin’ and ‘dear,’ to give them the real diner experience, but I only confuse him – he’s not a chipper gal in a uniform who works in a movie diner. The job of calling them ‘love’ and ‘dear’ is left up to me.
We eat big plates of greasy food, accompanied by chocolate milk shakes, and banana splits. Everything about the day we’ve had makes the three of us giddy. The Diner closes, and the waiters clean up around us: we’re not ready for the day to end.
In the car park, we slowly walk to our cars, get in and back out of the spots. As we be both pull out of the car park spaces, I hear a shout from Ben to pull up to their car.
“Ricardo has suggested that we go out for a drink.” So we pull back in to our spaces.
“I guess we’ve just had our Great American Road trip.” In and out of the car park – the great American experience. We can’t stop laughing.
It’s Saturday and all the bars have cover charges; when I finally ask one of the bouncers where we can find a bar sans cover charge, he shrugs his shoulders and waves us in.
It’s a local dive, full of locals, all ages, sizes and colours. Many of the men look like they’ve come straight from work, sporting their denim jeans and caps; the ladies have dressed up in their tight mini-dresses, adorned their faces with layers of colour and walk around in ridiculously high high-heels. A DJ plays a song and too quickly transitions to another, mixing genres and rhythms. A few people play pool. Many people sit and chat, laughing a little too loudly, already bridging the gap from tipsy to drunk. Someone drags a few friends to the dance floor. There’s not a good dancer among then, but they are all having fun.
Ben orders a pitcher. We find an empty, sticky table near the dance floor. We talk, leaning into each other, like we’ve known each other for years. They reveal that they waited for me at Tower Arch because they were worried that I was taking so long at the arch all by myself. It was Ricardo’s thoughtful idea to wait, though Ben says he was looking forward to have someone else to talk to besides Ricardo. We’re all, I think, happy to have found each other’s company.
Back at camp we say good night. It has gone 2 in the morning. Tomorrow we part ways, but Ricardo instructs me not to leave before coming over to say goodbye.
I love spontaneous friendships.
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