I’m up early because when on holiday I want to see every sunrise.
I’m driving west to Utah. Quite suddenly, the landscape changes. Everything is drained of colour bar various hues of beige. Everything gets a little flatter.
Then, red earth appears; in the distance cliffs raise; in the valleys carved out by rivers there splashes of green.
The road is straight, then curvy, then straight again for miles. Once in a while I pass a house; a truck’s parked outside. It looks inhabited, and I wonder about the people who continue to choose to live here.
I detour to the Four Corners Monument. It’s a $5 charge to get in to see a cemented patch of concrete through which run 2 perpendicular lines separating 4 states and 2 reservations. Stalls selling crafts, jewellery and magnets surround the concrete on all 4 sides. It’s still early enough that half of the vendors aren’t there, while the others are just setting up, displaying their kitsch. When you stop for a while, they’ll happily chat. I stop by a stall where a man sells carvings. He’s just soaked some limestone, and begins to carve. His white moustache drips down the side of his lips, as his hands apply pressure to his tool. He then begins a show and tell of all his tools, and does a bit of carving with each one to show me the lines each tool can make. When his friend comes over, they speak another language, then turn to me and say that 80% of their middle aged to elderly people are still fluent in their Native tongues, but much less with the younger generations. His friendly demeanour is a great sales tactic: I purchase one of his watercolour paintings of a kokopelli surrounded by various Hopi and Navajo Indian symbols for friendship, love, peace, and life’s journey, the meanings of which the artist notes for me on a piece of paper.
I pass towns. Aneth. Montezuma Creek. Blanding. Bluff. Mexican Hat. Then I am on the long straight road to Monument Valley, a scene I’ve seen in films, photographs, on Instagram and elsewhere, but it is satisfying to be here, for real. At each turnout in the road is a car, many of which have amateur photographers on the roofs trying to recreate the iconic shot of the long black, man-made road and its clear yellow divider in the middle, that leads to the natural wonders of the monuments.
Though Monument Valley is busy, no one’s arrived at the campground so I get to choose my site. Of course, I choose the one at the front, facing the monuments, so that when I go to sleep and wake up, there they are, the first and last things I see. The sand burns my feet. The air is arid. The sun is hot. Still, it’s quite perfect.
Most people come here for the drive through the valley; it’s a one way loop, with pull outs and parking spots at each scenic point. The drive can be done in a 2WD, though most people seem to opt for the tour, sitting comfortably in a modified Jeep with a guide that hollers information at them through a megaphone.
I drive my Civic. The road starts with a steep, bumpy and curvy descent, that makes me wonder if I’ve made the wrong decision – in the sand, going down, the breaks aren’t great, and I’m not certain if I’ll be able to make it back up that sandy, curvy incline.
The road gets a bit better. I have to veer the car’s wheels over and around holes, rocks jutting out, sand hills, and through sandy washes that are filled with flowing water in rain, but the Civic does great.
I see that most people drive with their windows closed; they keep their cars running while they get out to snap landscape shots and selfies. I have not yet once turned my AC on during the trip – I think it’s better on my body to just be hot all the time, so I drive with my windows open. After a splendid 2 hour trip I discover that everything in my car is blanketed with a layer of red dust. Suddenly, the closed windows make a lot of sense.
It is hot. It’s the hottest day thus far on my trip, and driving in the heat, focusing on the road, and being out in the sun, make me tired. At the campsite, everything is exposed to the sun, but by the big building complex that houses the tourist info, restaurant, shop and hotel, there are 2 picnic benches. One is half in the shade and my book and I occupy it. I sit there for much of the afternoon, waiting for the sun to lose a little of its energy. Once in a while some fellow travellers occupy the empty spaces, but they don’t stay long – for much of the time, my spot is the only shady one.
In the evening, the horizon is cloudy, colouring the sky with warm violets and pinks that reflect on the monuments. The campground is full; everyone sits just outside of their tents, watching the sunset.
Inside my tent a layer of red earth blankets everything. Everything is gritty, even the inside of my mouth. Since I’m camped on sand, I opt out of using my sleeping mat and wiggle: the sand molds to the shape of my body. Dust sticks to everything, but who cares on a night like this?
In the morning, everyone is up to watch the sunrise. All I have to do is open my tent, and there in front of me, are the monuments. As the sun rises, I hear the sounds of hundreds of shutters click. The smoke from California still hangs in the air, but even through the haze, the sun’s awakening is beautiful; it blazes orange announcing another balmy day.
Before the sun is fully up, I’m packed and on the road. I want to see the road glazed in orange, and get to the Valley of the Gods before anyone else does.
Of course, now that the road is empty, I too take the classic shots of the road, the sky and the monuments, but I haven’t got the patience to get that perfect shot – I want to keep moving.
In Mexican Hat, I stop at a petrol station to fill up. Whenever the tank is half-full, I fill up. I do not want to find myself stranded in the middle of the desert.
A handsome man is perched on the curb of the petrol station, taking a texting break. He looks like he’s on a long journey, evidenced by the gear on his motorcycle, and his beard. We smile. I fill my tank, get in, reach for the road atlas, check my journey, and when I want to start the car, I can’t find my keys.
I search under my ass, under the seat, on the floor, between seats, and in the glove box (though of course they can’t be there since I JUST had them.) I get out of the car and walk around. Look under. Over. In the boot, even. Back to the front of the car, lifting the floor mats, moving the seat all the way back, my hand grazing the floor. I can feel the eyes of the handsome man on me. I must look crazy. I curse myself. I wonder if I should go over, introduce myself and seek his assistance. Perhaps I could be one of the stories he tells when he gets back home, but I’m too embarrassed. I find my spare keys and drive off. I’m so frazzled and annoyed that I soon pull over on the side of the road and search again.
Still, I can’t find my keys. I return to the petrol station. I ask the attendant if anyone’s found a set of keys. Perhaps I left them on the counter? I did not.
For the rest of the day, whenever I take the spare keys out of the ignition, I put the lanyard around my neck. I don’t have another set after this one.
I’ve been losing a lot of things lately. Perhaps I’m not well hydrated and my brain isn’t at its optimal best – I did just listen to an NPR segment on how even 2% dehydration can cause challenging tasks to be even more difficult, not that keeping track of the few belongings I have should be difficult.
By the time I arrive in the Valley of the Gods, my annoyance dissipates. The views are too stunning, too otherworldly, to allow any annoyance to linger. My entire heart wants its space to be filled with wonder and excitement.
There is just one other can on the road, and I let it drive ahead of me, allowing its dust to settle before I drive on. The morning sun glazes everything in orange, making the red, orange and beige of the cliffs burst with life. The juniper and pinyon trees look spectacular, photo ready. The drive is fun – I didn’t have coffee this morning, and this is just as good at waking me up, though I have coffee rarely, and never to wake up. It is never a struggle to wake up outside.
Leaving the valley, I turn right into the Moki Dugway, an ascending gravel road with sharp switchbacks. It climbs fast and offers stunning views of the vistas and roads below. At each switchback I’m tempted to get out of the car and look below me at the sharp twisting road, and the sudden flat the stretches out below it.
I spend the rest of the day at Natural Bridges National Monument. The park is deserted – the ranger tells me this isn’t their busy season on account of the heat. I have my pick of campsites and choose one that has lovely shade from the juniper trees. Shade: what a luxury.
The few people that are in the park, complete the loop drive by stopping at the lookout points and seeing the natural bridges from the top. Few of us make the descent down to stand under the bridges.
People are probably taking heed of the notice boards: drink at least 1 gallon of water a day; know your limits; heat kills. I hear a ranger at one of the stops talking to another visitor, complaining how ignorant people are when hiking in the sun. She says this as I walk by with short sleeves, short-shorts, no hat, sandals, a camera and small .75L canister of water: the ranger probably thinks I’m one of these ignorant people.
But I do listen to my body and know my limits. Though I’m losing things, perhaps due to mild dehydration, I am guzzling water like I’ve never guzzled it before, I’ve had a good breakfast, and my skin’s soaked through with good sunscreen.
The descents, though hot, steep and in the sun, are ridiculously fun. There are ladders, stairs carved into rock, footholes, and sliprock with cairns that guide the way to the canyon floor. I am a child again and the innocence of play comes easily. I skip and hop from obstacle to obstacle.
Standing under the bridges is magnificent, but what it more spectacular is the way that the lush green fills the valley floor near the creek. The air is fresh and cooling. The green foliage and shade breathe energy back into me and prepare me for the ascents back.
At the end of the day, under the driver’s seat, in a little crevice, I find my keys. Curses.