Date: Wed, 6 Sep 1995 20:19:03 -0700 (PDT)
Sender: Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@vanagon.com>
From: Jeff Rosen <jeffro@u.washington.edu>
Subject: Mo' trip report (#3): L-O-N-G!
A big hi to all-
Here's the third installment of the 8,422 mile trip we (me, her,
Kermit the green '78 Westfalia) took this summer-
...we pick up in Chama, New Mexico, on August 6th.
Tammy and I wake up early to the sound of a steam whistle- great
scott, it was a piercing noise. Chama is an old railroad town, it turns out,
and the trains still run as a tourist attraction. We shower up, check
'em out, and we're off. We're only half an hour from Colorado, but we decide
to head West then north- our goal for the day is Utah.
Passed through Four Corners Monument around 2:00pm. Yep- passed
right through. $5.00 admission to stand in four states at once? I'd
rather visit Graceland.
In heading for Utah, the highway north from Four Corners dips into
Colorado, near Mesa Verde and Durango, CO. Home, I assumed, of the boot
company. Interesting side-note: in rural areas (where cowboy boots are the
footwear of choice), people put their old boots over fenceposts. They
must go through a lot of boots in them parts, too; on several occassions we
drove past range- or pastureland with miles of booted fence.
We hit road construction just north of Aneth, Utah, on highway
262. Several signs warned of "loose gravel on roadway," but was I to listen?
Nope. When the graveled roadway regressed to plain ol' dirt, I was
plugging along at 45 mph or so. Which would've been fine were it not for the
big orange gravel truck. I swerved a *little* to avoid it, caught a tire in
some soft soil along the shoulder, and just about flipped. Freaked my
wife out. Freaked myself out too. After that gnarly little experience,
I was happy to be the slow-drivin' guy.
Anyway, we made it by late-afternoon to Natural Bridges National
Monument. Kermit thanked me the whole way there for driving so mellow.
I'd stopped at a Checker Auto Parts Store in New Mexico for oil, and walked
out with 15 bottles of lead substitute gas-additive for 30 cents a piece-
great closeout deal! Kermit was happy about that, too.
Tammy and I hiked down into the canyon at sunset and saw some
beautiful rock bridge formations. We were the only people there to witness
the incredible orange-purple painted sky as the sun disappeared behind
Kachina bridge. Too bad for everyone else, we agreed, and set off in
search of camping.
The park camping area was full, but the girl working there for
the summer directed us to an area up the road called Deer Flats. She
said she had a bus when she worked the park the summer before, and it
made it down the dirt road there just fine. Oh goody, I mused- another dirt
road! As it turned out, this one wasn't so bad. The area was BLM land,
and as long as you pulled 100 feet (?) off the "road," camping was
*free*. (Jeff's camping rule: showers are dandy, but free is better.)
We blocked the wheels on arrival (didn't want to roll off edge)
and cooked. By firelight, we gazed up at towering red rock formations
and down at ground-level-dwelling monster beetles. One took a particular
liking to my wife, but she didn't care much for it. So, upon finishing
our meal, we called it a night and climbed up to bed.
The next day we trucked to Lake Powell. Named for civil war
hero-turned-explorer John Wesley Powell, this shimmering blue man-made
lake dissects the desert harshness for something like 150 miles.
Warm water, sun; what more could two travelers in a VW ask for? Since we
were out of dollars with no cash machine in sight, we figured we'd stay
only if the good folks at the marina convenience store would accept our
Seattle check. They did, so we stocked the bus full of supplies, and
found a spot at a place called Dirty Devil River, where spring runoff empties
into the lake. Except for two lonely vehicles perched up on a hill 100 yards
away, we were alone. Yippee! We stripped off (most) clothes, grabbed
some beers, and dove into the azure water. Paradise. After negotiating
a jeep-trail down to our spot ("We're gonna tip over!"), we were set to
stay at our private hideaway several days. Then things got mighty strange.
The abandoned-looking vehicles down the way? Not abandoned.
Into the inlet roars this shiny new Bayliner, with a family aboard and a
skier in tow. As the group whirs by for a closer look at us, we realize
no one's wearing any clothes. From several parent-types down to a couple
young 'ens (with all ages in between), these folks is way naked. Now,
Tam and I consider ourselves to be pretty progressive. Granted, we live
in a uptight city (yes, Seattle is WAY uptight- don't let those Pearl Jams and
Nirvanas fool you!), but we feel we're pretty open-mided. Okay, our
camping neighbors are au naturale- big deal we decide. But when the
late-teen girls started dancing around yelling to us, and when the
middle-aged Tarzan started swooping by us on his Mistral, we began to feel a
little uncomfortable. So this place is no longer shangri-la, says Tammy,
but we should enjoy it none the less. Deal. But who knew what was to come?
Now remember- this isn't a developed campground. There are no little
numbered sites. Just one common area. So how, I wondered, did those
folks rolling down toward us think they were going to fit their three
little Mercedes 4x4's in "our" (Seattlites do value their space) area?
Simple. They'd circle right around us. Three older couples pile out,
set up camp, and the men fish while the women start lunch. I decide to
wander over and see what the fellas are fishing for, if only to quell my
growing distaste for our camping situation. Turns out they're all German.
They flew their vehicles to Vegas, and are doing the Canyon Loop Tour:Grand,
Bryce and Zion. Tonight, he explains in somewhat broken English,
they are meeting up with the rest of their "Offroad Mercedes" club members.
At this very spot on Lake Powell. By night's end, 15 of these
jeep-looking autos lined the beach around our bus. They just kept coming in.
We'd leave in the early A.M.
At dawn we said adios to the lake, the nudies and the Germans.
Driving on, we saw a wild thunderstorm form from blue skies. Now that was
cool. Later, we trekked into a rugged canyon to see some uranium mines.
Signs around the abandoned mineshafts warned against touching anything.
Uh, okay- if I don't touch anything, the radiation won't affect me. Tell
that to a strung-out, retired uranium miner. The area was "hot," but we
figured passing through would be harmless. Plus, we wanted to see the
Pictographs. Ancient Native Americans left their mark on the West in
many ways, including magnificent rock art designs. These, near Goblin
Valley in the San Rafael Reef, are incredible, and very old. They've
weathered the white invasion well, too. They've been shot at, hammered,
picked at- yet they remain.
From there, we drove on to Green River. Good thing we had two gallons
of fuel on the luggage rack, cuz we ran outta gas. Two pieces of advice
for anyone planning a similar journey: 1) extra gas is essential, and 2) if
planning to see several National Parks or Monuments, buy a $25 Golden
Eagle Pass, which gets you into all National Parks/monuments in the U.S.
for up to several months or something. We didn't have 'em and regreted it
each time we shelled out $5 or $10 for a park. But good thing we had the
xtra gas ;-)
Gassed up in Green River, and drove to Moab. Super nifty town,
very outdoor-minded. We found (free) camping on a pulloff along the
Colorado River. Stayed 2 days. It was super-nice: middle of nowhere,
below the road (private- only big enough for ONE car), sandy beach,
whitewater for our raft, catfish aplenty for the fishin'. The last night
there, a tremendous thunderstorm struck out of nowhere, and along with
it, torrential rain. Tam and I love storms, really wild ones, and this
one was crazy! Buckets of water came down, the winds picked up to a
sustained 50 mph or so, and lightning struck the peaks along the top of
the canyon, sending rock shards flying. The black of night was
constantly illuminated by the huge bolts, and the thunder shook our souls.
We sat on the beach, drenched, and watched humbly as nature did what
she'd done since the dawn of creation.
We were bummed to leave Moab the next day, but more excited to
see what lay ahead. I changed the oil, Tam bought a book on making oils
from the many plants she'd collected along the way, and we were off.
Visited Arches National Park (I'm an Edward Abbey fan), and left as
another storm moved in. We sat high on a hill to watch it, but when it
moved speedily toward us were caught unaware. Winds rocked the camper
all over the two-lane as we descended back down into Moab- people in
sleek, low Hondas and Lexus's musta thought I was blitzed. They couldn't
feel the wind pounding them- they knifed right through.
Hit the Colorado state line about 3:00pm, and ate lunch at a pig-
fetish restaurant. Total pig paraphenalia. And, appropriately, we
pigged out. What an odd place to learn of Jerry Garcia's passing. We
saw the Dead in Seattle in May, and he looked tired then. So when we read
an editorial slamming Jerry in the Denver Post, we figured "no, this
isn't some asshole's idea of a joke- it must be true." So that's where
we learned of the passing of our friend, several days after the fact.
Drove onward through Grand Junction to Glenwood Springs. Huge
hot spring pool. Really huge. It's 9:30pm, yet this place is alive.
Naive us, we figure it's free, and leave the money in the bus. We run
down in shorts and towels to find a substantial admission charge.
Sticking to the "free is good" philosophy (by now, we're purists on that
one), we skip it. Head up toward Aspen, stay in Basalt, just below the
ski-town. Pick up Red Lady Ale 6-pack on friendly recommendation and
retire to the Westy. Lights out.
Be sure to tune in next time as the intrepid travellers
-toast Coors in Golden, CO...
-find an oasis on the Great Plains of Nebraska...
-meet super-righteous hippie and biker-dudes...
-and procure free beer in a Wyoming town of 150 people.
-Jeff
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