Day 1
Buffalo to Des Moines
ON THE ROAD. Left Buffalo this morning for a two-week vacation out west in the canyons of Utah. Can barely describe how good it feels to have all my camping gear in the back, open sky in front of me, and absolutely no schedule. Headed halfway today.
Arrived in the dark, plains lighted by the glow of Des Moines. Went out for a walk near the hotel down an inviting S-shaped street lined by bungalows that reminded me of somewhere tropical—low ceilings with large overhangs, low fences out front with a gate and path to screened-in porches. Hammocks, dogs, music playing, voices laughing.
Made it out for a short run in the morning, then back on the road before the sun.
Day 2
Des Moines to Glenwood Springs
Ah the mountains. Long two days of driving but made it to Glenwood Springs, CO. Lots of memories from seven years ago when I was here. Same place, new eyes. Thin mountain air, October sun that feels close but restrained, holding back. Sparsity—I feel like that will be a theme these next couple of weeks. The rocks and hillsides, the snow through Vail pass seem about to evaporate away, a tenuous existence in this liminal place between sea and desert, earth and sky, home and away.
Found the hotel then went to soak in the hot spring under the stars. The fact that a hot spring can be privately owned still irks me, but tonight I don’t mind paying. Inhale salt and steam, exhale.
I want the world to contain as much love as possible. To really feel that realization, all at once, is like a slap in the face. I can work for things that I will never see and still know that the world is better off. I can be an agent for good. Or what about reagent? Activating positive chemistry in my everyday interactions. It’s also one thing that doesn’t run out, even here.
Taking it easy getting to Moab tomorrow.
Day 3
Glenwood Springs to Moab
Great first day in Utah! Drive to Moab was spectacular—past the jagged escarpment of the Book Cliffs, through an endless sea of sagebrush, then turned south toward Moab. Light and rock in intensity that makes me question where one stops and the other begins.
Stopped at the NPS station to get my permit for Canyonlands. I asked the ranger for a good afternoon hike and she suggested Hidden Valley, which didn't disappoint. Hiked to the top of the butte and got a great view of Moab and surrounding backcountry and La Sal mountains fresh with snow. Beautiful rocks and lush valley. I love the colors here—red rock, jade green of sage, yellow of aspen and rabbitbrush.
Ranger also mentioned that a storm on the way could bring some snow, making the road to the trailhead impassable. “Turns to slime” I think she said. Decided to drive to the Cathedral Butte trailhead tonight to beat the weather, car camping. Feeling capable and eager to get out on the trail, but moments not in control. More like my mind is jumping around, not focusing, like I am missing things right in front of me as images pass through and are gone. Does focus evaporate here too?
Day 4
Canyonlands National Park
Snow and thunder overnight, woke up to a coating and cold wind. Still coming down as of 10am, so waiting it out in the car until a break comes. Nervous about following the unmarked trail in the snow/wet.
Made it out around 1pm after waiting out the weather. Much better down in the canyon—sheltered from the wind and much warmer. Turned out to be a nice day even with patchy clouds/overcast. Indescribably beautiful down here. The colors alone! Sun, sand, sage. Tent site is in a secluded corner a about a quarter mile back from the main trail, backing up to a rock wall. Got squawked at by a kingfisher while filtering a few liters of water from the spring. Now settled in for the night. Looking forward to a long hike to Angel Arch tomorrow. Should follow the flatbottom for the majority, so hopefully quick going. A lot of miles to cover. Hoping the weather continues to improve and for no more snow! Haven't seen anyone else yet. A few other cars at the trailhead so they must be somewhere. But for now quiet. Only the soft rustle of the trees, the chirp of sparrows or the caw of a raven, and a faint whooshing of rock being caressed by the wind. A few birds so far: dark eyed junco, raven, and a flock of white-crowned sparrows.
Falling deeply into something is pleasurable. We have all been trained to find that state in television or movies, surrendering to the emotion and drama, feeling it as our own. Not having that high-powered attention vacuum, we cast about for gratification and are unsatisfied in our own thoughts. We turn off creativity in other parts of our life because that need is already being fulfilled by our nightly dose. Smartphones act the same way, maybe worse. To instead learn to fall into meditation is to find a home in the expansiveness and novelty of our own mind. The realization that you are not actually in charge is a release to the spontaneity of existence. Reading or writing, art, music, conversation with a trusted friend are ways to find true gratification, using the skills and abilities you possess in the way they are made for. It's like a puzzle for which you supply the missing piece, the way that you matter. There's nothing more pleasurable than that.
matter, to v.
to exist; to be wholly and completely one with the universe; to appear in the life of another.
"You matter to me."
Day 5
Canyonlands NP
Don't tell me how you feel
Tell me who you are
Teach me to love the land
The world is a better place
for having my hands in it
Long day on the feet. About 18 mi. round trip up the canyon and back. Not quite to Angel Arch but about as far as I could go with limited daylight. The canyon gets progressively narrower further north and the trail goes from open sand and sagebrush to thick stands of willows and cottonwoods along the riparian edge of the creek, hemmed in by rock walls. So much amazing scenery, plus some Pueblo ruins and pictograms. Spooked a few mule deer in the willows, clomping away on all fours. And more birds: northern flicker, black-capped chickadee, and some unidentified finches. Just amazing to spend the entire day with nothing to do but hike. Nasty blister on the left big toe that I felt but didn’t look at until back at camp (better that way). I’ll tape it tomorrow.
Met three older gentlemen staying at the other campsite tonight, one of which is a retired creative writing professor at CSU. Funny the people you run into. He gave me his email, I may ask him some questions. Cold tonight. Ready to hike out tomorrow and get a hot shower.
Half moon keeping watch
Over the dusty desert
Look at how she winks
Day 6
Canyonlands National Park
Amazing experience in Canyonlands! Sun-drenched and sore, but exhilarated. So much to see and do here. So much space! Back in a hotel in Moab for the night. Excited to go mountain biking tomorrow.
Writing is an art like weightlifting or archery. It takes practice to build the routine. Treat the instrument (the pencil) with respect but expect from it precision. What should we make of the ancient arts? Scarcely more than trivialities these days, or games. Can we still find the wisdom of doing something for its own sake? Just doing it sharpens the edge on the scrupulous part of the mind that hastens for every morsel.
The case for reading journals: The journal is a sacred space for adolescents: "No one knows me like I know me". Out of trauma or fear of the big bad world, some turn inward. No wonder they feel betrayed by anyone that who would trespass. I used to think that parents should feel ashamed for looking inward on someone at their most vulnerable. But in a child's vulnerability they see sacredness, the one last vessel of hope when all dreams have been annihilated and fear has taken hold of the heart. They seek consolation in the scratchings of a young hand. Love is a beautiful thing, like an echo reflecting back exactly what we need, the other half of the pendulum swing: "No one knows you like I know you".
Day 7
Moab
Fun day mountain biking at the Brands trails outside of town. Morning more of a scenic jog up the Zephyr connecting trail through a corner of Arches NP (so I can say I've been there), afternoon spent lapping the trails in the park. Glad I stuck around and tried out some new ones. Mountain biking is tough!
Ready to be moving on tomorrow. There was something stale in the air today, like a pallid grayness pulled over my eyes. Maybe because I would have felt more excited going back into the canyon, where for the past three days I felt it touch my soul. There is something techno-bro and gadgeteering to go stomp around on a bike instead, like I'm failing an opportunity to cash in on all that this trip has to offer. Or because in choosing to fulfill my need to go mountain biking, I sensed that I had been judged a "noob" by the rental staff and promptly shooed away to the kiddie park.
I’m ready to slow it down now, to feel the tide come back in these next couple of days. Also looking forward at returning to life. Will there be readjustment? Will I have learned anything? Right now I’m wondering the point. The geographical solution isn’t. I’m still the same me, but with greater knowledge of my chains. Returning is worse than never having left.
Day 8
Moab to Bryce Canyon National Park
Got to Bryce Canyon in the afternoon and walked the paved portion of the rim trail with [my friend, an NPS scientist]. Snow still on the ground from the storm last week. It’s “newlyweds and nearly-deads” season, she said. Makes sense. Retirees and kid-free vacationers are the only ones free this time of year. And there are plenty of them.
The Claron formation, or “Pink Cliffs”, is the uppermost layer of the Grand Staircase, the 400-million-year sequence of benches and cliffs preserved across southern Utah and Arizona, extending to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Eons of ice action and erosion on the Claron limestone have created the famous hoodos of Bryce Canyon. The crust of the Earth ripped open and on display.
Bryce was named for a Mormon rancher who apparently said it’s “a helluva place to lose a cow!” Looking out over the over the main amphitheater in the afternoon light, I can’t disagree. At nearly 9,000 feet of elevation, I'm no longer surrounded by Pinyon and Juniper, but stands of Ponderosa pine, some still charred from fires. The Entrada sandstone of Moab is buried hundreds of feet below my feet now. The chill in the air won't let me forget that this is the mountains.
Home cooked meal and glass of wine, mattress next to the pellet stove in the cabin. But not feeling well...
Day 9
Bryce Canyon National Park
Sick… Tired, achy, dizzy. Heart racing and feverish overnight. Don’t know what it is—altitude? Something I ate? Couldn’t do anything but stay in bed almost all day. It's a strange double-experience being surrounded by beauty but feeling like crap. Like mind and body have become divorced, traveling in opposite directions. Good company from Abby, a puppy [my friend] is dogsitting, though.
Excerpt from a visual poem on the wall of the cabin:
Perhaps I should have stayed home: a roof, a family, a fire
But there are other forms of shelter: boundless sky, cocoon light, whisper snow
- David Hinton
Day 10
Bryce Canyon National Park
Better this morning, but still weak. Made it out for a hike late morning. Left my car at Bryce Point and caught a ride up to Swamp Canyon. Was planning to go from there all the way back along the Under-the-Rim trail, but felt woozy at the bottom and decided to turn back. Made a loop of it by going back up the Sheep Creek trail and caught another ride back to Bryce Point. Then drove out to Rainbow Point and stopped at the rest of the overlooks on the way back. Hiked to a waterfall from the Mossy Cave trailhead on the way out of the park. The clearest water I’ve ever seen, flowing over pink rock.
Feeling conflicted about leaving. Something about Bryce felt inhospitable, unwelcoming. Maybe it was the cold and high elevation, maybe my stomach in revolt, maybe the crumbling limestone all around, knowing that here even the Earth itself is not solid. I am tired and ready to go home. The desolate landscapes are making me think I’ve had enough. I would like to believe that I am on some kind of profound journey, living out West and finding adventure in uncertainty and new places, but I don’t know that I’m that kind of person. Now I'm longing for comfort and routine (of all things), maybe a person to talk to.
You must surrender to the desert
It does not play by the same rules
as the forest or tundra
It lies in wait for its chance
to pulverize you
Thirst unslakeable
except by giving it everything
Day 11
Capitol Reef National Park
Spent the night at a campground in the Dixie National Forest, then drove north back to Capitol Reef. Fun day exploring the scenic drive, trails, and other stops. Lots of great lookouts and rock formations. Made it to the Tanks, natural water pools perched on the rock that are oases for birds and wildlife. Saw a lizard! Stopped at the Fruita Orchards and a petroglyph panel on the way out. Amazing that people could build a life here, first the Pueblo then Mormon settlers.
Camped under full moon in Moab BLM land, no rain fly.
On returning to normal life: Is this kind of life (camping, hiking, nomadic, dirtbagging…) any more “real” than the normal day to day? Physically I feel the same. I recognize the person I see in the mirror. But there is something different about the context, how those sensations appear in relation to each other. Spending time here, I have become absorbed in vision. The grand, colorful landscapes of rock, dappled with gold poplars, is more than they can take in. The other senses become secondary. Even the cold and wind can’t make me turn away to shelter. The land drowns out and pushes those impulses aside, insists on being seen and acknowledged. I’ll sit out in the cold and watch all day. Also the lack of internet/phone has meant virtually no screen time, no chance to mistake what’s actually in front of me from its small and hypnotic rectangular lookalike. Life no longer just a sequence of scenes but real substance, immersion. I hope I can keep that. Because even the freedom of a long vacation doing things I love cannot totally merge my worlds—the being I am and the one I imagine myself to be—into one.
Some nights are for poetry
This one not so much
Too much light from the highway
and I’m without human touch
Day 12
Arches National Park
Frost on sleeping bag and tent in the morning. Chilly boiling water for tea and oatmeal.
Final day spent exploring at Arches NP. Glad I went, although things were spread out and mostly long walks. Too much to do in a day. And the people! Not the place to go for solitude, that’s for sure. Amazing moonscape of rock and color, unlike anything else. Drove to Grand Junction in the afternoon from where I’ll launch the long drive home tomorrow.
Happy with the way things went and feeling good after the time off. Hoping to remember the things I’ve learned and to not pick back up bad habits (except meditation and triathlon training, though taking it easier on the second is okay sometimes). I had all the experiences I wanted and got to see some things I didn’t plan on. Not so bad considering I spent a whole day in bed. Good to be feeling better. I take being healthy and pain free for granted. When I’m not it’s debilitating. Looking forward to sharing and talking. Won’t mind the October trees in WNY either.
When water evaporates it’s never truly gone. It hangs in the air as vapor, invisible but still present. When conditions change and cold sets in, it condenses and reappears. I can feel my former life—my commitments, relationships, even my personality— reforming now too. Becoming visible again out of freedom and lightness, clinging to me like dew. The person we imagine ourselves to be is just a construction of our relationships and memories. Good to set that aside for a while sometimes and remember a simpler way.
Day 13
Grand Junction to Buffalo
EPIC drive. Left GJ at 8am Thursday, arrived in Buffalo 2pm Friday. Drove straight except for a half-hour nap somewhere in Indiana. Fueled by kombucha, green tea, podcasts, and plenty of snacks. A long hypnosis, like driving through a darkened kaleidoscope and emerging confused and tired. Diving into bed immediately.
The End
Fabulous trip! Thanks for sharing.