We blitzed through Moab which is the hub of several well known and beautiful national parks. A dog in a national park is a pain, 102 degrees is a pain and a wide longing to revisit southwest Colorado makes it pretty much impossible not to step on the gas. But I did get a burger.
It was so squishy I had to use cutlery and Layne expressed a desire to humiliate me do she took the picture. Utah has moved smoothly into the 21st century and allows the sale of alcohol with food, even a symbolic snack but the best news for me is that draft beer has to be no more than 5% alcohol by volume.
What this meant for me is that I could order an English amber ale that didn’t blow my nostrils off with bitter hoppy nastiness. I quite like Utah it turns out. Check out this very sensible sign on a highway with an 80 mph speed limit:
In other words sensible passing is encouraged on these wide open roads. They have full passing lanes too for the less able, but capable drivers barely have to notice the 65 mph heffalump chugging along on the right. Where there is a dashed line you can have at it. A few educated souls did.
We left our free campground south of Scipio earlier than usual in an effort to finally make some miles. We were a bit anxious about the next stage of our journey as we would be hitting proper desert and high temperatures and we were wondering where we might fiend the night. There was even the possibility we might have to pay to sleep. Horrors!
It’s a fact well known to van dwellers that altitude decreases ambient temperatures and the trick to being a successful summer nomad is to pursue the cool air found up mountains. 4,000 feet around here is way too low on a hundred degree day. We prefer 6,000 minimum and 7,000 is comfortable sleeping altitude. 8,000 feet above sea level is bliss.
Meanwhile we had low altitude, five thousand foot valleys to deal with. Salina (“Sal-eye-na”) Utah:
Layne hit bakery with her usual restraint while the two little piggies went for a walk. I could see myself staggering out of Mom’s with my arms laden with pies and pastries; the trouble was so could Layne.
Rusty took off running with me in hot pursuit. He was ready to stretch his legs and he cared not one jot about my camera.
Utah reeks of prosperity. I don’t know what’s really going on but these little towns are filled with pretty little homes, tidy yards and give off a fog of sober industry. Perhaps I’m just over thinking it but Latter Day Saints seem like they’re on to something, too bad I’m an iconoclast and not a joiner.
I thought the Temples were closed to outsiders and the big kahuna in Salt Lake City was the last time I was there but here they were inviting visitors. Okay then.
I grew rather fond of the Mormons when they spoke up about immigrants citing their own difficult migrant history. They seemed wedded to their history and decency in a way that has become quite rare.
I would have volunteered for a haircut at a barber with a sense of humor had they only been open.
Layne was slightly grumpy when we got back and I was presented with the oddest scones she had purchased. “This is fry bread” she said indignantly. And it was and it had a strawberry sauce and boy, was it delicious. I’d have bought two for me which is why I walked Rusty and didn’t go breakfast shopping. Definitely not a scone!
I remember I-70 through Colorado from years ago weaving through canyons of red rock and the Utah portion did a fair job of imitating that. It was a gorgeous drive.
Serious stuff ahead whenever they drop the speed limit from 80.
And then south half an hour from the freeway to Moab, land of the RVs and off roaders and sportspeople.
With 5,000 year round residents Moab is a small village and doesn’t really have the pretensions to wealth that we found in Sedona. However, like Sedona there is no there there. It’s a long main drag with Razr rentals and bike shops and tour guides and outfitters all ready to raft you and national park you and rock hop you.
The land equivalent of 21st century jet skis. We’re used to seeing them on weekends in Mexico where the wealthy run down the poor.
I’m glad we drove through and checked it out. We really need to come back, perhaps with Gary from Tennessee who enticed us with a river walk/raft trip that got Layne doing some research. There are national parks to visit.
This was our choice for lunch, kokopelli notwithstanding!
Our plan was to press on south towards the sight we came to see known as Muley Point. To get there we wanted to spend the night above eight thousand feet.
An hour’s drive south of Moab.
Tina place called Monticello oddly enough and not in Virginia.
Turn right until you hit 8,000 feet above sea level and the temperature drops from 102 degrees to 86.
While it is convenient for a night it’s not my favorite thing to be in an organized campground even a simple national forest site. Layne was tired and as it was only ten bucks for seniors we were settled quickly and she instantly took a nap.
And no I had never previously heard of Mant-La Sal National Forest. So much stuff to discover, so I had a quick hunt around the web. The Manti Forest Reserve was founded in 1903 consisting of half a million acres. They added La Sal in 1949 and renamed the whole 1.2 million acre mess in 1950. It boggles my mind to think this vast area of Utah and Colorado has been enjoyed since before I was born and it has never entered my consciousness! I have a lot more driving to do.
There are several organized campgrounds with very nice sites but we are doing one night then we are off for some more wild camping.
