Desert Solitaire
I shot into the desert. My soul felt light and free, clear of troubles and open like the vast land ahead of me. The new landscapes, inner and outer, marked a new chapter of this journey. I had water, I had solar power, I had my cameras, and I had the road. I felt in my element.
My first destination - Arches National Park. During my stay on the East Coast, while the trajectory of the return trip was still undecided, I listened to the book Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey. The book was Abbey's chronicles of his time spent alone in Arches, back when it was an undeveloped national monument. I had been looking forward to experiencing this land in solitude as he had.
But another priority emerged. When I was a baby, before I could even really talk, I was obsessed with maps, and when I was 9 my grandparents have given me a big Rand McNally road atlas with all 50 states. Somehow this atlas has stuck with me through all my moves (it might be the oldest possession I still keep). And with the sorry excuse for cell coverage that Sprint "provides," this atlas was my lifeline. And while the cover has not survived, I still remember the image of it - a photo of a big rock arch. I stopped at the Visitors Center and saw a picture of this same arch - Delicate Arch - and made for the trailhead. Had to make the pilgrimage. But come to find out, this is a pretty popular arch, and the trail was essentially Disneyland. I also found out that there was no school in the state of Utah on this particular October Tuesday, as every child in the state was out screaming at Delicate Arch.
Thanks to a mishap (dropped my lens cap into a large bowl-shaped pit next to the arch) I did end up finding a quiet spot to meditate and try to absorb the vastness of my line of sight. Afterwards I found a nice spot in some BLM next to the park, gazed some stars, and woke up the next morning to a brilliant sunrise.
Next stop - Capitol Reef National Park. I had done no research on this park and had never seen a picture. When I got to the visitors center, I simply asked where I could go to encounter the least amount of other humans, and I was on my way. A long hike up to a high cliff. It was violently windy up there. I laid down and stuck my head over the edge long enough to snap a quick picture.
During this hike I really began to feel the cleansing and calming effect of the desert that Abbey had described. I spoke maybe 5 sentences the whole day.
I left Capitol Reef and stopped by an information center for the national forest I was about to drive into. The girl there informed me that the night after tonight they were expecting a low of 9 degrees. (!)
I continued on to one of the biggest surprises of all my travels. Route 12 in Utah ascended rapidly into alpine forest, with windows to the east of the vast orange expanse of desert I had spent the previous days traversing. The aspen trees among the pines were all yellow, with some showing hints of red. I couldn't focus on my audiobook, the world around me was too beautiful. I wanted to capture it and have it with me forever but that is always impossible. And I had to press on to find a place to spend the night.
There was a nice little spot tucked away on a small dirt road off the highway. I was completely alone in a way that almost spooked me. I had stopped at a local farmstand with a change jar-honor system, and cooked a nice healthy dinner. It was a nice change from all the peanut butter jellies. I lay in my hammock and gazed into a sage field listening to Dan Flores' American Serengetti as the sun set.
Another day, another national park. On today's docket was Bryce Canyon. Another Disneyland situation but the beauty of the area made it tolerable. I took a shuttle bus to Bryce point and hit the trail. By now I had stopped trying to capture, absorb, or make meaning out of everything I saw. One hiker I crossed paths with put it perfectly - "just another day in paradise."
Once I was done hiking though, I got antsy. It was gonna be nine fucking degrees here tonight - I had to get south.
Through more beautiful forests and valleys and plains. I found another BLM spot at the start of route 9. I sat by a creek and listened to the water flow and the wind blow through the trees. It was getting colder, and a leaf hit me in the face. Fall had come to this area, and I had come to fall.
It was October 10th. Four years ago on this date was the last time I ever talked to my father. Afterwards I looked out the car window and saw the tail of a plane catching red in the sunset. As I sat by the creek, I saw the same image as a plane flew through the space between the two trees in front of me.
I made myself a nice campfire that night and watched the moon rise. In the morning I hit the road to Zion. Deer flew through tall grass in the distance. Zion was flooded with people and I didn't even stop for a hike. Instead I pressed on and went for a meditative solo hike in Valley of Fire State Park in Nevada.
Onward and onward. I came over a crest and saw the shimmering metallic city of Las Vegas, with space needles and roller-coasters popping out of its bizarre skyline, nestled in the middle of the desert. I almost peed my pants when I got stuck in traffic.Then I put on some Johnny Cash, and plowed on into the Mojave. Back in California at last.
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Song: Pancho and Lefty - the perfect song for slow, solo desert rambling.