Portland 2019: Utah to Colorado

June 30th dawned with the usual half-asleep shuffle of getting packed up for the day, and we left Logan early for another very long drive, this time to Denver.

I read a lot, and we talked a lot (well, mostly the rest of us listening while Nolan and Adrienne discussed various aspects of art, such as the difference between art and craft, and whether or not art needs an audience), and I watched the scenery a lot. Adrienne read aloud snippets of Amusing Ourselves to Death by Neil Postman. We passed around bags of trail mix and ate the last of the hummus.

Utah began as marshland with sandhill cranes, then rose up in dramatic shaggy cliffs and spires amid gnarled pines, at last flattening out into open plains, running into the next state. Wyoming was silver gray and wide open, with blue rainclouds that ebbed and flowed. Colorado was rocky and full of bristly pines, with snowy crags glowing in the distant sunbeams.

In fulfillment of my wish, we saw several herds of antelope grazing among the sagebrush, including many pairs of fawns. I'm fascinated by these Ice-Age creatures, which adapted to outrun a prehistoric species of cheetah, and still could if their predators hadn't gone extinct. There is a kind of ancientness to them, a weirdness, a sadness. I never get tired of seeing them. 

I was hitting the point in the trip where sleep deprivation was catching up to me; I'm incapable of sleeping in a car, and was running on fewer hours than I was used to. By the time we arrived in Denver, I was ready to find a cozy couch and take a nap.

Unfortunately, we didn't have time for that. I sat in the green room— a small room with leather couches and every square inch of wall plastered with band stickers— and tried to muster some energy. 

It was another low turn-out for our show that night, and afterward I curled up on the couch backstage and wished I could go to sleep. We didn't have a place to stay that night, and I knew we'd end up sleeping in the van, but I was exhausted and didn't want to. I considered offering to pay for a hotel room, but immediately realized that it wasn't worth it to me. Or any of us. It'd be super late by the time the show finished, and we had to leave early the next morning anyway. We'd be sleeping in the van tonight for sure. I struggled with myself. I struggled with feeling grumpy and upset. 

And then the small voice, unexercised for many years, whispered, "This will be a good story later, if you let it." 

After a pause, followed by, "Suck it up, you old grump." And I laughed at myself.

We packed up the van and piled in, cramming ourselves between pillows and dirty laundry and half-empty bags of chips. Tyler drove for an hour and pulled into a truck stop, and the five of us sprawled into yoga-like positions to try to get a couple hours of sleep. No one complained. We were all in this together.

Lying half on top of someone's backpack and half on top of the kick drum, my feet tangled up in the armrest of my chair, I closed my eyes and listened to my bandmates' breathing. Everyone seemed to be asleep. They were all very silent sleepers. I wondered if it was creepy to be lying there in the dark just listening to people breathe while they were asleep. I suppressed the urge to laugh. My grumpiness had turned to giddiness. I pretended I was on a spaceship and everyone was in stasis but me and it was my job to keep everyone alive so we could land on the planet safely.

I tried to meditate. I mentally listed things I was thankful for— nice weather for sleeping in a car (we had the door cracked, and a cool breeze filtered in); good friends; a free ride to St. Louis; that pizza we'd gotten last night; the burritos that Tyler and Adrienne had bought us today; that my cello had stayed in tune at the show tonight; that I'd seen so many antelope. The list of good things grew longer and longer: cuddles with Adrienne when I was tired or just needing a hug; the way Tyler crashed his shoulder into mine whenever we walked by each other; Nolan's jokes that were funny at first and then stopped being funny but then became funny again through sheer repetition; the way Jessie says hello by flashing the sign of the horns at you like he's at a rock concert; that I was getting to spend a week road-tripping through incredible scenery with these beautiful people.

I still basically didn't get sleep that night, but it didn't matter. This was the stuff that travel stories are made of.

~~~

Portland 2019: Idaho to Utah

On June 29th, a couple hours after we had said goodbye to our hosts in Boise who let us crash at their bachelor pad, I wrote this in my journal:

On the road to Utah! Last time we drove through this part of Idaho, I thought it was a barren wasteland. But because of our time spent at Willow Creek farm near Fairfield two years ago, now I look on the landscape with a sense of familiarity and fondness. White-tipped navy-gray mountains, swaths of green farmland or green-gold grassland, the occasional pond or canal: but mostly miles upon miles of sagebrush plains. Hazy stratus clouds float above. I've seen hawks dogfighting and pelicans soaring over a reservoir. I hope I get to see an antelope soon.

Okay, maybe it was a little barren. Still pretty, though.

Our show tonight would be in Logan, Utah, a smallish town about an hour north of Salt Lake City. The landscape grew increasingly dramatic as we approached, and we soon learned that the town rested in a valley filled with a sprawling marshland, full of wild birds and paddle-boarders. 

Since it was a relatively short drive, we had some time to kill before loading into the music venue, so we walked around the downtown, poking into antique stores, marveling at the poster that advertised decorative dental fillings, catching glimpses of the Mormon temple on a nearby hill, and eating hummus wraps and cheap ice cream cones at a local grocery store.

The venue, a black-box-theater-style setting with twinkle lights and local artwork adorning the walls, was beautiful, but the show was dismally attended (although those who did show up were enthusiastic). I felt grumpy because my cello kept slipping out of tune, making it impossible for me to play well (I was often transposing a quarter-step to half-step up, depending on which string!). We played a fairly short set, and then I retreated into the green room, huffing as I sat down on the couch and wondering if my cello would ever be in tune again. 

My costume that night

This graffiti in the bathroom made me smile.

The night improved when we learned that 1) we were allowed to sleep at the venue that night, and 2) instead of the normal drink tickets that bars give bands, this venue handed out tickets for slices of pizza from a nearby parlor. Pizza makes everything better!

Indeed, I felt downright happy once we returned to the venue with pizza in hand, along with a bag of cherries we'd bought earlier that day. Nolan plugged his phone into the sound system and began playing some Scandinavian and Celtic-inspired bands that he likes, and the five of us sat around and spat cherry pits into napkins and talked about the music and about Utah and about the bands we like. I ended up giving everyone back rubs (everyone's muscles were completely knotted from so much time in the car), and Adrienne gave me a back rub, and then I curled up on a couch, listening to my band mates' sleepy conversation as everyone settled onto various couches and the floor (and a row of hard chairs, in Nolan's case), brushed their teeth, brushed their hair, did all those little things you do when you're traveling together and you're in each others' space.

I think that's the moment where I really began to feel like the band— even Jessie and Nolan, whom I still didn't know very well— were family. I still missed Zach, but I was anything but lonely. No matter what the next few days of tour would bring, I was with my family, and because of that, it was going to be good.

~~~

The Grand Gallivant: Zion National Park, Utah (a New Experience)

I visited Zion National Park in April of 2011, hiking the Angels Landing Trail and generally having a fantastic time. Visiting in August, we were braced for an experience that resembled Disneyland more than a national park, and we were right.

Me in 2011

Me now

To begin with, we only had half a day to spend in Zion— we had to get back to Vancouver so Zach and I could have at least one day to pack before we headed home. We drove in on the east side, taking some time to hike a trail near the entrance that offered us a glimpse into the canyon from above, before driving through the mile-long tunnel into the proper park. (We also saw some bighorn sheep grazing among the rocks, which was pretty cool.)

We were a bit crunched for time to begin with, and this wasn’t helped by the fact that there were literally no parking spots left in the the park. So we drove to the nearest town and took a free shuttle into Zion, then transferred to the shuttle that runs through the park itself, waiting in life for twenty minutes and cramming in between sweaty people, glancing at the rock formations through the skylights in the bus.

We hiked only one trail, Emerald Pools, in the main section of the park, which gave us some nice views of the canyon as we switchbacked past a series of pools. The trail was crowded with people, a constant start-and-stop of letting people pass on the narrow route. At the final pool at the top, people were splashing and wading in the fragile desert oasis, ignoring the “Do Not Swim” signs and making lots of noise. We tried to see past this to the beauty, but soon turned around and headed back.

I was disappointed that we only got a brief, tourist-packed look at Zion, but this is what you have to expect when traveling during the summer. If you ever plan to make the trip in summer, arrive early, leave plenty of time for getting around, and be at peace with the crowds.

We, at any rate, piled back into the car, bought some Fritos, and started back toward Vancouver. Our Utah vacation was drawing to a close, and it was time to head home.

~~~

The Grand Gallivant: Bryce Canyon National Park, Utah (and a View of the Galaxy)

Bryce Canyon has been on my bucket list ever since I was a kid, so I was excited to finally visit! As we drove from Moab through the deserted back highways, dark clouds closed over our heads, and lightning flashed in the distance. We saw a couple antelope bounding through the sagebrush away from the oncoming storm, and within a few minutes, it hit us.

The next thing we knew, we were driving through such torrential rain that we couldn’t see the road in front of us, and soon ice pellets began thundering and bouncing off the windshield, so loud that we covered our ears. Gary inched along the highway, hoping to move through the storm, but it seemed to be following us! 

At last we stopped at a Subway near Bryce’s entrance, and dashed into it— getting soaked to the skin in the fifteen feet between the car and the door— to go to the bathroom and regroup. We at last decided to drive to Bryce’s lodge and try to wait out the weather there.

By the time we walked into the lodge, wet and shivering, the rain had let up a bit, and we warmed up with some nice soup at the lodge restaurant (I highly recommend the elk chili). Then we decided to drive down the park’s main road to see what we could see.

I’m still not entirely sure how Bryce qualifies as a “canyon”— it’s mostly a ridge of land that looks down into a garden of the most bizarre spines of rock I’ve ever seen. If you just drive along the single road through the park, you won’t see much: but if you park at the numerous overlooks and walk ten feet to the lookouts, you’re rewarded with views of pockets of the incredible rock formations. They seemed to glow a pinkish red under the roiling gray sky. 

I named this raven Carc.

We hiked a mile loop at the end of the road (panting to catch our breath in the 9,000+ foot elevation), then headed to our campsite for the night, a KOA down the road. Our campsite was perched on a hill, and we huddled in the lee of a tree to keep out of the fierce wind. We had hoped for a glimpse of the meteor shower tonight, but the clouds made us lose hope. Instead, we attended an ice cream social at the KOA and went to sleep hoping for better weather tomorrow.

When we woke up, we were rewarded— it was sunny but not too warm, thanks to the higher elevation. We drove toward the park to see what we could see on foot. 

Although you don’t have to hike to enjoy Bryce, we had a great time walking a trail down into the “canyon,” which wound between the spires, cut through fins and columns and balanced rocks, and ended in a grand series of switchbacks that took us straight up a narrow slot canyon called Wall Street. Seeing the formations from below was awesome! The only downside is that this is a very popular trail, and we were walking in a constant stream of people. So if you’re after solitude, Bryce Canyon during the summer is not the best choice.

Next we hiked along the rim for a while, which was less crowded and had beautiful shifting views of the “Amphitheater.” We took a free shuttle back to our car, poked around the visitor center for a bit, then headed out. 

We spent the rest of the afternoon visiting Kodachrome Basin State Park, which had beautiful columns and formations in its own right. Utah is incredible!

One of my favorite things about the area, though, happened on our second night: the clouds cleared (except in the north where the meteor shower was), and even from our campsite we were treated to the wonder of dark skies that surround Bryce Canyon. Zach and I pulled out our sleeping pads and laid down on the ground, staring up at the constellations came to life: Scorpio sprawling across the lower sky, Ursa Major and Minor hovering far above our heads, Cygnus flying and Delphinus swimming above us, Cassiopeia looming large on the horizon. But soon more stars appeared, and it became impossible to see the constellations for the number of diamonds in the sky. The Milky Way began to glow, not pure white but tinged with reddish and bluish brown, like the pictures you see from the Hubble Telescope— a three-dimensional splatter of stars. I stared at the Milky Way, and it really struck me that I was gazing into the center of our galaxy. The weight of it really hit me, and I began to cry. Stray meteors fizzled and trailed above our heads, and I felt that if this happened to be my last night on earth, with Zach lying beside me and our galaxy spinning above my head, I would be perfectly content.

~~~

The Grand Gallivant: Canyonlands National Park, Utah

I didn’t know what to expect from Canyonlands, since I had only vaguely heard of it before this trip. Indeed, it’s one of the little-visited national parks of Utah, drawing about a quarter of Arches’ tourists, according to a ranger we spoke to. Canyonlands doesn’t have iconic places like Delicate Arch or Balancing Rock to hook people’s attention— but if you visit, you’ll wonder why people aren’t flocking here in droves.

Proof that Gary did actually come along with us!

The area is divided into three main districts— we visited the Island in the Sky district, which begins with a high plateau covered in scrub and grass (it reminded me of Yellowstone), then narrows to a ribbon of land with canyons on three sides. We hiked a few trails that led us to the edges of the canyons, gaping at the geology that dropped down, layer after layer.

After a couple hikes and a ranger lecture about the geology of the place, we didn’t have time to make it down to the Needles district, which apparently has a lot of human historical sites as well as cool formations. You could easily spend two full days in this park without hiking that much, and could spend a week in the backcountry and still not see everything. 

Beware the chipmunks, though!

In short, Canyonlands is an overlooked wonder of Utah. If you’re ever planning a trip down there, don’t forget this park— it’s far less crowded than Arches, Bryce, or Zion, and just as stunning.

~~~