Trip West, Part V: Once Upon a Time

On the radio, David Bowie sets Major Tom adrift in space as we drive through land as barren and red as Mars. We skirt expanses of gray sand and follow the road as it curls between cliffs, slopes, and swoops of rock seemingly frozen in cresting waves. We drive through snow fields as flurries whip the windshield. And in Capitol Reef National Park, we pull over to see petroglyphs painted on a rock face thousands of years ago. In life, it is the journey as much as the destination, and our trip west has proven that true. 

We are on our way to Arches National Park, hoping to snag an entry time despite being told none have been available for months. Every vista along our way steals breath at the work of wind, water, and shifting plates in sculpting the Earth over eons. With that, our fury at the possibility of being closed out has evaporated.

 

Still, I watch the clock as we close in on Moab. The visitor center at Arches closes at 6:00 and we were told that a few entry slots were released every day at that time. We pull into the parking lot at 5:55. 

 

Dave says, “I’ll park! You run in and grab a reservation!”

 

I scurry inside, envious of those strolling out with souvenir tee-shirts and water bottles having clearly wrapped up a day of hiking. A ranger at the counter glances at his watch as I approach and ask if he can give us a time for the next day.

 

“You can do that online, “ he says, “But go in now if you’d like.”

 

“Go in? To the park? Now?” I say.

 

“Sure. No reservations required after 4:00. Go on in! Enjoy it!”

 

When I head outside, Dave is sitting on a bench, head bent to his phone. “I’m almost finished,“ he says.  “We have an 11:00 AM entry tomorrow.” 

 

Sigh. There’s a lesson here. When I think of my simmering anger and worry on the rim of Bryce Canyon... such a waste. My front-of-mind mantra for years was “Have faith in the unfolding;” clearly, I need to brush it off for display on my mental dashboard.    

 

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After several stolen hours during our gift of an open-entry-past-6:00 at Arches, it was dark when we arrived at Red Cliffs Lodge. In my relief, I’d not noticed the prominent “Hollywood Museum” sign by the entrance. 14 miles off the main road had felt interminable given our serpentine route between rockslide-ready cliffs and a dead drop to the river. Did I have the right address? Did I have the right place? As we closed in, I saw only the blessed name of our lodging. So, it was a revelation when, while in search of a ladies room after dinner, I saw a sign to the museum and an arrow pointing to the lower level.

 

John Wayne welcomed me at the foot of the stairs. Down the hall, the dummy that went over the cliff in a convertible instead of the real-life Geena Davis in Thelma and Louise looked as shocked as would be expected in such a plummet. Props and original posters from Back to the Future III, City Slickers, and The Lone Ranger as well as many iconic westerns going back to 1949 filled display cases. A video loop ran clips of films and highlighted the spectacular locations around Moab where they’d been shot, some right at Red Cliffs Lodge. 

Much of the vintage footage was so familiar: when I was a kid growing up in the fifties and sixties, much of our TV fare was westerns. We idolized all those handsome cowboys with their square jaws and perfect white teeth: Wyatt Earp, Sugarfoot, Davy Crockett, and our favorite, Brett Maverick. There was no ambiguity about Good Guys and Bad Guys. When the Indians swarmed, whooping, over a ridge and across the plains, they were ferocious and savage, their faces painted and long, black hair streaming behind them. Battles were loud and furious, but virtually bloodless: the Trail of Tears and broken treaties were not in those scripts. 

 

When preparing to travel, I focus on necessities. I Google distances and drive time between locations. I consult TripAdvisor for ratings in considering places to stay. For the most part, I don’t delve into area attractions until we arrive, which has generally worked out okay. It also leaves room for surprises, like encounters with John Wayne and Marty McFly. 

 

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An athletic blond in a cropped top, short-shorts, and hiking boots sits next to me on a steep stretch to the opening of one of the Double Arches. In her youth, beauty, and skimpy garb, she is intimidating, but friendly and kind as she smiles at me and says, “You’re almost there.  You can do it!” She, too, has paused on this incline. It’s convivial here beneath the arch as people aged 8 to 80 contemplate the remaining climb to the opening. A father encourages his son to go for it while the mom watches from below, one hand shielding her eyes against the sun as she warns, “Be careful! Maybe stop there!”

Like beads on a necklace, people perch along the curve of the arch. Dave has decided not to try and is taking a video as I reach for the tiniest hint of a fingerhold and inch my toes a bit higher in search of better footing. This is not as difficult as I’m making it sound, but always I am weighing the possibility of injury over triumph. 

 

“It’s a nice view – pretty dramatic,” says a man as he descends. “A dead drop on the other side.”

 

Dead drop. Hm. I take that under advisement.  I want to make it up there and take in that view, but there are ample vistas in the park that don’t seem as risky. I back down and cheer on my blond friend as she scales the rock to the rim. 

 

We felt this same camaraderie at Zion and Bryce in the shared joy of extraordinary experiences. Arches, though, has been unique in its accessibility to little hikers as well. Really little hikers. Toddlers of three can manage some of the short trails and easier inclines, and they are adorable with their “Junior Ranger” vests and walking sticks. Some intrepid souls carry babies in canopied backpacks. Several of the families we’ve spoken to are traveling in campers: having always loved the parks and hiking, they are infusing their children with a love of the Earth and the outdoors from early on.

 

At the other extreme is a practical woman who has taken a seat on a bench near the parking lot. She comments to her companions, “Really, the view of the arches is better from a distance. You go ahead. I’m staying here.”