Utah up my nose: the Red Dust Drive

When we hit the road out of Grand Junction, CO, flurries were whipping through the red rocks. I had spied more snow out in the assumed land of lizards and heat stroke than I did in Chicago during all of March. 

Snow clouds

How do these things get there?

As we crossed into Utah, the landscape began to shift dramatically. 

Formations that had gently rolled through Southern Colorado began to shoot up and dip down in wild elevation changes. Every layer of sediment took on a different shade of red (orange-red, blue-red, green-red) and there is nothing in the way of civilization for miles (70+ at points). 

Might as well break down on Mars. 

It pained us to drive past Canyonlands and Arches in Moab and not stop. There was a Jeep Jamboree that week and you could spy them driving on all kinds of sketchy roads along the canyon wall.

However, we had places to be and dogs are forbidden beasts in National Parks. 

Sled dog, confused. 

It’s a shame, but I get it.  Irresponsible owners who don’t clean up (a dog turd would last for 10,000 years in the arid desert) or have a handle on aggression/noise issues tend to ruin it for the rest of us. Wildlife disturbance is also a definite consideration.  

Now service dogs wouldn’t raise red flags, but I imagine that needing a service dog would not readily qualify me for boulder scrambles (red flag) and canyon ledge tightrope-walking (redder flag).

Next time. 

The Mexican Hat. 

Rob and D-man in the desert.

Once well out of Moab, the scenery got sparser. Skinny rock formations towered in the distance. Wind was whipping red sand across the roads. We passed through dry, freezing towns that seemed to be coated in red dust.

Stray desert dogs had literally made their homes on road medians. 

I saw Rob’s car get smacked by giant tumbleweeds. 

Bright. Hot. Treeless. 

The kayak on top of Rob’s car made an excellent makeshift sail as we battled desert dust storms across Arizona. It went from cold to hot in a matter of one or two canyons (…and bless my AC. Rob’s doesn’t work. He holds out for Alaskan temperatures and vows never to fix it).

Beware of free-range cattle. 

Dodger has gotten to pee on some cool stuff during this trip. 

Dust storms. 

Then, we climbed a mountain to Flagstaff and could finally breathe air without sneezing orange dust. There were trees that smelt good. We weren’t being sand blasted in the face.

As the sun was setting, we rolled down the mountain from Flagstaff and drove the last couple of hours into Glendale. Rob’s Uncle Ron moved out here from Chicago many moons ago with his wife, Maria, and settled in for good. 

Ron and Maria helped us get settled, and then made sure to run us outside to see the cactus flower that only blooms from dusk until dawn. This was going to be a most excellent visit. 

Cactus flower in the early morning. It will close up and fall off soon.
Bat pollinated?

Cactused: Grand Junction, CO

I hadn’t considered the desert aspect of Colorado until I was in the thick of it. Before Grand Junction, Colorado meant Denver, Colorado Springs and huge mountains. Tim Tebow knelt to the earth here. Men and women who’s governors will vouch for their character can go to the Air Force Academy out this way.

Until I moved to Chicago, I also thought Wisconsin was an exotic wilderness. Like Montana. But I was tricked (ignorant)! It’s more like Ohio.

We picked Marissa up that morning on campus and she gave us a quick tour around. Apparently Colorado Mesa University is the fastest growing school in Colorado. Being that it was a Sunday, we didn’t witness this population influx. Just a steady flow of hung-over dorm kids, heads hung low, marching toward the place where breakfast food is kept.

All the buildings are just about brand new. We had the dog so we didn’t go inside, but it looked impressive nonetheless. 

There was a life-size metal statue of a bull out front that got its metal butt sniffed by Dodger. I didn’t act fast enough to get a picture and I regret that everyday. 

Next, off to the Grand Mesa. 

Not quite up the Mesa, you get a good view of Powderhorn (a local ski spot). There is also (what
I imagine to be) an awesome overlook on the very farthest tip of the mountain,
but the road remains impassable until June. 

This is the world’s tallest flat-top mountain. As you drive to the top, the temperature drops about 20 degrees and the shrubs, heat and sand morph into 6 feet of snow, giant evergreens, and frozen lakes. 

The flat-top aspect of the mountain makes it prime territory for cross country skiers and snow mobiles. Marissa didn’t bring a car to college and had never been up this way before. Forty-something miles and 7,000 feet of elevation change makes for a sad day on a bike. 

Grand Junction is yonder.

Hello fuzz ball. 

He was only smiling because I had a rock in my shoe and put a big scratch in his car when I stood on the hood.
I claimed innocence but he he had watched me do it. I still claimed innocence. 

A flat top for XC skiers. 

Down there, you'll find the blazing desert.

We headed down and stopped randomly on the side of the highway to hike a nearby canyon. This is why Rob and I had to leave Chicago for a while. If you stop on the side of the road in Chicago, you’ll get to explore the ditch trash. 

Or maybe a strip mall. 

The mud river, and Marissa's mark. 

Cactused.

Ignore the dog.

Dodger and Rob have become one with the desert. 

Water beast. 

Dodger sat like this for a long time and licked beer cooler ice.

Finally rolled back into town, inhaled some Chipotle, and prepared to head to the other side of town for a trip up the Colorado National Monument. 

It was getting too late to hike, but we thought we would park the car in a good spot on the plateau and watch all the lights come on down in the Grand Junction valley. A dust storm had kicked up a haze of red sand, but it was still an awesome view. Good end to a good visit. 

View admiring. 

Right at about dusk, as we were parked and settled in to watch lights, Rob ducked over the side rail on the cliff to take a leak. 

Suddenly, Marissa and I watch a cloud of dust filter up from Rob’s chosen location. We jump out of the car because CLEARLY HE HAS FALLEN TO HIS DEATH.

That was not the case, but it was pretty wild. He accidentally dirt-surfed a good 15 feet.

I have two more things to say about southwestern Colorado.

• They have roads here with numbers. I get that. “Highway 50." Ok. They have roads here with letters. “Road G." Different, but ok. They also have roads here like “C and 2/3^rd." What does that even mean?

• In the Colorado Desert, precipitation is rare. It rarely rains. It rarely snows. When Rob and I woke up on Monday, it was raining and snowing. What does that even mean?

...and so we packed up, drenched and numb, to head to Glendale, Arizona (where the temperature was 80-something). 

...snow.