Day 4: Moab to Denver, CO 6 hours?

We left Moab early, and it was already hot out there. Made our way through the last of the red cliffs and giant stone walls, just as beautiful today as they were last night.

Colorado appeared an hour later. We hoped Colorado was more colorful than its boring welcome sign!




The dry, barren landscape turned greener with each mile further into Colorado, until we finally felt like we’d really left Utah behind. Gone were the towering, jagged cliffs, which had fascinated us the whole ride out to Moab, replaced by trees and green pastures.

We found a new traveling companion--the Colorado River. We crossed it leaving Moab, and picked it up again somewhere near Palisade, Colorado. It was brown and calm in some places (very few places) but mostly, it was brown and white, running fast, rough rapids crashing through the middle of the river.

By 11 a.m., we were deep into Colorado. I expected to see the hilly terrain and mountains, but I was also surprised to see vineyards. Edra and I were delighted to see the vines meant exactly what we hoped they did--wineries!

Turns out Colorado has a whole wine region, with a healthy number of wineries in the area. We pulled into the first one we saw, and even at 11 a.m., the tasting room was full (side note: most of the oenophiles arrived on bike, and were pedaling to the wineries. How awesome is that!).

Mark parked himself and his iTouch in a chair, and Edra and I bellied up to the...err, tasting area. We sampled a few wines, purchased a bottle, and with a happy buzz, followed some signs to the town’s farmer’s market.

It was sunny and hot outside (I thought we’d left the desert behind us), but it didn’t slow us down. We joined the locals perusing the fruit stands and craft booths. The produce was big and colorful, and the Rainier cherries were incredible! (They were also sold out everywhere).

The vendor who surprised me most was not selling fruit—she was selling Mexican bread! In the middle of Colorado! (I can’t even find good pan dulce in my neighborhood, and there it was, readily available in the Rocky Mountains!)

We made a friend at the fruit stand.

I explored the town a bit more, enjoying the architecture. I also enjoyed this funny site:




That’s right, a drive-through liquor store! In Colorado, you don’t even have to get out of the car to buy booze!

Lunch was at a lovely little rest stop with covered picnic tables and grass, lots of it (Colorado had the best and prettiest rest areas during our trip). It even had a playground, though Mark was too hot to play.

We met up with our friend, the river, again after lunch. It ran directly next to us—the road was level with the river. After a few hours racing beside it, curiosity got the best of us, and we had to see it up close. We stopped at another rest stop, and walked to the water’s edge. Although there were only small rapids there, the river was moving fast. It passed by with alarming speed.

“I wish we could put our feet in it,” Edra said. It was smokin’ hot outside--I wanted to put my whole body in it!

Our next rest stop was not only pretty, it was teeming with wildlife. Well, OK, one wild life, anyway. As Mark and I stretched our legs, we heard squealing and saw a family pointing at the grass. We hurried over and saw a bright green snake slither into the grass. So cool!

Ambling back to the car, we found a little wading pool, fed from the mighty river itself. We rushed back to tell Edra, so she could dunk her feet in.

Edra, however, declined--she didn’t like the slimy (and slippery) ground leading into the pool. But I couldn’t pass it up. I waded in carefully. I know the river is melted snow from the Rockies, so I anticipated cold water. But to say it was cold doesn’t do this water justice--I felt like I waded into someone’s ice chest! My feet were seriously numb after about two minutes in there!



Our next stop was Vail, a sleepy little ski town nestled in to the mountains. It was a ritzy, shi-shi ski town, where the shops and lodges looked pricey. We don’t ski or shop anything but sales, so we went down to the river instead. Mark finally got to do his favorite thing ever--throw rocks into the water.

Only, it looked like a thousand young boys with the same idea had beat him to it--there were no rocks anywhere near the river. Mark improvised and threw sticks instead.

Edra and Mark tested the water here, which was as numbingly cold as it was at the rest stop. But it was gorgeous, and mesmerizing, and we couldn't tear ourselves away. Mark experimented throwing in different-sized sticks, pine cones, anything he could find, to see how far and fast the river took it away.




Our final destination of the day, Denver, was a couple hours away, so it was back on the road. Unfortunately, it was my shift at the wheel, which meant I got to navigate the long, steep, curvy drive through the Rocky Mountains.

I wasn’t worried at first. I passed a deer crossing sign, and didn’t think much of it, until a moment later, Edra called out, “Deer!” She pointed to the road side, where a giant deer was eating. So now, in addition to windy roads, barreling trucks, and speedy, impatient locals breathing down on me, I worried about dodging deer on the highway.

The sharp curves and steep hills freaked me out, and I wanted to ride the brake the whole time. A couple things stopped me—I did not see anyone else’s brake lights, but I did see signs that said, “If you lost your brakes, do not exit here—stay on the highway” and “Runaway truck ramp.” Those freaked me out—it meant people actually did burn out their brakes. So instead, every time I wanted to brake, I downshifted instead. I managed to get through the Rockies safely, but I was a nervous wreck afterwards.

Denver was teeming with people, more than we'd seen in the past three days combined. Most were strolling to a concert in the park; we strolled to dinner instead. The hotel concierge pointed us to what he called an outdoor mall, but was really one long street mobbed with people. There were horse-drawn cabs and pedi-cabs, and in the middle of the road were tables, chairs and colorful pianos (yes, you read that right, pianos!). There were sketch artists drawing caricatures of people, and bikers narrowly avoiding the people spilling in to the street.

Oh, and did I mention there was a convention in town?




Yep, the guys with the funny little hats. We sat near a group of them drinking really big beers.

Finally, at 9 p.m., was the highlight of Mark’s day--swim time. The hotel pool was open until midnight, and I joked I was the only bad parent letting my son swim so late. Turns out I wasn't the only bad parent though, as other families slowly trickled in.

Mark moved toward the hot tub, until he saw a young girl and her dad also head for it.

“And now I’m not going in,” he said, falling back into the pool.

“Why not?” I asked. “Because she’s a girl?”

He nodded.

“What if she was a boy?” I asked.

“Then I wouldn’t care,” Mark said. “I’d go in.”

And so we ended our night with a nice reminder that Mark is still a little boy. A little boy who loves to swim, does not like girls, and who, so far, has been a trooper on this road trip.

Day 3: Grand Canyon to Moab, 5 1/2 hours

The Grand Canyon is so beautiful, and we are having such a good time, that we don’t want to leave. Today, it’s on to Utah.

But first, Mark wanted to hike IN the canyon, not just around the canyon. The ranger told us that 90% of all visitors only spend 3 ½ hours at the Canyon, and less than 10% even go below the rim. Since we got here, Mark’s been itching to get in the canyon, and though I suspect it’s just so he can throw rocks, I still wanted to take him hiking.

We had an almost-6-hour-drive ahead of us, so I told Mark if he wanted to hike, he had to get up early. With a little bit of prodding, he was up and ready to go by 8 a.m.

Below the rim!

We started the Bright Angel trail. I’m not much of a hiker—more of a stroller, and I like a nice, flat path. I did not go willingly into that Canyon, but I did go. ;-)

I also did not go far down into the Canyon. It was already hot, even at 8 a.m., and the hikers were already filling up the path. As were the donkeys…I realized upon seeing the first pile of mule droppings that I needn’t worry about a strenuous hike—the smell alone literally stopped Mark in his tracks.

“Oh my God, what’s that SMELL?” Mark exclaimed. He refused to walk around the mule dung.

“Mule droppings,” I told him. “Just walk around it.”

After much cajoling, and finally just walking away, Mark groaned, jumped over it and followed me down the path. He was still swatting at imaginary flies when he caught up to me.

We hiked down about 10 or 15 minutes, looking for a series of cliff paintings the ranger had told us about. We didn’t find them, and were getting ever closer to the donkeys, so finally we turned back and headed back up the path.

Mark insisted he needed a souvenir from the Grand Canyon, so just before we left, he hit the store. He used up all his souvenir money in one shot, buying a hiking stick. That’s right, he purchased it AFTER our hike, of course!

So, hiking stick in hand, we found Edra and piled in to the car, heading north to Moab, Utah.

It was interesting to drive away from the Canyon, and all its trees. Soon enough, there were no trees, or even bushes, in sight. In fact, there was NOTHING in sight, save for the occasional house or gas station. What there were plenty of was rocks--tons of them, in every shape and color you could imagine!

We drove through all sorts of amazing rock formations--giant rock sculptures jutting toward the sky. The colors differed by region--we saw reds, a gray/black/red swirly pattern, white, and pink. We also passed a little town with a great name--Mexican Hat.

The road had been empty for a long time, so when we saw another small town, we stopped for lunch. And by town, I really mean a conglomeration of one grocery store and seven fast food joints.

The stores were on the Navajo reservation. There was a barbecue stand set up outside the grocery store, so we decided to lunch with the locals. The younger Navajos were dressed similar to us in shorts and t-shirts, but the older folks were not. The old ladies wore bright, flowing dresses with tons of gorgeous turquoise jewelry adorning their arms and ears. We sat in the bakery, next to a display with no fewer than 27 equally brightly (and unnaturally) colored cakes, and took in the sights. It was some good people-watching!

It’s a good thing we stopped, even though we weren’t starving—because we didn’t see another place to eat for three hours. (Luckily, the next food was a shake shack, and we stopped for milkshakes.) That day we realized that we had to stop for food, bathrooms or gasoline whenever we saw them, because we weren’t in the big city any longer, and those amenities weren’t available on every corner.

We finally rolled in to Moab late in the late afternoon. After weighing our options, we headed directly to Arches National Park. The park was eight miles outside of town, and I knew we were close when I saw a sign that said Arches National Park, 2 miles. Then, about 100 feet up the road was another sign, which read Arches National Park, 1 mile. It was the fast, shortest mile I’d ever driven!

We made it!

Arches was still a scorching 100 degrees at 5 p.m. We paid our entrance fee, and were excited to see a new animal crossing sign—this one was for bighorn sheep crossing! (We’d seen elk and deer crossing signs so far.) We gazed up the cliffs but didn’t see any big horns.

We drove up and around to the different formations. There were no trees, no shade, just beautiful red rocks that looked like someone had dropped them randomly all over the land.

Beautiful Arches Park--the late-afternoon light was fantastic

We arrived to the famous Windows arches, which the ranger said was a very easy hike. She was right—it wasn’t strenuous at all. The walk itself was easy, but the sun was beating down, and I drained my water bottle in about five minutes. I watched Edra and Mark climb up to the arch, and I followed them.

Me with Mark's walking stick/pointer

Mark shamed us both by hiking over to the second arch--I think he just wanted to try out his new walking stick. He did an awesome job, and still beat me down the mountain (he cheated--he ran!).

What I was pointing at--Mark at the top of Windows Arch

I just felt lucky to make it back to the car—I felt like I was in the early stages of heatstroke. (Yes, I am dramatic, but as I repeatedly tell my non-believing friends, I am also a delicate flower that wilts in the heat—and damn, was it hot!!!)

We moved on to the other famous arch, the Delicate Arch. I refused to get out of the car (the air conditioning) and back into the heat. I read the brochure aloud, which said this was a strenuous hike.

Edra repeated that the ranger said this was also an easy hike. She and Mark hit the trail, and I grew alarmed when I read the brochure again, which said this was a 2-3 hour hike, and required at least 2 liters of water per person (they each had one tiny water bottle). I grew even more alarmed when I found Mark’s glucose meter in the car, and realized he didn’t even have any snacks with him. He only had four little glucose tabs if he went low that far out on the trail.

I really started freaking then, until I mentally slapped myself. I realized who I was with--Edra, one of my friends with the most common sense. She was not going to hike 3 hours in the blazing sun, dehydrating with each step. And she was with Mark, who barely made it past the mule dung earlier that morning. These were not die-hard risk-takers; I sighed, relieved, when they returned safely 30 minutes later.

We drove on to where we could see the most famous arch in the park, the Delicate Arch. This time Edra refused to leave the car, even when I assured her the view point was a flat 2-minute walk away. I didn’t blame her, though; that sun was burning hot. I told Edra it’s a good thing I didn’t live 100 years ago, and that my family didn’t move west. I don’t think I’d have lasted long, and I know for sure my family would’ve left me for the vultures.

After a couple hours in the park, we headed to our hotel. Mark was thrilled to swim a bit, and I joined him to wash the red dust off. It was still hot outside, even after dark.

We wandered through the little town, and had dinner out, when I remembered we were in the land of the Mormons. The waitress brought us huge schooners of beer, which shocked the family at the neighboring table. Their eyes grew large, and the dad looked horrified. He hurried his family out of there soon after.

Meanwhile, my son cheered me and clinked his soda glass to my schooner. I couldn’t help thinking how the dad would have a seizure had he stayed long enough to witness that!