it fills up. Forded the not-so-raging Creek to exit the campground, and off again on Highway 12, not only designated a "Scenic Byway," but also an "All American Highway." Don't miss it. One stunning vista after another, and different from what came before. An amazing road. While ogling the scenery, we're climbing from 5400 feet to 9600 and I swear I can see the gas gauge actually moving in real time. This will not be a high-mpg leg of the trip. Stopped awhile in Boulder (Utah, not Colorado), which has the distinction of being the last place in the U.S. where mail was delivered by mule! There's a factoid for your next bar bet. This
portion of highway 12, built by the CCC, includes the OMIGOODNESS "Hogback" section where the road knifes across the ridgeline with dropoffs on both sides. Loni got to close her eyes; not an option for me. Boulder has a nice museum on the Anasazi, which was open at 8:50 am on a Sunday morning! Utah does not want to miss a single tourist. We continued on up and up and the vegetation changed from sagebrush to Pinyon to Aspen and Pines. 9600 feet is up there! Gave the brakes a workout on the in-excess-of-10% downgrade. Have to say that I'm pleasantly
surprised at the smooth and strong brakes on this Ford chassis. No hint of fade, but then I wasn't exactly flying down the hill.We needn't have worried about no reservations as the Fruita Campground at Capitol Reef was only half full when we pulled in (although it filled up by the end of the day). We snagged a great spot with all-day shade, which is a blessing with our still-busted AC. We were scheduled to stay the next night at the lunar Goblin State Park, but Fruita was so nice we decided to forfeit that (for
which we did have a $23 reservation) and stay an extra night at Fruita. This place is a true oasis of green. We biked the mile over to the visitor center and listened to a talk while looking at the 20' relief map of the area. On the ride back I nearly got sideswiped by a Class A which cut in a little too quickly. I hope he could read my lips in his mirror. The Fruita Campground occupies an old orchard farm, and still retains all the various trees: apples, peaches, cherries, apricots, and a single huge mulberry. Campers are welcome to pick a reasonable quantity of anything that is in
season. The rangers even have stepladders out in the orchards. You're supposed to drop a buck or two in the iron warden for whatever you pick, and the cherries we got were well worth it.The home of the former homesteaders here is now a mini-museum of their lives, and also sells locally made ice cream and pies. Ate two cups of delicious ice cream and bought a cherry pie for tonight. Yum. Back at the rig I unearthed the portable grill and tank and set them up. Grilled chicken legs were on the menu, but the dang grill wouldn't light. I think the orifices are clogged with that &$%!!@#(&%$ red dust from Kodachrome. On to Plan B, and cook in the coach. Solace arrives in the guise of a Bogle 04 Petit Sirah, with "Rhythm of the Saints" on the stereo.
MONDAY Cat cooperated last night so we got some very peaceful z's. Today we break out the
bikes to tackle the 20 mile (round trip) Scenic Drive from the camp to the end of the paved road, down the valley formed by this part of the Reef. Pretty hot today, and we're starting at 5,500 feet. The Drive climbs for the first 5 miles to a "divide," then goes down 5 to the end. Loni was a trouper: almost nary a discouraging word. What she couldn't ride, she walked. Everything seems magnified when you're biking instead of in a car. We started way beyond those cliffs you see in the background. Having made it to the Slickrock Divide halfway point, uh, a
discussion(!) ensued along the lines of "what goes down must come back up." But, in the words of the immortal Shad, we are "dead game sports," so we press on. It sure was nice to virtually coast the next 5 miles. Ate lunch at the end, sporting our electrified petroglyph bibs, spotted a mountain sheep clambering around, and headed back. That's Loni posing in front of the "Egyptian Temple" formation. Suffice to say we enjoyed the part again AFTER the Slick Rock Divide. Coasting home, we hit camp, didn't break stride, and made a beeline for the ice cream store. After
loading up on essential fats and carbs, we headed across the highway to the Petroglyphs. They've been around for up to 700 years or so, and some are still impressively clear human and animal figures. On the way back we stopped at the Mulberry tree, which was loaded with overripe fruit --- as in delicious. It was so soft it nearly disintegrated the moment you picked it, so taking it home was out. But, I managed to stuff enough into my mouth to satisfy my sweet tooth. My hands were stained burgundy for days afterwards. They taste like blackberries with a hint of a bite.
Spent the rest of the afternoon with 1776, marveling at how Washington made so many heroically bad tactical decisions. The man was a great actor, doing a marvelous job of inspiring the troops while leading them into one disaster after another. Oh well, we're all here and we don't have to kiss the Queen's patootie. He did all right in the end. Dinner tonight is Top-Ramen gala-- the boxed noodles with added fresh spinach, veggies, and chicken, washed down with a Moab Brewery Scorpion Ale for the hopheads among us. We wandered the campground afterwards and found an
interesting mix. Mormon family of 5 in a trailer, a solitary man in a beat-up van camper who strums the guitar and sings softly, a french couple, a dutch couple, two elderly U.S. pairs, one in an old Toyota RV and the other in a 40' bus, three Harley riders with the obligatory sleeveless vests and long hair, pitching tents, and the young tent couple behind us who practice yoga twice a day. It does take all kinds, thank goodness.TUESDAY Liesurely departure this morning. Couldn't dump the
tank properly as the camp's water wand hose was defective, doing a knockout job of spraying me with nothing coming out the business end. Bid farewell to the icecream/pie house and moved out. The road is nice for a short while, but we obviously were descending into much less dramatic stuff. We spotted tonights destination, Green River, from a high point and it certainly is as described: an oasis in the desert. A patch of green in a lot of brown. Once we get there, the town is largely a collection of gas stations (some abandoned) and motels (some which look abandoned but are indeed still open for business). All in all, a big zero on the charm scale, attractive only by comparison to the wasteland that surrounds it. We took no pictures. The eponymous state park is a grove of cottonwoods adjacent at one small point to the Green River, which is surprisingly wide. Where's all the water coming from in the midst of a drought? This is a "down" day for laundry and haircuts. We find a nice laundry, and the haircuts are al fresco at our campsite. The ever-increasing winds took care of most of the cleanup. Supposed to rain tonight and have fierce winds. Hmmmm. Under a cottonwood tree? We took off for the ONLY attraction in town, the John Wesley Powell museum. I have to admit, it was quite good. A lot larger and more professionally done than I expected to find here. If you're passing through, do stop. Afterwards, we tried the cell, and got in-and-out one bar service. Managed to pick up 5 messages from Paul, who's roaming through Colorado, but headed for Moab like we are. Hopefully we'll get some service in Moab. Haven't had any for a week. Got ready to crash and, hark! What's that? Not a cow. Nope, it's a train. The tracks are about 100 feet away, and the engineer is fulfilling his legal and quite useless obligation to blow his horn at crossings for the "traffic," of which there is none. And, did I say the wind was picking up?
1 comment:
Good words.
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