Trip Journal

During the week of August 1st through 8th, 2010, we took our second family trip “Out West”, to Moab, Utah and the surrounding high desert and canyon country of the Four Corners region.  It was in 2002 that we’d taken the first, an event that we refer to simply as “Out West”.  Accordingly, this second trip was dubbed “Out West Twee” (“twee”, rhymes with “tray”, is Dutch for “two”), the journey having been initiated, planned and managed by Sue on behalf of the Dutch contingent of the family.

The voyagers were seven:  Sue and Jan Willem, their boys Willem and Nick, Peter and his son Steven, and your narrator, Grampa Dick.  (Unable to join us were Richard and Ishraq, who were in the midst of a move from Istanbul to Frankfurt;  Arthur who had a prior business commitment at a major gun show, to market the gun sight he invented;  and Lois who has given up flying as a matter of mental health.)

After gathering in Cincinnati (some of us having started from Holland and Pittsburgh) we flew to Denver on Sunday, rented an SUV, and drove west across the Rockies (the highway’s engineering is most impressive) to Moab, Utah. 

Early the next morning, we joined up with our guide to take an exciting four-wheel drive over Elephant Hill, in Canyonlands National Park, south of Moab.  There's no road – only washes, cuts, arroyos, jumbles of shale, and slick-rock in steps and inclined planes, frequently with drop-off edges hovering over a gulch below.  Sue, afflicted with a touch of acrophobia, occasionally felt the need to get out and walk.  Our destination was "The Needles", a wild, trackless region that was Butch Cassidy’s gang’s hangout.  Both the trek and the destination were every bit as breathtaking (due both to the scenery and the jolting of the ride!) an adventure as we'd hoped it would be.

The following morning we took a jet boat ride down the Colorado, an interlude that was tranquil and beautiful, with stops en route to explore fossils, petroglyphs and other such interesting flora and fauna.  Our afternoon sortie was a good deal less tranquil – a four-wheel sweaty-palm climb to the mesa’s top, “The Island in the Sky”.  Our “road” was the Shaeffer Trail, an only slightly improved goat path that switches back and forth as it claws its way up the cliff face, unencumbered by such sissy constructs as guard rails or shoulders.  Once at the top, we were brought to Musselman Arch, a natural stone bridge connecting two promontories half a mile over the canyon floor.  Some of us dared walk across it – some of us... some of us not. 

The adventures of that afternoon were a bit too much for Sue to stomach, so she remained safely in Moab, but that evening she and Jan Willem drove back out to the Island in the Sky on a paved road to enjoy the spectacular view of the sunset from the rim, with the Colorado a mile below.

While the parents were away (Peter was doing IBM work in his room), the three boys had an ebullient frolic in the hotel pool, under the gimlet eye of Grampa.  The splashing drew in kids from another family:  Melissa, Willem's age, and Nick, about the same age as our Nick... a fortuitous event about which more later.

Tuesday morning we headed out of Moab driving south, toward Monument Valley.  En route we stopped at the overlook into Goosenecks National Park.  The landscape - black, dead, vast, sunbaked, cut into by the writhing canyon gouged out by the green river far below, truly warrants the term awesome.

We proceeded south to the mesa edge overlooking The Valley of the Gods, whence we zigzagged down a winding road into the peaceful, otherworldly valley, and drove its 17-mile trail, which is devoid of tourists or indeed any signs of civilization.  Some of us had been there several times before and would gladly go again.  Its evocative rock spires with shapes of idols and satraps are unforgettable.  (It's where John Houston shot much of the original Stagecoach).

Our principal destination for the day was Monument Valley.  It was, alas, the destination for many others as well;  the tracks through it had a considerable amount of traffic jouncing along on their ruts.  That might have been a cause for disappointment, except that it was more than compensated for, surprisingly enough, by the lowering weather:  drizzly, with huge black clouds looming overhead.  Rather than being a negative, this added a great deal of drama to an already dramatic landscape, which otherwise is almost always pictured as being bathed in sunlight.  We drove around the valley on our own, which was fun, but we'd previously done the tour with a Navajo guide, and this latter option is recommended.  The guides have access to places closed to the general public, they’re adept at recounting colorful local lore, and may well bring their charges into a grotto to treat them to a song.

Leaving Monument Valley, we headed for Cortez, chosen for its proximity to Mesa Verde, our destination of the next morning.  The Four Corners Monument was en route, so we stopped for a photo, but it was CLOSED!  The authorities had posted a large sign explaining that the monument was under repair, and had thoughtfully provided a Magic Marker so that infuriated visitors could write comments in the sign's white spaces.  The opportunity had been enthusiastically seized, and the board was crowded with vituperative one-liners.

After arriving in Cortez, perhaps feeling a bit punchy, we goofily gave the kids farcical lessons in table manners at the restaurant that evening.

Mesa Verde deserves its fame.  Clambering through its prehistoric cliff dwellings provides a powerful experience of what primitive life was like in those simpler days, and the architectural ingenuity of the pre-industrial inhabitants inspires admiration. 

As in Monument Valley, there were crowds;  access to some of the points of interest required tickets, for which there were long lines to purchase, followed by a considerable wait till the next allowable entrance.  But there was plenty else to see just by walking the open paths, or from overlooks, without having to go through this queuing, so we had no problem.  The kids found caves from which to make warlike faces, and the adults hiked the paths (two of us gasping on the uphills;  the Mesa's high).  Nevertheless, future visitors would be well advised to get tickets in advance if they want to insure they can make a thorough visit.

We left Mesa Verde late Thursday afternoon for Durango.  When we checked into our hotel, we inquired about Melissa and her family.  They'd told the boys that they too would be in Durango that evening, staying at the same hotel (Best Western) we were in.  But alas - no Melissa.  The desk clerk kindly called around to the other Best Westerns in the area for us, but to no avail.

As we were getting settled, Steven mischievously locked Willem out of his room.  As Willem banged the door demanding to be let back in, Steven gave way to gales of laughter, literally rolling on the floor and gasping over and over that this was the Funniest thing he'd ever seen!  Why it was all that funny escaped me, but it was really quite a joy to see the normally reserved Steven give way so completely to mirth.

The next morning, we boarded the narrow-gauge steam train that connects Durango with the mining town of Silverton to the north across the San Juan Mountains.  The romantic puff-puff of the engine was enhanced by its acrid (but not unpleasant) coal smoke being wafted up one's nose, and its cinders drifting into one's eyes. 

The right-of-way traverses rugged, wild country, with flowered mountain meadows, sheer gorges, snowcapped peaks, and, paralleling the rail tracks, the Animas River, whose rapids sometimes raced alongside the train, and sometimes, when the tracks ran along high ledges cut into the cliff’s face, way below it.  It was foreknowledge of this latter construct that made Sue decide she'd rather drive and meet us in Silverton.  Even the drive was no cakewalk for the faint of heart.  It too wended through the mountains, though a bit more gently, at one point passing directly under Telluride, perched on a cliff top way, way above.

Of course as soon as the train started, the boys set out to explore it.  And lo and behold, there they were - Melissa and family!  They'd stayed in a different Best Western in Durango, registered under the mother's maiden name (she'd been recently divorced).   The five kids, reunited, had a good old romp on the train, and after arriving in Silverton, the two families gathered for a most social lunch.

We poked about for a while in Silverton, a small town that retains some of its Old West flavor, then set out for Gunnison, located at the southeast edge of the Rockies.  It was a new and unknown area for us, chosen as a destination by Sue for exactly that reason.  That night some of us drove up into the hills, seeking an area sufficiently devoid of light pollution to allow the boys to see the stars as they'd never seen them before.  The venture was but a partial success – the stars were there, but alas only in the interstices between clouds.

The next day, our last, those who could tolerate travelling along mountain ridges with drop-off edges (ie, all of us but Sue), drove up into the mountains, where we spent the day circumnavigating Crested Butte.  There were snowfields (in August!), streams to ford (small ones), glorious vistas and wildflowers galore.  The area is a mecca for campers, hikers, and (hearty) bikers, and for good reason – it’s beautiful.  We could but wonder why none of us had ever heard of it.

Late that afternoon we set out for Colorado Springs so we could bed down within a reasonable distance from the Denver airport.  We didn't have time to tour the city, but as we drove through it, it seemed to be an extraordinarily pleasant place.

The journey home was uneventful except for our inadvertently running an obscure, unmanned tollgate on the road to the airport (crime does not pay - our credit card was later billed by Alamo for $7.25).

It was a great trip, and best of all, we all of us stayed friends the whole time.