1/15/2023 - While sleeping in my cozy motel in the tiny town of Boulder, a storm dropped about three inches of snow, blanketing the high-elevation landscape with powder snow. I had a feeling of anxiety after opening the front door first thing in the morning, knowing what happened the last time I drove in the snow in the Camry. On that occasion just a few weeks ago, I installed snow chains on my car that were probably too big for the tires and they caused damage to the front passenger wheel well and quarter panels.
But I packed the car, wiped off the snow from the roof and windows, warmed it up and set off, but not before taking photos of this winter wonderland. I had seen a plow truck roll past my motel keeping the road clear, so I felt better about setting off even with snow still falling.
As I made my way up Boulder Mountain, I began to wonder if I made a wise decision. The road was plowed save for a thin layer of ice and snow, but the visibility was degrading. My car was losing traction. I thought about the snow chains in the trunk and whether I should install them. I never saw anywhere to pull over and no pullouts free of a foot of fresh snow. If I stopped, it would have to be on the side of the two-lane highway. So, I kept going. There are several rules I've learned for driving in snowy, muddy, or sandy conditions: no sudden movements, use the engine to brake, do NOT stop. However, this strategy didn't stop me from questioning my own intelligence and decision making.
I reached Boulder Summit at 9,600 feet in elevation. I breathed a sigh of relief now that I’d be heading down the mountain where there would be less snow, but I wasn't out of the woods yet. I still had poor visibility on a windy and curvy mountain road. I kept the car in third gear, went slowly and stayed patient. Eventually the layer of snow and ice on the roadway gave way to asphalt. Soon I could see blue sky. Then there was no more falling snow. A few miles later, the road was dry. I reached the town of Torrey in a blaze of sunshine with my bedraggled car still icy, snowy and filthy from the journey down the mountain. I stopped in town to get myself a sandwich and chip all the snow and ice off the roof, sides and undercarriage. My car looked rough, but it helped me get out of a hairy situation.
I took a deep sigh of relief, paid for my sandwich, and then proceeded to my next destination: Capitol Reef National Park.
Capitol Reef is one massive cliff that runs 100 miles north to south, a fold in the earth’s crust. The landscape is disorienting because the layers of sandstone in the cliffs are slanted; I was reminded of a sinking ship. It was yet another bizarre landscape, like an alien world. The storm hadn't reached the park, but I still found evidence of recent snowfall with small patches of snow in shady spots. Parts of the red-orange cliffs were bathed in sunlight while others stayed in shadow. It seems this cliff runs on forever. The park gets its name from when early Mormon explorers encountered this intimidating natural obstacle. There was no way to scale the giant cliff face; it was like a reef blocking travelers' easy and safe passage.
I turned into a dirt road that leads into a canyon called Grand Wash, where I eventually stopped at the trailhead for Cassidy Arch. All along this dirt road are warning signs about the danger of flash floods. During monsoon season in July, August and September, heavy rains can create rivers and waterfalls in these desert environments. In fact, there was a massive flash flood in Capitol Reef in the summer of 2022. Since I live in Bishop, the monsoon season can get pretty wet as well.
I chatted with several random strangers on this trail. The highlighter pink permit for my hike in the Paria Canyon-Vermillion Cliffs wilderness was still attached to my backpack, so that was a conversation starter. This was one of the most enjoyable things about this road trip: since I was traveling solo, I chatted with strangers on the hiking trails, hotel lobbies, bars, restaurants, etc. While at the arch, I asked a middle aged blond woman to take my photo on the arch, and she agreed.
A short time later, I returned to my car and grunted as I got into the driver seat, wiping sweat from my forehead. From Capitol Reef I continued east on Utah state route 24 and glimpsed formations such as Factory Butte. This part of Utah along State Route 24 is quite isolated and rural; you see few cars driving the opposite direction, making it an enjoyable road to drive. It meanders through tiny towns like Caineville and Hanksville and large mesas and buttes. Factory Butte seems to be an icon in this region as its shape dominates the high desert skyline. This is another formation that is well-known amongst photographers. I was pleased to see the cloud coverage above the butte and the patchy sunlight partly bathing it.
There isn't much in Hanksville besides a few homes and an opportunity to refuel. One resident created an art installation using rusty metal, so I stopped driving to take a look. While examining the artwork, I met a friendly cat that was all too happy to receive head scratches from a perfect stranger.
Farther along SR 24 from Hanksville, I began to see random rock spires in interesting shapes. This part of the highway was completely straight, running parallel to the San Rafael Swell, a rugged mountain chain in Central Utah. There wasn't much to see on the south side of this road, but I knew Canyonlands National Park was somewhere in that direction. As sunset rapidly approached, I connected with Interstate 70 and drove all the way to Moab, arriving in town after dark.
It was here in Moab where I treated myself to a nice hotel room at the Hyatt, intending to stay for two nights. Of course, I didn't make reservations days in advance since this was January. I strolled into the lobby and asked if there were any open rooms, paid the fee and then swiped my keycard. I laughed as I saw how comfortable and luxurious the room was.
That night, I sank into the queen size bed and slept soundly.
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