day 11: driving west and bryce canyon nat’l park.

After a wonderfully slow last day in Moab, we woke up first thing, loaded the van, said good-bye to the great big red rocks, and began our journey westward through Utah.

Our bodies and our senses were rested, and we were once again ready to be astonished.

David and I sipped hot coffee from our travel mugs as we kept watch through more miles of long, desolate highways. We realized that we’ve lived within constant sight of mountains for the past 12 days, which is perhaps the longest amount of time in my life I’ve spent with such a view. It doesn’t get old.

The mountains of Utah quickly transformed from sharp-craggy red to a softer pale orange, streaked willy-nilly with white.  More low-growing shrubs textured the landscape, and the evergreens made a come back. We saw the vanilla-scented Ponderosa pines of Colorado, and generous croppings of fir and spruce, even bursts of fall-colored aspen.

I felt an easing in my spirit. It turns out, I need green.

There’s truly nothing like driving across America to give you an idea of the vastness of the place and the smallness of yourself, your family, your white minivan, your life.

Flying is wonderful. It makes travel fast and efficient. I understand that not everyone has the luxury of taking time off work for long road trips.

But can I make a quick case for road travel, if you’re able to do it?

It changes things. There’s a slowness involved that, if you choose to let it, makes you savor time instead of careen through it. Your mind has space to linger and process where you’ve just been and where you’re going next; it all sort of simmers awhile inside of you as the hours slide by.

You see the undulations of the landscape, changes that happen so slowly they appear to blend into one another. Your body aches from being folded into the seat of a vehicle, yes, but it’s also at rest because it has nothing else it can be doing at this moment.

This sort of slowness of drawing in what’s around you seeps into your soul.

Driving west and south, we saw cattle ranches and something we didn’t expect: corn fields. We saw sharp-cornered rectangles of blinding green farm crops misted by industrial wheeled sprinklers and framed by the gray sandy brush of desert. We saw patches of delicate yellow wildflowers creeping toward the highway.

We passed through a dozen tiny western towns. Did you know that in long stretches of Colorado and Utah, the speed limit reaches 80 mph? We didn’t know it until this trip. It made the 35 mph dip as we approached towns feel like mere crawling, but who minds crawling when you can gaze out the window to see a tractor in every driveway and little paint-peeling clapboard antique stores with rust-streaked stagecoaches parked outside? I wish we could’ve stopped in every one of them, but we didn’t have time or one more square foot of space in our trunk for any treasures.

We stopped at one of the cleanest gas stations I’ve ever encountered and were charmed by two signs posted on its door:

 

 

Can you imagine living in a place where not only are funerals posted for the community to see, but also the amount of food needed?

I felt like I was in Mitford.

We drove past Butch Cassidy’s childhood home, a hewn-long cabin that made Laura and Almanzo’s white farmhouse look palatial (also: I actually didn’t know that Butch Cassidy was a real person).

And then, after four hours (which frankly, seems like nothing to us by this point), we arrived at Bryce Canyon.

 

Navajo Loop and Queens Garden Trail, Bryce Canyon National Park

The spirit of the National Parks is communal; yes there are moments of sheer bliss in solitude, but often the memories that stay with you are the ones that are shared with others. Moments that bind you together, to be recalled later.

– Nathan Anderson

 

 

We’ve had several friends and family members tell us that Bryce Canyon is one of their favorite spots in America.

One far-reaching glance proves why. Lining the ridges of a vast canyon, the brilliant orange Dr. Seuss-like hoodoos rise in wobbly turrets.

After a picnic lunch, our family walked to the look out fence to take in the view, and to the amusement of the crowd of people gathered, Noah exclaimed, “Look! It’s the Grand Canyon!”

Poor Noah. He’s still a bit bewildered that we’ve got several more days until we finally glimpse the Grand Canyon.

Even with the hefty log fence, I couldn’t stand as close to the sheer drop-off as my kids could.

 

 

We planned to take the Navajo Loop trail, but what I didn’t understand about it is that it involves walking right down to the bottom of the canyon.

You know what that means, right?

Not only am I way too close to heights for my comfort, but I suddenly find myself walking dizzying rocky ledges.

Sometimes I feel that David neglects to give me vital information regarding our hikes. I suspect he does it on purpose.

The tight limestone-ledge switchbacks in this next photo don’t exactly do justice to the terror that gripped my heart as we descended 550 feet very quickly.

 

 

I had a sweaty-palmed death grip on both Gabe and Noah’s hands while David took these pictures with his phone.

The kids were all very relaxed about walking these ledges; far too relaxed for my taste. I told Gabe as we walked that he made me feel braver because he was so brave. I unapologetically hugged the walls on each turn, which thankfully every other tourist thought I was doing because of my young children. Little did they know.

The next photo gives a better idea. There’s a sheer drop-off from that ledge.

 

 

 

Soon we found ourselves near the canyon floor, in a hushed netherworld of glowing orange tunnels, the brilliant blue sky snaking high above us. Sounds were muffled by the dust that caked our shoes and clothes whenever we brushed against the walls.

 

 

 

 

 

What’s about the last thing you expect to find at the bottom of a clay-colored canyon?

Trees!

 

 

But there they were, graceful and proud and strong.

 

 

The tunnels opened up at the bottom of the canyon, and we beheld the beauty stretched before us, a sandy, evergreen-dotted landscape solemnly guarded by the silent tribe of hoodoos.

Yet again, facing my fear of heights was immeasurably worth it.

I would’ve missed the unguarded joy of this hidden place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We took the Queen’s Garden trail back up to the top, which was less strenuous than the descent, but still hard work in that bone-dry heat, plumes of orange dust rising around our legs. We needed lots of water stops.

 

 

 

 

This was our favorite family hike of the trip for the collective shock-value of setting foot in this mysterious, sacred place.

We climbed back into the van, weary, but full of wonder, and drove the final two hours to our next and final Airbnb of this trip.

We choose a place a little further drive from the National Parks so that, for the same price, we could stay in a resort-style community with nicer and more spacious condos. This is the perfect part of our trip for it to land. Not only is it clean and comfortable, the loft upstairs boasts a vintage pinball machine (which Gabe told us is his favorite part our trip thus far), and just around the corner are two beautiful pools and a hot tub.

Needless to say, we’re very, very happy with it.