November 01, 2006
Southwest Odyssey
Dr. Dregs and I have just returned from the first "real" vacation we've had in a number of years: we roadtripped from Minneapolis to Phoenix and back, stopping to visit several national parks and passing through many other scenic places along the way. Going back to October 21st, the first day of our trip, I have written about our journey and my impressions of it, including a few of the photos we took. This is an area of the country that neither of us had ever traveled to before, so these are first impressions of places that we feel sure we'd like to return to someday.
My descriptions of most of the sights we saw have ended up relying on the same overused, trite language that is always used to describe this area of the country. But sometimes -- as in the case of the Southwest -- the language is always the same because it fits the area so well. I don't claim to offer anything new or especially insightful here, but I wanted to document our trip both for ourselves and for others who might be interested. With that, I give you the trip:
Day 1: Minneapolis to Southern Nebraska
Day 2: Nebraska to Moab, Utah
Day 3: Arches National Park
Day 4: Canyonlands National Park and Monument Valley
Day 5: Monument Valley to the Grand Canyon
Day 6: Grand Canyon
Day 7-8: Phoenix
Day 9: Phoenix to Santa Fe, New Mexico
Day 10-11: Santa Fe to Minneapolis
October 26, 2006
Southwest Odyssey: Day 6
I open my eyes at 6:20 AM, just about ten minutes before sunrise. At first, I'm not sure where I am (a hazard of the road trip). Then I remember that we're staying in a hotel on the rim of the Grand Canyon. Right, then! We need to go watch the sunrise. I poke Doc Dregs to wake him up, and we both quickly pull on some clothes and head outside.
It's a very cold morning (about 19 degrees), but all of yesterday's clouds are gone, and the sky is completely clear. There are a few other people out and about, but everyone's pretty quiet because of the early hour. We walk a short distance east until we find a spot that satisfies us, then we settle in to watch the early morning sunlight play across the formations in the Canyon.
It is beautiful, but we are both freezing. After a while, we decide we've had enough and go in search of coffee and a quick breakfast. Back in our room, we shower, dress, and pack as quickly as we can. We are planning to make the hike today that the weather deprived us of yesterday (partway down the South Kaibab Trail), and we want to get started as soon as possible. Once we've checked out of the hotel, we need to catch a shuttle bus to the visitor center, where we'll have to catch another shuttle bus to the trailhead. It's a pretty tedious way to travel a relatively short distance, but the crowds are so large here that the shuttle buses are an absolute necessity. Even today, when the park is relatively uncrowded, parking spaces in many lots are few and far between. A mass-transit system for Grand Canyon is in the works, but won't be complete any time soon. For about the tenth time since arriving here less than 24 hours ago, we vow never to visit here in the summer.
I'm very excited and a little apprehensive about the hike we're about to undertake. The National Park Service works very hard to inform prospective hikers into the Canyon about what they're getting themselves into. They want you to know that "hiking in Grand Canyon is not like hiking anywhere else," and to remember that "what goes down, must come up." Scary warning signs are posted prominently at the trailheads to ensure that hikers carry adequate water and food, and that they know just how exorbitant the costs are in the unhappy event that they should have to be Medevac-ed out of the Canyon. I'm not really expecting anything we can't handle on a 3-mile hike in sunny, 45-degree weather, but all the warnings do give one pause.
We venture down the trail. It is steep -- very steep. Going downhill is easy, in a way, but it's hard on the knees and leg muscles, and the steepness means that we have to work hard to control our descent. The South Kaibab Trail is one of the "corridor trails" into the Canyon (like the more famous and more heavily-traveled Bright Angel Trail) that people have used for centuries to travel from the rim to the floor of the Canyon. The South Kaibab is shorter than the Bright Angel, reaching the bottom (a descent of over 5000 feet) in only 6 miles. But because of the shorter distance, the trail is also steeper. The initial descent follows a series of steep switchbacks, which look pretty impressive from below:
We have chosen this trail over the Bright Angel despite the fact that it's likely to be a bit more strenuous because of the supposedly excellent views, and we are not disappointed. Our goal is Cedar Ridge, 1.5 miles in (and 1140 feet down), which is the recommended turn-around point for day hikers. An earlier turn-around point is almost a mile in, and we plan to go that far before deciding for certain whether to continue to Cedar Ridge or not. On the way down, there are plenty of gorgeous views to enjoy; the Canyon looks very different "from the inside," even this near the rim.
At the first stopping point, we meet a group of older women who, we learn, are from Minnesota. They are the first fellow Minnesotans we have met on the trip, and they are friendly, chatty, and in very high spirits. They are planning to turn back, but once they have determined that we are carrying water and food, they encourage us to go on. After a break and a snack, we decided we're up for it, and continue downward. It's not long before Cedar Ridge is in sight, but it still seems like a long way down there:
When we finally make it Cedar Ridge, we find a comfy rock to sit on, and we have something to eat and drink while we try to take in the unbelievable scenery. We see a number of small parties of backpackers on their way in or out of the Canyon, and Doc Dregs decides that we should come back someday and backpack here. I encourage him to wait until we've made it back to the rim before declaring that we're ready for that.
The hike out of the Canyon is difficult and strenuous, and we stop frequently to enjoy the views and catch our breath. Although the ascent is challenging, it isn't as bad as I expected it to be; it's actually easier on my knees and feet than was going down. The weather helps: it is cool and sunny, which means that we're neither overheated nor cold. Doc Dregs looks awfully perky as we get close to the rim:
We are tired when we emerge from the Canyon, but we feel pretty good otherwise, and we are pleased to find that the return journey took us only an hour and a half when we expected it to take two hours.
There is one more area we want to explore before we leave Grand Canyon, and that is the road and viewpoints to the west toward Hermit's Rest, another historic building on the rim. It is from these western viewpoints that we will get our first glimpses of the Colorado River as it flows through the Canyon. We take a shuttle bus as far as Pima Point, and we hike the mile west from there to Hermit's Rest, stopping to appreciate the views of the river along the way.
After stopping for a few moments at Hermit's Rest to, well, rest, we board a shuttle bus for Grand Canyon Village to retrieve our trusty little car. The daylight is fading fast, and we have 220 miles to drive to Phoenix tonight. This is sadly the end of the vacation portion of the trip for me, since I'll be attending the OLAC conference in Phoenix for the next couple of days. Doc Dregs, however, will still be on holiday, and has plans to keep himself entertained while I am busy.
On our drive southward, we can't stop talking about the amazing things we've seen. This trip has already changed us in some ways. We're much more eager to spend time outdoors and spend time in places of natural beauty. After our time at Canyonlands, we were determined to return there someday, and we feel the same way about the Grand Canyon. The crowds and the hassle can't ruin the experience of the Canyon; it's too beautiful and too overwhelming. We will go back someday - possibly on Doc Dregs's backpacking trip (but never in the summer!)
Unfortunately, because darkness falls so early this time of the year, we don't get to see much of anything on our drive southward, but we amuse ourselves by watching the car's outdoor temperature indicator gradually increase. When we leave Grand Canyon, the temperature is 46 degrees. A few hours later, when we arrive at our hotel in Phoenix, it is 70 degrees. It feels good to be in the warm weather after the chilly air at the Grand Canyon, but I feel as if I've just reluctantly returned to earth after a sojourn on a high, lovely cloud. We know that Phoenix has its charms as well, and we look forward to discovering a few of them over the next couple of days.
October 25, 2006
Southwest Odyssey: Day 5
Day 5 of our trip is another flexible day; we have a hotel reservation tonight in Flagstaff, Arizona, but we have deliberately left our plans for what to do on the way there open. We consider checking out the Monument Valley Tribal Park (Monument Valley sits on Navajo Nation lands), but after the last two days in Arches and Canyonlands, we have been bitten by the hiking bug and are less interested in simply seeing the sights from a vehicle, which our guidebooks indicate is the primary method of exploring the tribal park. We consider simply heading straight for Flagstaff, to spend some time there with a possible side trip down to Sedona, and we are about to strike out in that direction when Doc Dregs says, "How far are we from the Grand Canyon?" Much to my surprise, he adds, "I've never been there." It's amazing the things you don't know about someone even after 10 years together.
I consult my map, and discover that in fact, we can easily get to Grand Canyon in a couple of hours, have time to take in the view and possibly do a little hiking, then drive to Flagstaff. I feel a little (okay, a lot) silly for not considering this while planning the trip. After all, I've never been to the Grand Canyon, either. But somehow, I had placed it too far west on my mental map, and thought it was too far out of our way. The guidebook we've relied on most, Lonely Planet Southwest USA, tells us that "visiting Arizona without seeing the Grand Canyon is like leaving your house without shoes," and we decide that we had better seize the opportunity before us and just go there. We say our farewells to Monument Valley, taking a few more pictures before we hit the road into Arizona.
Our drive takes us through the western portion of the Navajo Nation and the northwestern corner of The Painted Desert. The evolution and diversity of the landscape as we've traveled southward from Arches and the Moab area continues to astonish us: as we noticed yesterday in our Canyonlands excursion, the scenery is the same, and yet not the same. When we turn west, we catch a few glimpses of the Little Colorado River, and start to get excited as we approach the grandaddy of all national parks.
There is quite a climb involved as we approach the east entrance to the park. Elevation on the South Rim of Grand Canyon is over 7,000 feet, and we are pleasantly surprised to see the scrubby sagebrush of the lower elevations gradually give way to a pygmy forest of pinon and juniper, and then eventually (at around 6,500 feet) to a tall pine forest of Ponderosa. This scenery is delightfully familiar to us (both having spent our formative years in South Dakota's Black Hills), and it feels both welcoming and comforting after several days in the desert.
Our first stop after entering the park (our third national park in three days!) is the Desert View area, which includes the Watchtower, one of several historic structures on the South Rim of the canyon. As expected, there are many more people here than anywhere else we've been, but we are glad to be here at this time of the year when the crowds are relatively much smaller than during the summer months. Here we get our first views of the canyon, and although the scenery is familiar from countless photographs, we are still struck speechless. Nothing prepares you for the actual scope of the canyon, which is just completely overwhelming.
The sun is out, but it is cold and windy, and the storm clouds are ominously gathering to the west. We are hoping to fit in a short hike into the Canyon on the South Kaibab Trail before we need to head to Flagstaff (about 80 miles away), but it's beginning to look as if the weather isn't going to cooperate. We head back to the car, and drive west toward the visitor center, where we hope to catch a shuttle bus to the trailhead. Sure enough, as we drive, the clouds roll in and the rain begins. We park, and as we make a run for the visitor center, the huge, cold, wind-driven raindrops turn to sleet. The Canyon is now almost totally obscured by the storm clouds and rain; clearly, there's no way we're going to be hiking in this.
Deeply disappointed, we check out the exhibits in the visitor center, which are interesting and informative, but definitely not what we came here for. I try to joke about our bad luck, but we are both pretty upset at this turn of events. Having grown up on the edge of the West and knowing what to expect of its weather, we fully expect that this storm will pass quickly -- and we are not disappointed -- but by the time it does, there isn't enough daylight left for us to do our planned hike. We try to content ourselves with more views and photos from the rim in the Grand Canyon Village area, knowing that we will have to leave for Flagstaff soon. The storm has left some cloud remnants hanging over the formations in the Canyon, and their beauty provides a small consolation for what we will miss.
The Village itself is fairly astonishing to us as first-time visitors. It's almost a full-fledged town, with a post office, bank, and grocery store, in addition to the souvenir shops, bookstores, and lodges. It makes sense that the park would require such services to accomodate its 5 million annual visitors, but it comes as a bit of a shock to us after visiting Arches and Canyonlands, where such services are nonexistent. The buildings in the Village are a mishmash of historic structures on or near the rim (including the El Tovar Hotel and the Bright Angel Lodge) along with more recent buildings, most (unfortunately) in the utilitarian architectural styles prevalent in the 1960s. Still, despite its extreme degree of remove from the Canyon's wilderness, we find ourselves liking Grand Canyon Village. Both of us are simultaneoulsy attracted and slightly troubled by the ways in which it reminds us of Walt Disney World, and we make jokes about "Disney's Grand Canyon Experience." We recognize that hanging out on the Rim in Grand Canyon Village is one of the archetypal American national park experiences, which has, for better or worse, become in many ways inseparable from the natural wonder of the Canyon itself.
El Tovar is an extraordinary place in its own right, as we discover when we spend a few minutes warming up in the lobby. It's a classic national park lodge that reminds us of the Old Faithful Inn in Yellowstone, despite its architectural differences. Both of us are immediately seized with a strong desire to stay here, though we are sure it would be impossible to get a room for the night. Besides, we still have a hotel reservation in Flagstaff (which it's too late to cancel). But our desire to stay here combined with our disappointment that we did not get to hike into the Canyon today overcomes our better instincts, and Dr. Dregs inquires about room availability for the night ("it couldn't hurt to ask," we say to each other, fully expecting the inquiry to be met with laughter from the front desk staff). To our amazement, however, one room is still available: not in El Tovar, but in the neighboring (architecturally and historically undistinguished) Kachina Lodge. We take it, and the desk clerk tells Doc Dregs that it was literally the last room available in the park. We consider that a sign that we are meant to stay here tonight and spend another day at the Grand Canyon.
This means that we are sacrificing the cost of our hotel in Flagstaff (fortunately, it was relatively cheap), and that we won't have time to see Flagstaff and Sedona. We regret this, but now that we are here, we feel that Grand Canyon is too special a place to leave after such a short time. Our room in Kachina is extremely comfortable, having been recently remodeled, and though our room is on the side of the building with a view of the parking lot rather than the Canyon, we still feel the excitement of staying on the rim of the Grand Canyon. We hang out on the rim (with many of our fellow tourists, natch) waiting for the sunset and snap a few more pictures.
We have a surprisingly good dinner at the Arizona Room, one of the restaurants in the Village, and return to our room, exhausted but content, and sleep soundly until just before dawn.
October 24, 2006
Southwest Odyssey: Day 4
Today is one of our less planned days on the trip: we knew for certain that we would spend our first day in the Moab area at Arches, but we had several options for the second day, and had decided not to choose until after our day at Arches. Southeastern Utah presents an almost overwhelming number of choices for places to see and outdoor activities to engage in. We could return to Arches, and do the longer hikes that we hadn't had time for yesterday, including the hike up to Delicate Arch and the longer, more primitive route beyond Landscape Arch. Or we could visit Dead Horse Point State Park, renowned for its jaw-dropping views from above the Colorado River. If we visited Dead Horse Point, we could also see the nearby "Island in the Sky" section of Canyonlands National Park, a large, high mesa with similarly astonishing views of the Colorado and Green Rivers. Or we could opt for a visit to the "Needles" district of Canyonlands, which was the biggest unknown quantity to us. Needles is a long drive from Moab, and it is little developed and not much visited: there are very few roads accessible without a high-clearance 4WD vehicle. To see the park, hiking is absolutely necessary, and multiday hikes and backpacking trips are a common way to see the sights.
We ended up going to the Needles, for a few reasons: first, we were curious to see this bit of National Park land that most visitors to Utah's parks simply didn't bother with. Second, we were deeply drawn to the solitude that a hike in the Needles supposedly offered. Finally, one of our guidebooks recommended Needles in the strongest terms possible, saying that if by some tragic combination of circumstances, one could visit only one of southern Utah's national parks, it should be the Needles district of Canyonlands. This description intrigued us; any place that could elicit such a strong reaction from a travel writer surely deserved a day of our precious time. So we bought ourselves another picnic lunch at the grocery store in Moab, and headed south on US 191, the major route through southeastern Utah.
The drive south from Moab along 191 is not known as a scenic drive, but it can only be considered "not scenic" in the context of other southern Utah drives. Anywhere else, this route would easily be labeled "scenic," with swaths of flat, high desert interspersed with redstone cliffs and snowy mountain peaks. But the truly scenic part of the drive to Needles begins when you turn west off the main road, onto state highway 211, which dead-ends in Needles. As we approach the park, ranchland to our south contrasts with majestic red buttes to the north. Much of this land is apparently BLM land with few use restrictions, and we see backpackers and climbers heading off into the wilderness at several points along the road.
We see a few other cars as we enter the park, but we can tell the crowds are light here, since the booth at the park gate is unmanned and bears a sign instructing us to continue on to the visitor center to pay the entrance fee. We pull up to the visitor center, where ours is the only car in the lot. We buy our park pass from a friendly ranger, take a brief look at the exhibits in the visitor center, and get back on the road. Our goal is the Slickrock Trail hike, a 2.5 mile hike mostly along canyon rims that is supposed to offer amazing 360-degree views of the park.
We are not disappointed. This is a "primitive" trail, marked by cairns like the primitive trails in Arches. There are a handful of other hikers on the trail, but mostly we are blessedly alone. The day is beautiful, the desert full of vivid colors and deep silence. Canyonlands is both like Arches and unlike it: there's still plenty of red sandstone formations, but Canyonlands has a sheer variety of rock formations and colors that make it seem like a different world than Arches.
Here is a distant view of the formations that give the Needles district its name:
About halfway through the hike, we find a comfy spot on a rock near a canyon rim and settle down to eat our lunch. No one disturbs our peace while we eat; the handful of other hikers are nowhere to be seen. We press on when we finish eating. The Slickrock Trail has four viewpoints along the trail which are reached via short detours from the main trail. The first three are very short detours, and the viewpoints are suitably rewarding. But the fourth viewpoint requires a little more dedication to reach: it's quite far off the main trail and a little climbing and scrambling are necessary in order to reach it. When we get there, though, we find that it was well worth the extra hike:
We return to the car regretting that we have to leave Canyonlands soon if we are to make it to Monument Valley before dusk -- important because we plan to camp there, and don't want to pitch our tent in the dark. We toy with the idea of camping here in Needles instead, and taking more time tomorrow to hike another of the vast network of trails here, but reluctantly we decide that we don't want to miss Monument Valley. We have to move on, but we both feel strongly that we will return to Canyonlands someday to spend time hiking and camping. There is true desert solitude here, much more so than in Arches, and the diversity of the landscape is endlessly fascinating. We are so glad that we decided to visit this park, feeling that we've discovered a hidden gem -- not that any national park is truly "hidden," but this one, as the least visited of southern Utah's five parks, certainly qualifies as "hidden" by the terms of the myriad attractions in this area.
Back on the main road, our minds are still full of our Canyonlands experience, but there is plenty to see as we continue south on US 191. We pass through several small towns, and then: the most famous view in the Southwest is before us as we approach Monument Valley from the north. The landscape as we approach our evening destination is almost pure reds in various shades. Again, we marvel at the sheer variety of the Colorado Plateau.
Our goal is Gouldings, a large complex/borderline-tourist-trap originally founded as a trading post in the 1920s. Today, it includes a lodge, campground, several stores, a restaurant, and the original trading post building, which now serves as a museum full of information about the early years of the trading post and memorabilia from the many films shot in the area. The place was started by Harry Goulding, who worked closely with the Navajo and was almost single-handedly responsible for bringing the film industry to Monument Valley. It's a pretty neat place, in a kitschy sort of way. We set up our campsite and get some dinner at the restaurant, which includes a large piece of delicious, decadent Navajo frybread. The clouds we've seen on the southwest horizon all day move through during the night, and periodic rain showers make our sleep less than ideal, but out tent keeps us dry, and we wake to clearing skies with a view of sunrise over the Valley from our campsite.
October 23, 2006
Southwest Odyssey: Day 3
Today is the day our vacation begins in earnest: no more 10+ hour drives for us until next week. We begin our day in Moab grateful that we won't be spending most of it in the car. Our plan for today is to explore Arches National Park, the entrance of which is only two miles outside Moab.
But first things first: breakfast! We are sick of fast food, having eaten almost nothing else for the last two days, so we take the advice of a couple of our guidebooks and head for the Jailhouse Cafe, a breakfast-only place located in Moab's original jailhouse. Moab is a tourist town, and makes no bones about it: the long main drag is lined with hotels, motels, and restaurants, but there are many locally owned and operated places among the chains, including our motel, which is quite pleasant (and cheap). After breakfast, we go to the grocery store to pick up some sandwiches and fruit for lunch, since there are no food outlets in Arches.
As we're doing these things, we get our first view of the terrain surrounding the town, which we of course could not see in the darkness when we arrived late last night. The town is surrounded by high red cliff walls. It is beautiful and alien, a small sampling of what we will see in Arches. We couldn't ask for a better day: bright sun, no clouds, expected high of about 62 degrees. Perfect weather for desert hiking.
We enter the park with a few other cars (and a few road bikes -- Moab is renowned for mountain biking, but road cyclists find plenty of places to ride here, too), and stop at the visitor center, which was newly constructed only a year ago. We browse through the informational exhibits and buy Dr. Dregs a hat, since he neglected to bring one from home, and we know we won't have much shade today. Then it's onward into the park. Arches has a few relatively short scenic drives, from which many of the park's most famous formations can be seen, but there are also a large number of short hiking trails which allow you to get up close and personal with the red and orange sandstone.
We stop first at "Park Avenue," where we are able to hike along a canyon bottom lined on either side with formations resembling buildings and towers:
This is our warm-up in a sense, and we hike back out of the canyon eager for the next chance to walk. We hike a short trail around Balanced Rock before moving onto the Windows Section of the park, where we take a slightly longer hike on a "primitive" trail (marked only by rock cairns) that circles the formations. Arches is a small park, and it is heavily visited, so there isn't much solitude to be had. Still, at this time of the year, the crowds are relatively light, and getting off the beaten path away from the classic "photo op" spots means that we do find ourselves alone for short periods of time. There is no wind today, and the desert is almost eerily quiet away from the other park visitors. It is very beautiful, very peaceful, and very calming -- just what we needed after two long days in the car.
We stop to eat our lunch at the trailhead for the Delicate Arch hike, which is near a log cabin that was the homestead of a family that tried to ranch in this area near the turn of the 20th century. It is hard to imagine what it must have been like to live out here, with very little water and almost total isolation. We consider making the hike to Delicate Arch (one of Utah's state symbols), which is about a 3 mile round trip, but decide to simply go to the viewpoint instead. Once we have hiked up to the viewpoint (about half a mile), we wish we had done the full hike: we can see the hikers up on the ridge near the arch, and it would be great to get that close to it. But there's a lot more to see, and the daylight won't last forever, so we move on.
As we continue along the scenic drive through the park, we are treated to several views of distant snow-peaked mountains (the La Sal Mountains) rising above and beyond the red sandstone cliffs, towers, and arches. The contrast between lanscapes is at once unspeakably beautiful and confusing. I am sure that such contrasts are not confusing to residents of the Southwest, but to us, from a land of lakes, rivers, greenery, and gentle, gradual changes in topography, the extremes are jarring. This area of the country is frequently described as "alien," and it's the most accurate adjective we can come up with. It is a beautiful, special place, but it is alien and even hostile. It's a sharp contrast to the Rocky Mountains, which for all their size and drama, seem comfortingly familiar compared to this landscape.
In the Devil's Garden area, there are several arches to see, including Tunnel Arch, Pine Tree Arch, and Landscape Arch. Getting to Tunnel Arch and Pine Tree Arch requires a short hike off the main trail, and this is where we find the most solitude of the day, since most of the crowd seems to be focused on getting to the very famous Landscape Arch. Again, we are bowled over by the pure silence and peace of the desert, and wish we had more time to spend here.
Finally, we approach Landscape Arch, which appears just as improbable in reality as it does in pictures. At its thinnest point, the informational signs tell us, the arch is only six feet thick, and a big chunk of it fell only 15 years ago, in 1991. It is entirely possible that the arch won't be here any longer, should we ever return. We snap a few pictures, and wish we had the energy (and enough daylight) to do the longer hike from here that would show us several more arches and get us further away from the crowds in the park, but we will have to save that for another time.
On the way back from Landscape Arch, we strike up a friendly conversation with a middle-aged Tennessee couple who are vacationing in the national parks of southern Utah. As for us, this is their first trip out here. They are excited about everything they have seen so far, and they have clearly fallen in love with the high desert. I imagine that most people who visit here must; the beauty and the mystery of the place are not exactly welcoming, but they are irresistible.
We drive out of the park as the daylight begins to fade, and make one last stop at the visitor center to learn a little more about the forces that made a place like this. Then it's back into town for dinner and bed. We dine at a pleasant brewpub in downtown Moab, but we are both exhausted and almost fall asleep over our (very good) beers. Then it's back to our motel for a quick dip in the hot tub -- such a relief after a day of hiking -- and another long, deep sleep.
October 22, 2006
Southwest Odyssey: Day 2
Today marks our second day of marathon driving, made more difficult by our late departure from Holdrege. We had a pleasant if brief visit with my mother -- but not quite brief enough, considering the distance we planned to cover today: more than 700 miles across Nebraska and Colorado to Moab, Utah, which will serve as our base of operations for the next couple of days. We didn't manage to leave Holdrege until after 11:00 this morning, which in light of the 11-12 hour drive we were facing wasn't the best way to begin our day's journey. At any rate, we finally got on the road and headed west.
I-80 across western Nebraska and I-76 across northeastern Colorado cover a huge swath of dusty, increasingly dry prairie, dotted with ranches and a few small towns. The landscape is pretty in a desolate, almost eerie, sort of way, but we are more than ready to be past the high plains when Denver and the Rocky Mountains finally appear on the horizon. Because it is Sunday, negotiating Denver traffic is not a problem, and we merge smoothly onto I-70, which will take us across central and western Colorado and into Utah. Doc Dregs is familiar with the Denver area, having been an undergraduate at the University of Wyoming (which is just a couple of hours up the road in Laramie), but to my surprise, this particular route is mostly new to him. As for me, I traveled this route once before, many years ago: when I was 9 years old, we took a family road trip to southern California. My memories of this drive are vague, since as a 9-year-old, I was far more interested in reading my books and fighting with my brother than in appreciating the dramatic alpine scenery. And oh, is it ever dramatic. Doc Dregs and I both grew up in and around the Black Hills of South Dakota, which are friendly little pine-forested mountains (mostly 5,000-7,000 feet in elevation). The terrain of the Colorado Rockies is both familiar in the ways that it resembles the Black Hills, and jarringly unfamiliar in the sheer size and scale of the peaks.
Our little car struggles to climb the Rockies, even on the relatively tame interstate. Still, between Denver and the Eisenhower Tunnel -- a distance of only 60 miles -- we must climb nearly 6,000 feet. Slowly but surely, though, we ascend to 11,158 feet, and cross the Continental Divide. The air is thin at 11,000 feet, and we find ourselves feeling a bit breathless and oxygen-deprived until we've descended a bit. As we approach the tunnel, we appreciate the results of last week's snowstorm, which has left the slopes and trees with a pristine white coat. Apparently, the mountain goats also appreciate the view from I-70, since we pass three or four of them simply standing on the shoulder of the road. The late afternoon sun blazes, and there is not a cloud in the sky: this is a picture-postcard day on I-70 and we feel lucky to be passing through today.
We are in a hurry, so we don't stop as much to take pictures as we would like. But there is a scenic viewpoint a few miles past the Eisenhower Tunnel where we simply must stop. With a view of Dillon Reservoir surrounded by snow-capped mountain peaks, the scenery is too lovely to bypass without a picture or two:
We can't linger long, since the daylight is fading, and we know the drive will be much harder once darkness falls. Unfortunately, our late start deprives us of daylight to appreciate the views of Glenwood Canyon, supposedly one of the loveliest stretches of the U.S. Interstate Highway system. We are still able, however, to marvel at the engineering achievements involved in road-and-tunnel building through the Rocky Mountains, and to look foward to a return visit to explore Colorado more thoroughly.
Of course, the view from I-70 is only the tiniest taste of the Rockies, and it's a pretty compromised one at that. Along much of the road, tourist and resort towns flank the mountainsides; it all seems just a little too civilized and comfortable considering the (insert string of trite adjectives here) majestic and terrible grandeur of the Rockies. We are both amused and troubled (though grateful, considering how far we have yet to drive) at the seemingly endless strip of highway through which there is a Starbucks at every exit. I'm not opposed to development, and I certainly appreciate the opportunities afforded by the modern world for the enjoyment of wilderness without too much privation. But it seems a little too easy to take this amazing landscape for granted when it's all so settled and overdeveloped. This is the first time of many that the conflict between wilderness and civilization will be presented to us in such an obvious way. It's a well-known theme of the contemporary American West that is emphasized by the simple act of passing through: the miraculous event of being able to traverse the Rockies in a few hours in the comfort of a climate-controlled vehicle reminds us of how far we are from a fundamental experience of nature.
We stop for a quick dinner in Grand Junction, Colorado, before forging onward the last 100 miles or so to Moab, which lies 30 miles south of I-70 not far from the Colorado border. The darkness west of Grand Junction and into Utah is so deep that it's oppressive and almost threatening. There are very few other cars on this stretch of road, and we feel very alone as we enter the high desert. We are exhausted and relieved when we finally reach our hotel in Moab, and very glad to have long days of driving behind us for now.
October 21, 2006
Southwest Odyssey: Day 1
Dr. Dregs and I are off on an old-fashioned road trip. Over the next week and a half, we will pass through (or spend time in) seven states and drive over 4,000 miles. The goal is to get the barest sampling of the terrain and the culture of the Southwestern U.S., an area in which neither of us has ever really traveled. We have maps, guidebooks, our trusty little car, some camping gear, and a handful of hotel reservations, but our plans are flexible to a degree and may change depending on what we decide we would like to do.
Of course, any road trip to the Southwest from Minnesota involves an initial investment of lots of driving time. Today, our first day of the trip, is the only day that we traveled a familiar route: from Minneapolis to Holdrege, Nebraska, the small south-central Nebraska town where my mother lives. There are a couple of possible routes: the easiest but most boring follows I-35 south to Des Moines, Iowa, then follows I-80 west to central Nebraska. We take this route sometimes for efficiency's sake, but the natural beauty of neither Minnesota nor Iowa is on display along this route. Instead, we opted today to take US 169 southwest to Mankato, which is a lovely drive through the Minnesota River valley, and then MN 60 to the Iowa border. That highway is picked up at the border by IA 60, which takes us to Sioux City (around which the terrain is surprisingly hilly), where we pick up I-29. I-29 takes us to Omaha, where we join I-80 for the long trek across the Nebraska prairie. The total journey by either route takes around 9 or 10 hours, depending on how fast one drives and how many stops one makes.
Compared to what we will see over the next week, today's drive is not particularly scenic or memorable. But even though the drive along I-80 across Nebraska is much maligned for its length and lack of interest, I enjoy it, particularly on the occasions when we are traveling west toward the sunset. The gradual transition from the gentle hills of eastern Nebraska to the low plains, and then eventually to the high plains of the central and western parts of the state has its own kind of quiet, dignified beauty. The sky is as big here as it is in Montana, and nothing makes that clearer than driving into a prairie sunset.
My mother is graciously putting us up tonight, and tomorrow, we will strike forth into an area that is mostly terra incognita for us, as we cover 700 miles from Holdrege to Moab, Utah.
September 02, 2005
Change of plans
We were supposed to be on the road to the Black Hills today, to visit family and attend the wedding of a friend. We have opted instead to stay home and donate what we planned to spend on gas to the Red Cross. Just seemed like the right thing to do.
We're sorry to be missing the wedding, but I know Kristi and Jason know we wish them all the best. And it looks like it will be a beautiful weekend in the Twin Cities, so we'll take advantage of it by biking, hiking with the dog, grilling with friends, and generally just being thankful that we're safe and well.
June 28, 2005
Tarmac torture
Having spent a lovely if utterly exhausting (and ridiculously hot) five days in Chicago attending the annual conference of the American Library Association, my colleague and friend Cecilia and I made our way out to O'Hare yesterday afternoon for our return journey to Minneapolis -- an odyssey all by itself, 45 minutes on the CTA Blue Line with luggage. Having arrived at O'Hare, checked in for our flight, and passed through security without incident, we had some food and cold beverages while we awaited our flight, set to depart at 8 PM. All was well, and we expected to be home to the Twin Cities by 9:30.
It wasn't long before the gate agent announced that the flight was delayed because of "aircraft availability." Fortunately, this was supposedly only to delay our departure until 8:30. We assumed this had something to do with the previous flight out of our gate, to Washington DC, which was supposed to depart at 5 but didn't actually leave until 8.
We finally boarded the plane around 8:45, and began taxiing toward the runway. We had been taxiing for what seemed like forever (prompting the nice man sitting next to me to suggest that perhaps we were just going to drive the plane to Minneapolis rather than flying) when the pilot made an announcement: severe thunderstorms in Minneapolis had forced MSP to close: no one was taking off, and no one was landing. We were lucky we hadn't already taken off, or else we would likely have been diverted.
The bad news: we were going to sit in the airplane waiting to take off until MSP reopened -- air traffic control estimated it would be at least an hour. On top of that, the engine had to be shut down in order to conserve fuel, which meant no air conditioning on our jam-packed 737. This on a day where the high in Chicago had been 95 degrees -- and at 9 PM at O'Hare, it was still 85 and sticky.
After a few minutes of this and a near-revolt by the passengers, the flight attendants were finally convinced to serve ice water (although they were sympathetic, and suffering as much as we were, they were concerned about running out of ice and water). This helped a little, but as the minutes crept by, the plane got hotter and hotter. Finally, one of the flight attendants went to speak to the crew, who announced a few minutes later that they could run one engine to supply a little environmental relief. Everyone on the plane cheered.
It wasn't exactly cool after that, but at least it was tolerable. Around 10 PM, the pilot announced that he had some good news and some bad news: the good news was that MSP had reopened and we would probably be cleared for takeoff within about 15 minutes. The bad news: our flight was to be completely rerouted in order to avoid the bad weather. We were going to fly to the border of South Dakota and then turn around so we could approach MSP from the west rather than the east. At first the pilot said we were flying to the "western border of South Dakota," which predictably got a reaction of protest and horror from the passengers. But he quickly corrected himself -- it was really the eastern border of SD. Nevertheless, the reroute meant that our flight time would be increased by about half an hour.
Finally, just before 10:30, we were cleared for takeoff. Considering the massive thunderstorms nearby, the flight was remarkably smooth -- good for me, since I hate and fear flying (although I know how safe it is). We were at the gate just after midnight. MSP was a mess, with planes lined up for takeoff, full of people who were going to be arriving at their destinations sometime in the middle of the night, and thousands of people and bags milling around the baggage claim. John sat an eternity (or so it seemed to me) in traffic waiting to pick me up, and I finally made it home around 1 AM.
The whole experience seemed like a horrible ordeal to me, as well as to many of my fellow passengers. The funny thing is, that although the climate control situation was suboptimal to say the least, we were really only on the plane for a total of about three and a half hours -- not such a long time in the grand scheme of things (just ask my in-laws, who had the grave misfortune of sitting in the middle section of a DC-10 on a transatlantic flight yesterday). But your mental preparedness has a lot to do with your perception of such events, and we expected a quick, trivial, up-and-down flight from Chicago to Minneapolis. What we got was, well, not that.
Cecilia and I thought we were being so smart and frugal by deciding to fly home Monday night instead of Tuesday morning. We saved ourselves one night of hotel expenses after all, even if we did have to skip out of the conference a little too early to hear David Sedaris read late Monday afternoon. In this particular case, we outsmarted ourselves. But we're home now, the conference was good, and all is well.
February 02, 2005
Great Plains Odyssey
Sorry about the relatively protracted silence, but Dr. Dregs and I just spent a few days in fabulous Rapid City, SD, our hometown, where we traveled to visit the Dregs ancestral home and play in a wind ensemble concert sponsored by the Black Hills Symphony Orchestra.
We make the 600-mile pilgrimage to Rapid City several times a year, usually traveling there and returning in the space of three days. As a result, we are bored, bored, bored with our usual route (I-90 from Rapid City to Worthington, MN, then MN 60 to Mankato, and finally US 169 into the Twin Cities). So on Monday, about 180 miles into our trip, with the whole day to get home and new roadmaps in hand, we decided to venture off the beaten path and see some new sights.
We exited I-90 at the tiny town of Reliance, about twelve miles west of the Missouri River. From there, we took SD 47 a bit north and across the Missouri at the Big Bend Dam. After passing through Fort Thompson, we picked up SD 34 to about 20 miles south of Huron, SD where we turned north on SD 37 toward Huron. At Huron, we headed east on US 14, which took us to St. Peter, MN, where we joined US 169, our usual final leg.
Over the course of our drive (which ended up taking not much longer than our normal route), we passed through many small farm towns in both states. The experience of travel on a deserted two-lane highway across the prairie always makes me feel especially desolate and alone, and this trip was no different. The combination of the sparse population with the vastness of the land brings home how alien rural life is to me. Even though I lived my early years in a small Nebraska farm town (pop. 5,600), I have no sense for what it is like to live in a town of just a few hundred souls, miles (perhaps even hours) from the nearest town of any real size. It's nearly unimaginable to me, and while I'm not likely to leave my comfortable urban existence behind to find out what it's like living out there on the plains, I am curious enough to wish I could get closer to the experience than simply reading about it.
Another thing we noticed with wonder as we passed from South Dakota into Minnesota on US 14 was how suddenly different the towns and the land are once you have crossed the border. The flat, open prairie is mostly left behind, replaced with gentle hills, small lakes, and many more trees. The towns are also different: in Minnesota, they are just as small, but there are more of them, and they are closer together. The Minnesota towns also seem somehow prouder: cleaner, better maintained, and generally just more attractive. Many of the South Dakota towns have a sad, half-abandoned, ramshackle quality, as if the inhabitants are simply too few and too tired to do more than they must. I suspect the reality is that these differences demonstrate the two states' divergent approaches to government services and taxation over the decades: South Dakotans have one of the lowest tax burdens in the nation, and their towns and highways show the neglect that comes of necessity from smaller state revenues.
Traveling on the billboard-littered interstate, it's just about impossible to get a sense for what the original white settlers of the Great Plains must have felt upon first encountering this vast, open space. An inkling of that can be had once you leave the well-traveled routes. Yes, even away from the main roads, you are surrounded by modern infrastructure: the paved highway, the endless power lines, the satellite dishes on every farmhouse. But it's easier to imagine how terrifying yet exciting the prairie must have been for the pioneers. To me, this is proof that as exhilirating as travel to distant, foreign places can be, it's hardly necessary to venture so far to realize how much I don't know and haven't experienced.
October 04, 2004
Pardon my French
Well, Montreal was lovely: the weather was mostly gorgeous, the conference was worthwhile, and the city itself is a great place to spend a couple of days -- especially if you want to practice your French! Since I spent most of my time in meetings, I didn't have a chance to see many of the sights, but we did have enough free time to do a few things:
- On Friday night, we attended a conference reception at the McCord Museum of Canadian History. The museum is on the campus of McGill University in downtown Montreal. The very attractive building was constructed in 1992. The permanent exhibition, "Simply Montreal," on the history of the city was informative and amusing -- especially the portions dealing with Montreal's extreme winters, which made us Minnesotans alternately laugh and shudder in recognition.
- Our hotel was in Montreal's Quartier Latin, just a block from Saint-Denis Street. This very hip area of the city is mostly Francophone, and is home to many wonderful restaurants, bars, shops, and coffee houses. We were frequently the only English-speaking people in a restaurant -- but servers (who are no doubt accustomed to loads of tourists) were always very friendly and willing to switch to English. A little knowledge of French was essential for understanding restaurant menus, though!
- With no meetings scheduled for Saturday night, we decided on a lark to try and catch a concert. The concierge at our hotel helpfully located a performance by the McGill University Symphony Orchestra that was to be held at a church only six blocks from the hotel. We didn't know what the orchestra would be performing, but with tickets only $10 each, we decided to give it a try. The church turned out to be the spectacular and monumental neo-Baroque Saint Jean Baptiste Church, and the repertoire was Mahler's 2nd Symphony ("Resurrection"), performed by a massive orchestra and chorus, including the church's immense organ in the finale. The packed house enjoyed an exciting and moving performance. It was a great way to spend our free evening.
- Finally, on Sunday, we had a couple of hours to spare before catching our late-afternoon flight home, so we wandered down Saint-Denis Street to the National Film Board of Canada's CineRobotheque. The CineRobotheque is basically a huge video-on-demand system: you pay an extremely modest fee for an hour or two of access, choose your own comfy viewing station, and select the film you wish to view using an intuitive touch-screen database. A robot then retrieves the laserdisc for your choice and places it in a player. Within a couple of minutes, you're watching your film. The NFB has produced an impressively diverse body of films over the years; I used my hour at the CineRobotheque to sample several amusing animated shorts with a musical theme.
This was my first trip to Montreal, but I hope it won't be my last. I have to take Dr. Dregs there, at the very least, so he can experience the CineRobotheque for himself.
September 20, 2004
To Chicago and back in 48 hours
John and I made a flying trip to Chicago this weekend to visit Wendy and David. Here are some highlights and observations from the trip:
- We left St. Paul at 10:45 PM Friday night, following a St. Paul Chamber Orchestra concert we didn't want to miss (it was worth it). Both of us managed to stay awake during the entire four-hour drive to Madison--something only made possible by the combination of strong coffee, sugar overload thanks to Krispy Kreme donuts, and a manically uptempo iPod playlist I created especially for the occasion. Eric and Charlotte generously allowed us to crash their place at 3 AM for sleep and brunch before heading onward. Although we survived, I don't think we'll want to try the same thing again anytime soon!
- As we fought our way through excruciating traffic driving into Chicago on Saturday afternoon, and then fought our way back out on Sunday afternoon, we considered the question of whether we would be happy living in a city as large as Chicago. The crush of social and cultural diversity is exhilarating and deeply appealing. But the crowding, chaos, and expense would be hard to adjust to. Tough call.
- Wendy and David live in a great apartment in the Wicker Park neighborhood in Chicago, an eclectic area quite convenient to the Loop where it feels like the changes wrought by gentrification are happening before your very eyes. One of the most interesting things about their location is its relative proximity to the infamous Cabrini-Green housing projects, which are currently being demolished and replaced with mixed-income redevelopment, while high-income residential development goes on around its edges. The Cabrini-Green redevelopment is a mishmash of contentious negotiations, lawsuits, politics, and personal stories that adds up to an extremely compelling tale. Chicago's struggle to find a way out of its public housing mess is emblematic of what's going on in cities around the nation. Looking for more information, I stumbled across this recent series of columns from the Chicago Tribune (free registration may be required, but highly recommended -- the columns are worth it).
- We spent part of early Sunday afternoon exploring the brand-new Millennium Park in downtown Chicago, which includes a beautiful amphitheater designed by Frank Gehry as well as a number of other pieces of striking and entertaining public art. Unfortunately, we didn't have a camera with us, but this photo essay captures the sights far better than we could have.
- On the way home, we grabbed some dinner at the Culver's in downtown Wisconsin Dells. We didn't have time to see much. But having grown up in the Black Hills, we were both nostalgically amused by how the main street is just a larger version of Keystone's, especially as we remember it in the 1980s. Cheesy t-shirt shops, various tourist-trap type attractions, and the vaguely old-west styling of the place are all reassuring proof that there's still demand for old-fashioned, warts-and-all Americana.
It was a very enjoyable trip, however brief!