National Park-ing Day

Our day, beginning with the Arches argument, is packed with multiple National Parks spanning from Utah to Colorado to Arizona and back to Utah. A banquette of canyon blanketed with cacti and sagebrush ushers us to Mesa Verde National Park where we commune with ruins the Anasazi left behind in their mysterious disappearance 700 years ago. We lunch on our staple wrap of avocado, cilantro, spinach, hummus, and cucumber as the wind whips our faces on a cliff overlooking the four surrounding states, though we can’t decipher where one begins and another ends.

It’s just a short drive to Four Corners National Monument where we find a “closed” sign. Since there’s controversy over whether the monument is actually on the four corners, we figure our presence counts. Just for good measure we perform headstands for the other disappointed travelers and flip off the gated institution for wasting our gas. We peel out, meeting more high winds that attempt to rob us of valuables from the backseat as offerings to the desert gods. I unbuckle to adjust the load in perfect time for a state trooper, from which state I couldn’t tell you, to witness my heroic efforts. Anxiety ensues as his lights flash behind us, but thankfully the sweet officer takes pity on two organizationally challenged east coasters and offers us a warning.

We drive over Glen Canyon Dam, watching sand being swept into wave-patterns along the highway as we weave toward Bryce Canyon National Park. Around nine pm and 8,000 feet, we embark on a steep, winding road anticipating a campground twelve miles and 1500 vertical feet away…
Still Anticipating…
STILL ANTICIPATING…
Where is that damn campground?!
It seems that the scale on Rand McNally’s Atlas is slightly off; or maybe we are just exhausted. After an hour and a half search for the fabled campground at Bryce, we bag the idea for a 30-degree-night in the convertible.

Warning: Driving Causes Emotional Carnage

It’s 5:30 am on day… oh… 40 of our road trip and we are waking to catch the rising sun peep through the Arches outside Moab, Utah.
“Can you please roll that yoga mat a little tighter,” I squeeze through my cranky lips.
The roll of Bridget’s eyes is not invisible under her head lamp patched with hot pink duct tape.
“Why is she packing the car like that? Why is this taking so long? How does she expect me to know where her things are… why should I?” I realize my emotions are hi-jacking my brain and that means one thing: I need time alone.
Departing from Windows Arches after the sun’s performance, I reveal my emotional state to Bridget.
“Yes. You do,” she replies, sparing no candor.
Now, anyone who knows me can already sense the heat of anger bursting through my body. “Abbie, you’re losing it. Don’t blow up. Calm down,” grown-up Abbie attempts to assuage child-Abbie’s tantrum.
“Bridget, when I tell you what I need, how about you just say ‘okay’ instead of telling me what YOU think I need!”
“Well, I don’t like that you take your morning grumpiness out on me,” Bridget retorts.
“Well, I don’t like that you lose your things and then ask me about them in an accusatory tone!” My eyes are growing to be the size of saucers from one of my childhood cartoons.
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Bridget deflects.
“Oh, great. Well, I’ll point it out next time you do it,” I offer, ever so graciously.
“Fine. I don’t agree with you. Stop trying to get me to agree with you!!!”

We tether frustrations for a half hour, driving further into Arches National Park and trying desperately to enjoy millions-of-years-old geologic formations despite our highway-induced blowout. Let me reiterate that it’s six am, only days away from the end of a five-week-long road trip. Bridget is one of my favorite friends to fight with because both of us want it to be over as fast and healthily as possible. By eight, we are sipping Starbucks on our way to Mesa Verde, already laughing, anticipating this to be one of the funniest stories from our trip.