Over The Hoover

Leaving the Grand Canyon is only exciting because after we experience the Hoover Dam, we’re heading straight to the Kern River where we work as whitewater rafting guides in the summer time.

We enter the Hoover Dam via a 5 mph zone crawling with officials scanning vehicles for bombs, illegal immigrants, errant agricultural items and God knows what else. I’m finding it comical that our officer is paying special attention to us, as if beneath our yoga mats we’ve concealed ten kilos of cocaine and three Mexican slaves. After a benign drilling by the pudgy man, he lets us through with a crooked smile and we speed up ever so slightly toward the parking lot before shooting a ridiculous amount of photos. I remember visiting the Dam as a little girl and seeing it as a man-made miracle, genius really. However, as an adult I have adopted a more environmentally motivated perspective, and while the massive amount of concrete alone is astounding, I can’t help but wonder what incredible pieces of canyon we have swallowed beneath Lake Mead.


Crossing into Nevada, our 19th state, we decide to circumnavigate Vegas and keep a quick clip directly to the Kern, stopping only for pee breaks. I am ready to be in my tree house (OMG!!!) and Bridget is anxious to see Matt. As we have been nearing the end of our trip, despite my desire to be a sponge for each experience, I have been needing stillness. This road trip has been challenging my communicative ability as well teaching me humility. Given the amount of time we have been on the road, it isn’t surprising that annoyances occur on an hourly basis, reciprocally. But what am I going to do? Hike out? Give up? Take a bus? The small things that occasionally annoy me (and there are probably double the amount that annoy Brij) are inconsequential in comparison to the stake I have in our friendship. When I find myself quieting the petulant child in my head, I simultaneously delve into a deeper level of friendship with this free-spirit in the driver’s seat.

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.