Salt Lake City to Bryce: In Which the Author Travels from Salt Lake City to Bryce Canyon National Park

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In Which the Author Leaves Salt Lake City to Travel to Bryce Canyon National Park via Dixie National Forest
Saturday, August 22, 2009

After dropping off Jennifer at the Salt Lake City International Airport, I hit I-15 outta’ town, realizing that I was missing the city and its heavy Mormon-influenced culture and architecture, but I just couldn’t bring myself to dip into a place where religion has such an influence. I got enough trouble not believing anything at all. A stop 25 miles south in a suburb (will the mountains bordering the east, all the valleys contain hours, commerce, and industry), I stopped at a local Smiths (?), parking the truck in the shade (I have a mid-cab window as well, and with the camper top, the window can remain open—I also crack the side windows. The sun was blazing; it was the first of 3 hours in the hot sun.
I picked up some food (I now have quite a bit), including some veggie burgers (Morningstar is consistently more expensive than Boca, registering a hefty 4.79 vs. 3.99) and some dog food (Kroger brand) ridiculously cheap (must be the “slurry leftovers”), at $1.99 for a five pound bag; the label, curiously enough, was only printed in Spanish. I also bought a pound of baby Swiss (cheese = yammers) and, along with the veggie burgers placed them in a small cooler. I later, under the blazing sun, splurged and bought a 44 ounce Diet Dr. Pepper and filled Jennifer’s pre-flight lunch cup with ice. I got that for free (I was going to state, “I like to be able to control the temperature of the drinks,” if asked, but the personable salesclerk gave it to me—no problem. I then took the cup of ice and used it in the small cooler, thus guaranteeing food that I was more accustomed to (and had not seen in a month).
Heading down I-15, the sun was streaming through the front windows (it was just after noon. Luckily, after 3 hours of the head, clouds formed. I could see rain between the highway and the mountains, but as is often the case, the obvious rain was evaporating before most of the drops hit the surface. In any case, the thick dark clouds provided welcome relief from the sun.
The highway, which evolved from strip malls to fields of grazing cattle, parallels a number of north-south mountain ranges (all National Forests), including the Wasatch, Fishland, and finally, on Holdenbrock’s (This Land: A Guide to National Forests) recombination, to the Dixie National Forest. His statement, something to the effect of, “The Strawberry Point viewing area is among the best sights one could see in any National Forest.” And, although it was hard to follow his somewhat scholarly writing and the books insufficiently detailed maps, I finally found the spot and drove the 6 miles (through a small “neighborhood” of about 50 cabins and privately-owned lands with cabins) to the point. A 40 foot narrow ridge leads out over a beautiful red canyon; beyond was pine tree-covered mountains. Unfortunately, the short ½ mile trail was closed for some reason, so I could not benefit from seeing Cascade Falls, which flow from Duck Lake four miles away through lava tubes. Curiously, when emerging from the viewing area, a truck pulled up with 4 Alcohol, Firearms and Tobacco federaldies, who proceeded to march down the trail. Maybe there was a mountain meth lab or something. Sophie and I, after traveling east of Cedar City, exiting I-15 at exit 75, drove down Hwy 143, through the ski village of Brian Head (there’s big mountain biking in Utah) to view the Cedar Breaks National Monument, a great canyon of colors. We hit 14 and headed east with the plan of finding somewhere to camp. After reaching the edge of the National Forest, I turned the truck around, headed back 2 miles, and took a left at a promising sign “Sunset Point.” By the time I had driven the 10 miles down the well-maintained (save the dotted rocks), but narrow dirt road, the sun had already set. Although really tired, I force myself to cook some Zataran’s Rice and Beans, along with 2 veggie burgers. Sophie chowed down on her Spanish dog food, and just as we finished, the rain started. It lazily drizzled as I worked on the ever-growing photos in the tent. I could tell that I was on a somewhat large, flat ridge and that I was surrounded by white canyons on 3 sides. I slept very well, knowing that I was only 40 miles from Bryce Canyon National Park, my Sunday morning destination. I really wanted to be able to get a spot at one of the walk-up sites to be able to explore the park for a few days.
In the morning, I took a short walk with Sophie and ate the remainder of the rice and beans, along with a big mug of coffee. It was slightly overcast, but certainly warm enough to keep last night’s cargo shorts and t-shirt on (again). It was nice to be a bit away from the city, although a chatting partner (and camp co-worker) Jennifer was missed. I could see cars in the valley, but at no point in time did any unnatural noise or cars come anywhere near me. Plus, the camping, as is the case in any National Forest (outside of their established campgrounds, which range from twelve to fifteen bucks), was free.
After washing the dishes and stuffing the tent back into the truck, it started to rain with intensity for about 15 minutes, and then stopped. It was a little more scary driving back down the mountain, as the road was somewhat slick and the drops far (I’d fair well with my seatbelt, but Sophie…). I drove through meadows, and after reaching Hwy 89 (the west’s true scenic by-way friend), turned north. The smooth roads let me travel 65 again. Small “cabin hotels” dotted the highway, and gas was suddenly 2.89, the highest I’d seen thus far.
Before entering Bryce, one must pass through Red Canyon, a delicious taste of what’s to come. The Dixie National Park volunteers were not that helpful, but I was able to through away last night’s trash (along with the trash collected at the campsite), plus, finally, recycle a bag of metals.
Entering Bryce Canyon National Park, and avoiding the twenty-five dollar admission fee with my Annual Pass, I went immediately to the North campground, and saw that it was ¾ full. Loop “D” is a tents only loop, and I was pleasantly surprised to find an outer spot with an unobstructed view of, dare I say it, boring pine forest. I self-registered for 3 nights, happy to be in the same spot for a while (exact change is necessary; otherwise, it’s a “donation” to the Park). The sites are currently $15 a night.
Sophie and I headed for the Visitors Center; she stayed in the cool, over-cast space of the truck while I sat outside the door and stole electricity, simultaneously charging the cell phone, computer, and MP3 player (I had been listening on the I-15 ride Velvet Underground, Drive-by Truckers, and early Rolling Stones). I was surprised to get cell phone service, and called Jennifer, who had a decent flight home (even though she had to change planes in Dallas), but since work was being done on the Blue Line El train, had to be ferried via bus between points. Nonetheless, our two cats were fine and anxious to see her (our cat Moxie has been sleeping on Sophie’s bed on the floor the whole time we’ve been gone). I also called an old college friend who lives in Seattle; we made very tentative plans for a reunion in Denver.
At about 2 p.m. local time, it was time to explore the park. Bryce Canyon’s geographic evolution involved millions of years of millions of gallons of water eroding away soft rocks and dirt, leaving intricate and naturally artistic colorful rocks. The sun is a big factor, highlighting the hues and bringing them forth. The park is a decent place to travel with a dog, as the 20 mile, single 2-lane road, the only artery through the park, has convenient turn-offs and parking areas, which allow for quick visits to about 20 different canyons/features in the park. Tomorrow’s weather might not facilitate such care-free photo ops (meaning, if the car is too hot for Sophie), but today’s weather was perfect—hot in the sun, but cool and breezy otherwise. I drove all the way to the end of the Park, to Rainbow Point. The scenery is truly spectacular, with most photos, although decently-composed, falling short in the hue department. I also experience the same reaction in the Grand Canyon, where my knees got shaky and I became a bit dizzy (the altitude is about 6500-8000 ft). It’s just too overwhelming.
One the return trip, I also visited Black Birch Canyon, the Natural Bridge, and Swamp Canyon, all pictured below. I have the feeling that, much like Yellowstone, most folks never leave the road and that the true key to a wonderful experience is to hike down into the canyons amongst the wonderful red and white rocks. Also, this park is a “morning and evening” park, meaning that the best viewing times are often really early and really late.

I felt that Sophie had spent too much time in the car, so at 6 p.m., I headed back to the campground for a meal of 2 fried veggie burgers (a real treat, as we NEVER fry anything at home) and a can of corn. I read up on the park, combed Sophie on her sleeping bag outside the tent, and relaxed for a few minutes.
Emerging from the flush-toilet bathrooms, which also contain a power outlet if I get desperate for juice, I chatted with a late 50-ish/early 60-ish man from southeast Kansas. His simple tent was set up next to his 2007 all-black Harley. Eric, who, like me, has been out on the road for a month, was an amiable Republican who retired early from the phone company (they offered him a full year’s salary plus continued medical coverage). Like many “slightly older than me” folks that I’ve met on this trip, he makes a conscience goal to travel and do what he likes to do. He first rode up to Washington State, then down through Oregon along the coast and through the rainforest (his favorite part of the trip), into Northern California, Idaho, and down in to Zion National Park, then here. We chatted for a while about Harleys (“The company will probably not survive, as the kids are buying the “crotch rockets.”), Sturgis (“I can’t go there anymore—I get into too much trouble), and tents and travel routines. He is carrying, obviously, all his materials on his bike. Interestingly, he once worked as security for country outlaw singer David Allen Coe and has met and spoken with former Hell’s Angels leader Sonny Barger.
He came down to our campsite and invited Sophie to sniff his hand (she warmed up to him a bit, but mostly just slept on here sleeping bag). He doesn’t drink, but told good stories of his past drinking experiences. He voted for McCain, although he had his doubts whether McCain could’ve been able to do the job. He had also voted for Bush, but later grew frustrated with the former President. I had intended to drive back to the promisingly-named “Sunset Point,” but as clouds blew in and the wind kicked up, knew that a better opportunity might present itself tomorrow. We both had noticed the large number of (particularly) European visitors to the Park, probably due to the fact of the weak dollar and the large allowances of time for proper vacations awarded many workers. Certainly a pleasant gentleman, and yet another example of a person taking the time to do what he/she wants to in life to make them happy.

At 11 p.m., the camp is quiet and the temperature is a nice 63 degrees. I’m only 2 nights away, which have already been paid for in this campground, from spending an entire month mostly outside (except the long drives, in which case the windows are usually down). I have spent two nights in the car, once for a 2-hour nap the first night out, and later in Vik and Suzie’s Hippie Van after emerging from Yellowstone’s back country. Other than that, it’s been in the ol’ Mountain Hardware tent. My hands are particularly dry and cracked, and I sustained my first somewhat painful misstep this morning in setting up the tent.

I leave you with:

How to Smash One’s Bird Finger with a Rubber Mallet

Step One: Place nail of Bird Finger on metal tent stake.
Step Two: Swing down hammer. Hard.
Step Three: Recall old/invent new combinations of curse words as blood drips onto the tent.

“We smash our fingers so you don’t have to!”

Thanks for reading the blog…Dave and Sophie

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