bad day at slick rock

Bad Day at Slick Rock

Having been up camping for the last 10 days, Jesse knew it was time to blow this pop stand. Cleaning up around the camp site, food scraps left for the Jay's and chip monks, not a trace left that he had been there, Jesse raised the leveling jacks on the truck camper, secured the fridge door and started the slow, granny gear climb out of the unspoiled bliss of Dominquez Canyon. Driving on out to Colorado State highway 141 and then west into the town of Gateway on the Colorado/Utah border, Jesse remembered when he had first come into Dominquez it had taken one hour to drive the six miles. Jesse knew he was unlikely to encounter anyone on his trip into Utah once he got past Gateway. The road didn't show on anything except topo maps, mainly because it mostly wasn't a road. Following the Delores River across the Utah line and then turning south through the La Sals he could make it into Moab by evening. Back to Mormon dull civilization but they did have a few "private clubs" where a person could get a drink. Being as how Utah is the only unofficial theocracy in American, only tourists and jack Mormons were inclined to have a taste for spirits, to get a drink one must join a private club and there are plenty available for such purposes.
In town Jesse filled both gas tanks, added oil and filled his camper water tank with twenty gallons of di-hydrogen-oxide which smelled strongly of chlorine and fluorite. "Nothing like the fresh smell of bleached water to slake a thirsty man" he said to the cashier at the gas station who smiled and responded appropriately "have a nice day." Following his hunger, Jesse started cruising north along the main street of town looking for most anything aside from a Village Inn. Spotting a café on a side street close to the Colorado River, Jesse pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. Ordering a cheese burger with a side on onion rings Jesse had the perfect meal to match his attitude. On down the road, Jesse checked into the Sleepy-R-U motel which was a leftover from the days of the motor-courts. Jesse opened the room door, linoleum floor mostly intact, space heater with two speeds, on and off, color t.v. and a shower. "One night $23, or $99 for one week" the clerk said, "just the night" Jesse answered. At least the shower would make Jesse feel somewhat cleaner. The bath towel was slightly larger than a standard men's hanky with about the same density, absorbency a little less than adequate. Still wet behind the ears Jesse used the throw rug from the bathroom to fill in the two inch gap under the door, slowing down the draft, cranked on the heater and fell asleep. Waking in dark, sweating like a stuck pig, Jesse searched the room for a thermostat, finding none he shut of the heater and fell back in bed. By morning the room was down to eighty degrees.
Out on the road again Jesse found a small diner next to a "exciting-thrilling raft the river" storefront. Chorizo smothered with fried eggs, hot coffee and greasy potatoes with lots of onions, a breakfast that will keep the stomach going til lunch. Jesse stopped at the market and picked up some staples; eggs, coffee, fresh side meat, spuds, beans and a few Raman noodle packs that if properly doctored actually make a decent meal. Walking out of the market and loading up the camper, Jesse was soon surrounded by several buses unloading almost a hundred of the loudest people he had ever heard. "Germans" he heard, turning around he saw a local wearing a larger than life Stetson, the mandatory western shoe wear with the Nike label, standing against the back of Jesse's truck. "it's a big thing now, they come in every spring and fall, flying into Denver or Salt Lake and taking the tour buses to walk all over the Arches. Used to be we got the Japanese who spend small fortunes on film cause they never know where they have been until they get home and look at the pictures but now the Germans who stop at this market to pick up snacks for their ride through the park. We been getting several thousand every year and it don't hurt the economy none. We got a new Ram-a-da just to keep up with the demand. They don't stay long but they drop enough cash to make Moab a booming little town. Chamber of Commerce been supporting it I guess. Ain't much left of farming and ranching and the uranium mines been closed for years,"
Jesse climbed into the truck and heading east along the Colorado River he sped up in the effort to avoid thinking. The Colorado runs pretty slow and wide along this stretch, not what you would call white water. On up stream there's some good rafting coming down through westwater canyon but down this far its more like lazy water just waiting for the final surge down towards Glen Canyon. The river along here picks up salt that's leached out of the upstream orchards and alfalfa fields, plus enough silt to build a new country by the time it hits Mexico.
Still heading east along the river there seemed to be more and more cars with Colorado and California plates with bicycle racks on the top of and on the rear. At a wide turnout along the river, Jesse stopped to watch this unsightly parade and eat his lunch. Mostly the cars were Volvo's and Saab's, Jesse reckoned there must be two classes of people driving these 4 wheel bike caravans. The intellectually sound driving the Volvos and the intellectual adventurers driving the Saabs. Jesse was curious about these bike carrying cars coming down Utah highway 128 which was the cutoff road from Cisco into Moab. Most folks took the I-25 route of 75 mph bleakness but these people seemed to know where they were going. Thousands of people intentionally going on a road just meant for local travel. Jesse thought it was a bad omen. Several hours passed while Jesse got more and more bewildered. Pulling out onto the blacktop and heading back west towards town he was passed by more of the bike-cars. One thing for sure was that where ever they were headed, they were in a hurry to get there. Near the junction of the river road and the main highway Jesse pulled into a convenience store where there were about a dozen of these bike cars surrounded by many young people with strange clothing. Very tight pedal-pusher looking garb with day-glo stripes of green, yellow, blue and red that seemed to be some sort of plastic that had been spray painted onto their skin. They were androgynous looking creatures who hustled in and out of the store with designer water bottles, granola bars and bags of ice. They seemed to be constantly puttering about their bicycles, spinning the wheels, adjusting the seats, and mostly fidgeting with chains and gears. These weren't no ordinary bicycles, Jesse could see that plain enough. They had fat knobby tires and seats Jesse wouldn't even consider sitting on. Jesse, being the nosy type, asked one of them where they were going with all those bikes. Every damn one of them answered in unison "slick rock". "We ride the slick rock every weekend, it's the best way to experience nature, you know, see and feel nature at its most glorious." "Arches is just the most wonderful place we have discovered, but its starting to get crowded. Jesse wished them well, sort of, and got back into his truck, pulled his hat over his eyes and slept.
Awake early, Jesse walked back to the store for coffee then headed up north to the entrance to Arches National Park. There was a line of traffic going into the Arches what with the bike-cars and the tour buses of Germans. Jesse joined the lineup. Following the road to the end at a place called the "Garden" there were hundreds of bicycle persons and hundreds of German persons intending to follow this trail. One thing any world traveler, such as Jesse, knew is that Germans don't make way for anyone. The new thing Jesse learned that day was that bicycle people are pretty much the same way. There was some communication between the two groups, generally of the gesture type with nobody seeming to win. The Germans would not step aside for the bikes to pass and the bikers would continue to come down the slick rock without regard for the walking. Jesse sat under a tree noticing that neither group was even slightly aware of the environment they had traveled so far to see. Jesse sat there for a few hours throwing pebbles at jack rabbits then got into his truck heading for Hanksville. It had been just another bad day at slick rock.