July 6-7, 2010.
I merely wanted a picture of Canyonland's Mesa Arch framing the La Sal Mountains at sunrise. My sunrise pictures didn't happen as planned but I had an interesting adventure of a new kind.
It's been years since I've visited or camped in a Major National Park except perhaps in fringe areas. The National Parks have changed and so have the visitors. Canyonlands National Park, Island in the Sky, is neat, well maintained and the Park Service has done a commendable job of preventing visitors from ruining what they visit. Perhaps that's why the good-old-Americans don't visit much anymore (or at least weren't there on this occasion). Just like I've noticed in other popular areas of the American Southwest, visitors are mostly Asians and Europeans, many of whom can't speak English, more of whom do not speak it well. What does this mean to me? Well, these visitors are for the most part neat, well-mannered and appreciative of what they are seeing. Nevertheless, I feel like I've been teleported to a foreign country. I'm the outsider now. Odd. Canyonlands still looks much like it did when it was my sandbox.
I left home mid-morning hoping to arrive in time to get a legal camp spot near Mesa Arch. Delta to Grand Junction, cruise on the Interstate, that was the plan. A half-block from my house I changed my mind and turned right to ride over Grand Mesa on CO65. I rode the Interstate to a roadside tourist-center/rest stop near Thompson, UT where I bought a cold soda and ate my sack lunch. I stopped at Thompson for fuel, exited I-70 at Cresent Junction, cruised US191 to UT313 and began my climb to Island in the Sky.
The reason I was doing the unthinkable and camping within the confines of a National Park was because Willow Flat campground was only 1.5 miles from the Mesa Arch trailhead and I wanted to to be close so I could get there before sunrise. I arrived at Willow Flat (what willow? I saw only Juniper and Piñon) between two cars at 2:30 Tuesday and we took the last three spots except for a large paved site (across from my site) reserved for handicapped until after 5:00PM. After setting up my Kermit chair under a Piñon large enough to make shade, I relaxed and read through the hottest part of the afternoon. A lone woman in a large motorhome made 4 laps around the campground eyeing my spot and its one little motorcycle with a look of irritation. Why four laps? Did she think I might leave?
I have seen the Mesa Arch sign many times over the years but never took the short hike out there; a wallpaper picture in Windows 7 inspired me to do this. About 4:30PM I rode to the Mesa Arch for my first look. The 1/4 mile hike was first a climb, then a decent, with many stone steps and some soft sand. There were a couple people at the arch. The arch was smaller than I had anticipated but it did frame the distant La Sal Mountains nicely. I took a couple photographs and returned to my campsite where I walked the 1/4 mile down to the Green River Overlook for old times sake and a couple pictures. Lots of people there, even a tour bus full. I rarely heard anyone speaking English. Who knew that affluent Europeans and Asians would become the dominant visitors in the Great American desert.
A little after 5:00, the lone woman in the motorhome was back for a couple more laps. At 6:00, I ate my dinner: a canned-in-a-soft-pack, southwestern flavored chicken breast on a roll with popcorn and a 1/2 bottle of Burgundy, temperature controlled by a wet sock over the bottle, packed in a plastic bag, removed before dinner for evaporative cooling (but not too much). It was all good.
The woman in the Motorhome was back for another two laps, studying me on the first, backing into the handicap spot on the second. She immediately hopped out and marched straight across the road to where I relaxed in my Kermit chair. "Someone took my spot down there," she exclaimed with an obvious American twang (a lie, too). "How do I sign-in and pay?" (She had driven past the sign-in shelter and its sign with instructions more than a half dozen times.) It was all so obvious. She had to get an up-close look at the dangerous biker across the road. I explained the sign-in. She paid little attention. Apparently I didn't look too dangerous and she considered it safe enough to march back across the road and let her two dogs out for a much needed potty break. The dogs got three minutes to potty and play, then she herded them back into the motorhome. A quick hike the 100 yards to the sign-in shelter and back, then she too disappeared into her motorhome never to be seen again. I suspect she slept with a gun under her pillow and dreamed of being raped by a savage biker. Americans. The European and Asian women weren't afraid of me.
I hiked back to the Green River Overlook, still crowded with Europeans and Asians in the designated viewing areas. I wandered off a ways and found a good seat on the slickrock cliff edge and settled in to wait for sunset. A women came over and sat close to me. I said hello. She smiled. After a bit she was joined by a male companion/husband. They spoke some to each other but too softly for me to guess the language. The man stretched out for a nap. The lady and I sat there for a half hour or more, apparently each engaged in my favorite desert evening activity: watching the rocks cool off. After the sun had set, the colors faded, I got up and said, "Good evening." She smiled, showing no fear despite my motorcycle boots and motorcycle-branded flop hat.
Back in camp, I folded my Kermit chair, a sometimes tedious chore I didn't want to do in the morning before daylight. A Saturn automobile with a bicycle on the back stopped at my campsite. The young male driver asked some questions about camping which led to me offering to share the site if he would pay and get his own permit. This he did. He was on his way from California and a job he didn't like to Kentucky and a job he expected to like (if I recall the sketchy story accurately). He was from Kentucky originally. There was a wife and two childeren still in California. I guess they were going to join him later. He was curious about the KLR, said a couple friends had "similar" BMWs. We had a pleasant visit and each retired early to opposite sides of the spacious site. Neither of us put up tents.
I got up in the dark about 4:30AM. The camp-sharer heard me, said "Good morning" and was gone before I finished packing.
When I rode into the Mesa Arch trailhead parking area it was still dark but there were 3 or 4 cars there. A couple more cars arrived while I was stowing my riding gear and getting my camera. When it became obvious what I was doing, everyone quickly exited their cars as though a signal had been flashed and the stampede for best photo spot was on. I led the charge in the near-dark. A German couple were in hot pursuit (he was cheating with a powerful flashlight), the rest were strung out as their state of readiness would allow. There seemed to be an unspoken rule: you could walk as fast as you wanted but no running. I've always been a fast walker. I'm telling you this old man with motorcycle boots and a hint of dawn for light beat a horde of International photographers, some with flashlights, to Mesa Arch. I had the best spot when they clamored around, chattering in a number of languages, digging for expensive gadgets from large camera bags, setting up a forest of tripods, measuring, testing, looking professional. No one was friendly but no one was obviously rude yet I felt pressured. It would be awhile before sunrise. What to do?
One side of me said I had every right to be there. Another side reflected on the fact I had come from a neighboring state for this photo; some of these people were from halfway around the world. I vacated my spot. There was no comment but tripods were rearranged. I moved to another spot and told myself I liked it better anyway. Even there I was soon surrounded as more photographers straggled in. I had a seat on a rock. I waited for sunrise and tried to ignore the people behind me pressing ever closer. When sunrise was imminent, a Japanese lady was leaning over me, ready to capture the first exciting moment. I could look up and see her hand-held camera over my head. As soon as color appeared from the soon-to-rise sun I snapped a couple photographs and told the Japanese lady I was getting up. She apparently didn't understand English. With hand motions I got her to move and scrambled out of there and was gone before the sun ever rose.
Who were these people? I can't believe there is a horde of International photographers waiting for sunrise at Mesa Arch every morning. It must have been a group from an International photographer's convention and I just stumbled into it. Well, I stumbled out quick enough. Let them get their beautiful, artful but unrealistic gallery photographs. I don't have the equipment, training or will to take such pictures. All I wanted was a simple sunrise shot. All I got was proof that I was there.
Any early-rising motorcyclist knows there is great beauty in an early morning ride. Certainly this is true in Canyonlands where the terrible mid-day sun will blend the desert color to harsh, almost monochromic earth tones. There was no traffic this morning. Why do people sleep during the best time of day? I decided to stop and take fresh pictures of the Schafer Trail from Island in the Sky. My existing pictures were taken with a cheap camera; I have since upgraded to an inexpensive camera. The motorcycling urge first came to me at age 28, in about 1967, while standing at or near this same spot, looking at the Schafer Trail. Obviously I had to ride it again. This was my second abrupt change of plans.
The Schafer trail has varied over the years from suitable for a Buick to impassible to all but hard-core 4WD vehicles and serious dirt bikes with expert riders. Sometimes it has even been closed for a month or more. For this descent, it was rough in places but mostly free of loose rocks, yet still requiring a carefully chosen and followed line from time to time. There was no traffic. The road to Potash was maybe rougher with rock ledges in a couple places but I enjoyed the ride, past the spot where I had scattered my father's ashes over the Colorado River a few years back, on past the spot where Thelma and Louise took their fictional movie plunge. There was no traffic until the Potash ponds.
On the highway from Potash to Moab, I decided on another change of plans: I would refuel in Moab, stop south of Moab for a brief visit with Fred at Arrowhead Motorsports, then continue southward and home via La Sal Junction, Paradox Valley in Colorado, the unpaved road along the Dolores River to Uravan, CO141 to Gateway, Whitewater, US50 to Delta and backroads home. I arrived at Fred's around 8:00AM, interrupted his breakfast but had a good visit, then rode home non-stop in time for lunch.
I had a good ride. I will leave the Mesa Arch sunrise photos to expert or talented amateur photographers.
