US 7: On the Road Again

On the road again; goin’ places that I’ve never been; seein’ things I may never see again; and, I can’t wait to get on the road again . . . Willie Nelson‘s song was playing on an endless loop in my head when I slipped out for my regular coffee, cigarette and wander in the cool pre-dawn. Later in the morning we’d be on the road again to Hatch, Bryce and hopefully Green River.

A shock to the system

When I got back, Mel was already out of bed. He’d showered and was in the process of attempting to cram more than he could possibly fit into his T-Bag. I’d made an extra coffee, before returning, on the off chance that he’d be awake; though I didn’t seriously expect that he would be. Well, sometimes life has surprises for you doesn’t it?

‘Morning Mate . . . you OK?’

‘Great,’ he responded with a quizzical look on his face. ‘Why . . . do I look crook?’

‘Well, it’s only about 6.30am – pretty well the middle of the night for you, Mate.’

‘Anyone told you lately that you’re really not a very nice bloke.’

I laughed. 

‘If I wasn’t a nice bloke, I wouldn’t have brought you coffee, now would I?’

Getting comfortable

Our banter was beginning to settle into the kind of comfortable backward and forward chafing that you can only get away with when you’ve developed confidence in the resilience of a relationship. We were starting to be able to make wry comments; laugh easily, without rancour, at our respective idiosyncrasies and foibles; and, know that we laughed with, rather than at, each other.

Breakfast was mundane but more than adequate; it was free after all. Afterwards, Mel completed his packing, and I looked through the drawers. Then we checked out and Mel thanked the reception staff for their hospitality; he just has this talent for making people feel good about themselves. And then, as we headed out to the motorcycles I said:

‘Hey Mate, did you remember to pack ice around your laptop?’

‘I told you before, didn’t I? You’re a natural born prick!’

‘And I told you before, I’m your brother, and being a prick is part of the job!’

On the road . . . again

We both laughed, walked out, loaded our motorcycles, fired up and pulled out of the Holiday Inn car park. It was good to be back on the road again. Zion Harley Davidson was not open but I gave a salute on the way past anyway; Richard’s service department had certainly earned that. We turned right onto Coral Canyon Road, also designated US 9, and headed towards the Canyons.

The sky was a clear, almost crystal blue and there was no wind; and no suffocating heat in the day either – yet. To this point in our road trip, we had enjoyed remarkably good weather. Each day was unbelievably hot, but always clear. As we cruised along at a pace leisurely enough to allow the big V-Twins to gradually reach normal operating temperature, a sense of deja vu settled over me. Of course, that was because we’d ridden this road just a couple of days earlier. 

We pushed along US 9 and picked up speed towards Zion National Park. The road was relatively clear because of the early hour; but, I knew that it would fill soon enough with tourist traffic and multiple recreation vehicles.

No road is ever the same

I’ve heard it said that you never ride the same road twice, and in many ways, this is absolutely true. Things will have changed even if only in the most infinitesimal way. The road will not be the same; the wind will be different; the temperature and humidity will be higher or lower; and, time will have lapsed. So, this time, although we were on the road again, we really weren’t on the same road at all. 

We were riding much earlier in the day and so it was still pleasantly cool. Canyon walls were painted from an entirely different palate because the direction and quality of the light had changed. We were looking at and experiencing the landscape rather than looking for a town with food and fuel; or with accommodation so that we could end our journey for the day. I rode with a newly minted confidence; my Deuce had been repaired and comprehensively serviced and I could feel the balance and power vibrating through its frame. 

But more important than this was an almost imperceptible but tectonic shift in the nature of my relationship with Mel. For years, I’d viewed my young brother through a prism of my own flaws, failures, and disappointments. My perception of him was that of an entitled, spoiled, and somewhat shallow individual; a superficial clone of our Dad.

A misjudgement

For longer than I could remember, I’d seen him as blinded by his own unquestioning acceptance of a religious mantra; what I thought to be his inherited faith. But now, for the first time, I was beginning to doubt that my perception had ever been accurate or fair. Our conversations over the past couple of days had been unsettling; and, I’d started thinking that I had probably done what I’d so often accused others of doing. I’d pigeon-holed Mel, and had never taken the care or time to compare my ‘map’ with the actual ‘terrain’.

One of the magical things, for me, about being on the road again or walking or running for that matter, is that it offers an opportunity to get inside your own head; to think. I remembered reading about the notion of maps and terrain many years earlier. I’d even frequently used the idea to explain how the flaws of human judgement can so easily occur.

Representations versus reality

On the road, as in life, we regularly use maps as part and parcel of what we do. A map enables us to find our way in unfamiliar or unknown territory. When doing this though, there is an important caveat; although a map represents the terrain, it is not the actual terrain. 

Perhaps, the best way to illustrate the difference between a map and the terrain it represents, is to think about Google Maps. Compare, for example, the Map View of a particular area or region with the Satellite View. The two views present very different pictures: one will be a representation and necessarily simplified [a Map], while the other will be real [the actual Terrain]. By its very nature, a map will be abstract and without topographical detail. It will be a kind of shorthand representation of any given area; but, it will lack the detail and nuance of the real, physical topography. This, of course, is why it is important to ensure that the map we are using is accurate and up-to-date.

Mind maps

Now, because the business of living is complex, we develop a strategy for looking at people, the environment, and our world; a mindset, a shorthand decision-making context if you will. We inherit, learn, develop from experience, and use this mental map; a set of accepted concepts, ideas, judgements and tenets that enable us to navigate our world efficiently. Getting through life without such a mental map would be difficult if not impossible. The problem is not that we use mind maps; it is just that it’s all too easy to believe that they are real and perfectly correct; often we don’t bother to check that the map is an accurate representation of the ‘terrain’.

Over the years I’ve learned, that going through life with an outdated or inaccurate mind map is a recipe for disaster. Somehow, though, it had never occurred to me that this might be the case with my perception of Mel. Over the previous couple of days in St George, however, it had become clear that the map I was using to negotiate my relationship with him was misleading. I was beginning to realise that my map wasn’t any longer an accurate representation of the terrain; if, indeed, it ever was.

But, enough of all that

Now, you might think I’ve gone down a rabbit hole here, and you could well be right; but, that’s what happens when you’re on the road again with time on your hands.

In any case these were the thoughts that churned in my head as we travelled through multiple rural settlements. We rode through Hurricane, La Verkin, and past the Zion River Resort. This particular stretch of the highway traced its way north east up the Virgin River Valley. We skirted the southern edge of Zion National Park; cruised through Rockville and Springdale; and, then negotiated a series of switchbacks through towering canyon walls before riding on to the East Entrance Ranger Station.

A National Parks Pass

Given that we’d planned on riding in the US for around eight weeks and that a considerable amount of this riding would be through the US National Park Network, it made sense to enquire about a season pass. Mel, being the quintessential people person that he is, went ahead to the Ranger Station while I parked my bike. By the time I arrived at the office window, he and the Ranger were on a first name basis. They were discussing the finer points about where we ought to go and what was worth seeing; I swear they were like a couple of old school buddies who hadn’t seen each other for years.

But, cars were queuing, and it was clear that we needed to move on – and we did. Right after picking up our passes, information brochures and shaking hands as only good mates do, we fired up our motorcycles and got back on the road again. 

What Mel negotiated was an eighty dollar, twelve month pass. This would give us both access to all National Parks in the US; a pretty good deal given that a one off entry to one Park would have cost us twenty-five dollars each. Brilliant, and so typical of Mel’s skill and talent with people.

We pushed on through breathtaking vistas that seemed to lurk around every sweeping curve and acute switchback. One of the frustrations of attempting to chronicle our road trip, was that time and again my skill with words was just not up to the task of effectively bringing to life what we were seeing and experiencing; even our photographs didn’t really do justice to the vistas and panoramas.

Return to Hatch . . . but not for breakfast

Soon enough, we took a left at Carmel Junction and headed north on Highway 89. Just after Orderville we joined and travelled beside the East Fork of the Virgin River as we continued through Glendale and up a valley that separated Zion National Park from Dixie State Forest. And then, just like that, we were back at Hatch. 

It was too early for lunch when we slowed at the town limit, but we stopped anyway. It was an opportunity for me to have a smoke and for us both to have a coffee and say ‘Hi’ to the good lady who’d served us that very fine breakfast a couple of days earlier.

Bryce Canyon through new eyes

Once we’d done coffee, cake and conversation – which all took an hour or so – we continued north on 89 until we reached the junction with Highway 12. Here, we took a right and headed on out east towards Bryce Canyon.

Now, while it is true that we’d been at Bryce Canyon a couple of days earlier, I’d been preoccupied with the noise from my primary drive and so had not really appreciated what I had seen. I’d certainly been impressed, but now, with full confidence in the reliability of my motorcycle, I saw things through new eyes.

A canyon by any other name

Bryce Canyon, notwithstanding its name, is not a Canyon but a collection of giant natural amphitheatres along the eastern side of the Paunsaugunt Plateau. It is distinctive because of myriad geological structures called ‘hoodoos’. These are formed by frost weathering and stream erosion of sedimentary rocks. The red, ochre, and white rock colours made for spectacular vistas that changed with the angle of the sun. Bryce Canyon National Park is actually smaller and sits at a higher elevation than the Zion National Park. The rim of Bryce varies in altitude between eight and nine thousand feet [2,400 to 2,700 m].

Settled by Mormon pioneers in the 1850s, Bryce Canyon was named for Ebenezer Bryce, who homesteaded in the area from 1874. Originally, President Harding designated Bryce Canyon as a National Monument in 1923. Congress later re-designated the area a National Park in 1928. Although the park covers almost fifty-six square miles [145 square kilometres], it hosts substantially fewer visitors than Zion National Park [over 4 million] or Grand Canyon National Park [over 6 million], perhaps because of its more remote location.

Escalante, the Grand Staircase and Capitol Reef

By the time we pulled out of Bryce, it was pretty clear that we could have spent weeks there in the Canyonlands and not seen it all. But, we were on a mission. So we backtracked along US 63 until we intersected US 12. Then, we turned right and cruised onwards towards the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.

We rode through the towns of Tropic and Henrieville and, a little further along, stopped in Cannonville long enough to have lunch and re-fuel our motorcycles before we pushed on to Escalante. After that, our road turned north east and we cruised through Grover, Boulder, and on to Torrey where US 12 intersected US 24. We didn’t actually enter Torrey but chose the bypass and, a couple of miles later, turned right onto US 24 which took us to Fruita and the Capitol Reef National Park.

From Fruita we tracked along the Fremont River most of the way through Caineville and on to Hanksville. As the afternoon wore on, the temperature rose steadily until it was well over 100℉ [38℃] and we noticed that serious storm activity was moving up from the south west. Increasing our cruising pace, we pressed on north towards the place where US 24 intersected Interstate 70 East. The sun had slipped well down in the west by the time we got there; and the storm from the south west had moved considerably closer as we picked up Interstate 70 East and turned right towards Green River.

Green River

And, Green River was as far as we were going to travel for that day. There was not a great deal more road we could cover before it got dark; and it was almost certain that the storm would catch us before nightfall. As we rolled back our throttles at Green River’s city limit, we noted a Comfort Inn on a rise above town and, in unspoken agreement, that’s where we headed.

Green River, the city, is sited on the banks of a major tributary of the Colorado River; also called Green River. This location was originally the crossing point for the Old Spanish Trail trade route. The settlement itself started as a river crossing for the US Mail and, from 1976, developed as a stopover for travellers with a ferry for transporting people, supplies, and animals across the river. Then, in 1883, the Utah Division of the Denver and Rio Grande Western Railroad was built and a station was opened.

Boom, bust and uranium

With the arrival of the rail, the town quickly boomed. And, following completion of the railroad, Green River became a fuelling and watering stop for the railroad; complete with switching yards and engine sheds. A local entrepreneur constructed Palmer House, the first hotel, and this became the scheduled meal stop for passengers. Then, in 1892, most rail operations shifted away, and the town’s population declined significantly.

Green River had, however, gained a new lease on life when, between 1940 and 1960, uranium was discovered and mined at the Four-Corners Mining District, the San Rafael Swell, and the Henry Mountains. Then in 1964, the US Air Force constructed and established the Green River Launch Complex. This was an annex of the U.S. Army’s White Sands Missile Range where, between 1964 and 1973, the Air Force launched 141 Athena missiles.

The secrets towns keep

For as long as I can remember, I have been intrigued and seduced by the accumulated stories and heritage of settlements, towns and cities: how they started; who lived there; and, why they were sited where they were. There are an amazing number of interesting and sometimes deadly secrets a town can silently hold; secreted away from the unsuspecting road tripper.

However, none of these ghosts or lost memories disturbed us. We had comfortable beds in an air-conditioned room at the Comfort Inn and, showered and changed, we were about to eat at the local restaurant just down the road.

It had been a good day. Our Harleys’ rumble had echoed off canyon walls and the big V-Twins had thundered in unerring unison as the miles had drifted away. We had yarned and laughed and been wide-eyed in wonder and we had clicked off a little under three hundred and eighty miles [ 600 kilometres] on the road. 

No, it hadn’t been a good day at all – it had been a great one!

Just a thought . . .

Maps are of no value . . .

unless they are accurate and up-to-date

Click to continue reading: US 8 High Plains to the Rocky Mountains