Utah & Arizona
Onward, our journey pressed, ever westward. The descent from the Colorado mountains to Utah offered a spectacle of awe. As the mountains yielded, the horizon broadened, revealing the vast high plains desert. My grip on the steering wheel tightened, palms damp with trepidation, each gust of wind or pass by an 18-wheeler a cause for dread. These mammoth trucks, like thundering locomotives, pushed against us, an elemental dance I could never quite grow accustomed to.
On we went, maneuvering along slender, ill-suited roads, winding between Utah and Arizona like a drunk man searching for his next drink. Navigating those narrow passages amidst an expanse of landscape, bottomless gorges on each side, and towering pillars teetering on the precipice of collapse. The land told the story of time. The terrain, arid and desolate, held beauty. The high desert, a parched yet captivating panorama, a humbling testament to its unadorned splendor. In this emptiness, one truly grasps the sheer vastness of our nation. Embracing the challenges of these slender roads, I drove determinedly, as the boys reveled in the opulence of a camper one could pilot. Every half hour, Connor would inspect the plumbing, while Davis found elation in the lofty realms of the camper’s TV.
The drive into Lake Powell left an unforgettable impression. The topography metamorphosed drastically — the once flat plain plunged aggressively into a breathtaking valley. In its center was a town called Page, a city of churches, a small and charming town on the shore of a great lake. Driving through Page, the lake sprawled before us, a jewel amidst the sandstone, the water glowed with light from the low sun.
We arrived at Wahweap Campground under the cloak of dusk, our allotted site perched at the park’s edge, overlooking the water. Having never camped in an RV, a tinge of apprehension tingled within me, yet the park exceeded expectations.
Carefully, I nestled the camper into its space, commencing the ritual of camp set-up — unloading the bikes and hooking up utilities. The sun descended, and seizing the moment, the boys and I embarked on a ride. The objective: the water’s edge. Yet, before we could reach it, Davis encountered a flat tire. We stood at a considerable distance from both the water and our camper, prompting us to turn back, the sun’s descent casting a mesmerizing spectacle over Lake Powell. A long day it had been, weariness embracing me. It was time to rest, to dream of water adventures awaiting on the morrow.”
