Canyonlands, Utah

This was a pilgrimage of sorts because I had been meaning to visit Canyonlands ever since my last road trip with Brooks in 1997 was cut short by mechanical failure. On that occasion, the little RV simply gave up the will to live in the deserts of New Mexico, and the rush to get back to Hong Kong in time for the handover meant Utah had to be ruled out.

No such misfortune this time. Apart from the half-eaten chocolate that had melted in the back seat, the Toyota was a car in much better shape, and the day started with a short trip to the petrol station to fill up and stock up on smokes. The pimple-faced teenager asked me for ID which I found irritating, but then, realising that this was Utah - a state that pretty much makes its own laws - it sort of made sense. As I drove off, I actually felt quite flattered that he should suspect I was under 19. The man-moisturisers have clearly worked.

For two hours, I drove in a reflective mood. Reflective, because the arrival of an email that morning confirming my new job not only brought a sense of elation and relief (financially), but also the inescapable reality that blue skies, red rock and the open road would soon be substituted by the inside of a windowless boardroom. 

Although not nearly as big as its famous cousin in Arizona, Canyonlands is still enormous - about the same size as the entire area of Greater London. Some would also argue that it has a more magical quality to it. The absence of annoying tourists on this occasion helped of course, and you have to applaud the way the park management have resisted the temptation to massacre the surroundings with metal barriers. For once, Health and Safety (or America's equivalent of it) have kept their meddling hands off.

Leaving the car behind, I soon found my way to the rim of the basin. It's a drop of about 1 km if you go over the edge but you can't help but want to tempt fate. Go on, John So, bet you can't see all the way to the bottom.

Common sense eventually returned, and when i found myself a perfect spot, I stayed there for almost hour. No humans, no animals, not a stir in the wind. This really was the sound of silence.

It certainly was what you could call a 'moment' which i relished to the full before looking for the famous sights like the Mesa Arch and the 'Fingers' - both colossal pieces of natural architecture.

It was getting late by now (about 6pm), yet somehow, the trip seemed to lack something. Call it curiosity or stupidness, I wanted to see what it was like down the bottom. The park didn't close till 8pm, so in spite of the warning signs I took a dirt track that zigzagged down the side of the wall.

About 200M later, I realised this was a very poor piece of judgement. From above, you can't see the loose rocks or the steep steps a car needs to negotiate on its way down. The hairpins are frightening and the road narrows a great deal the further you descend. The thought of reversing all the way back to the top did cross my mind but, thankfully, only briefly.

It started easy enough...

Then it just turned into a complete shit fest.

The chassis took a heavy beating, and the anti-lock braking system was going audibly epileptic. (Luckily these are not the things Avis checks when you return the car.) The canyon shadows were also lengthening, fast. Reaching the bottom was a relief, but only briefly because now my mind was pre-occupied with getting out. Much that I enjoyed Danny Boyle's brilliant movie, I did not want this to turn into my own 127 Hours, and I would rather have cut my arm off than go back up the road I had come down. So, over a dried up riverbed I went, hoping that this may lead to the southern exit. Moreover, I had a flight to catch in 15 hours - not in Utah, mind you, because that would be far to easy - in Denver Colorado, 5 trillion miles away.

Where there's risk, there is also reward, and so for all this effort I did manage to capture some great shots of the insides. I just wished I had been in a better frame of mind to appreciate the incredible rock formations, bright red only at this hour from the tilting sunlight.

I did make it out eventually, and drove overnight all the way to Denver airport. Although I missed my flight, they were frequent enough for it not to matter. A quick stopover in New York, and I was on the plane back to Europe, to the comforts of home cooking, laundry and unlimited free wifi.

Wyoming country

With just four days left before my flight back to Europe, I felt the need for a grand finale - something which would combine an epic drive with a grand finale. Leaving Yellowstone behind, the southward John D. Rockefeller Highway provided instant gratification as the Toyota glided past the snowcaps of Grand Teton National Park on the right and bison pastures on the left.  

 Stopping at Jackon Hole for the night, I ordered bison steak for dinner at a restaurant famous for this sort of fare, mainly out of curiosity. While they're alive, these are tough animals able to endure the harshest winter conditions. Served on a plate, they become five times tougher. By the time you have negotiated the first two mouthfuls, the rest has pretty much gone cold. On the table next to mine, there was an Englishman who was audibly from the home counties - alone, mildly insane, cordial with the staff, and talking to himself. Although i didn't enjoy the dinner, I did enjoy his company. From what I could decode, he had been living there for well over a decade (therefore avoiding the bison and opting for a conventional sirloin) and hadn't left because he was still waiting for his children to visit him. I'm always amazed at these kinds of encounters. Complete and utter misfits showing up in places where they shouldn't, logically, belong.  With a convivial 'tally-ho' I returned to the motel and fell into a well-earned coma.

A very early start meant that, by mid-morning, the rocks and pines of Yellowstone/Teton gave way to greener pastures. Lovely countryside, this, and barely a car on the road until you reach the point where you have to decide whether you want to veer eastward for some mountain driving in Colorado, or west into Utah.This is a small town called Alpine, where I procrastinated with the decision longer by stopping for a lunch.

Colorado or Utah? Looking at some of the distant mountains to the east, Colorado was certainly tempting for all the alpine driving it promised. On the other hand, the trip to Utah would entail almost a full day's worth of motorway driving. Nevertheless, I was eager to prove to myself that I was able to make a plan and stick to it. The drive was indeed a slog and it wasn't until dusk that I had eventually by-passed the heavy traffic of Salt Lake City, then turned east at the designated intersection. A late sunset revealed a glimpse of what was to come before exhaustion and the thirst for a hard-earned beer compelled me to stop at the junction town of Green River.