A Heck of a Way to Run

a Desert. 

As Hebrews, Jenny and I are genetically linked to arid regions. Think Moses and the Tribes wandering around the Negev for forty years. Those poor snooks had more luck finding Manna than moisture.

Since we've arrived near Moab and its famous red rock attractions, most of what we've experienced are Noah's Arc downpours and icky clouds. 

In downtown Moab, Barley the Van hydroplaned through three creek crossings. In a normal October they are dry street crossings. In Dead Horse State Park, a mudslide nearly inundated two REI tents. (Not ours!)

WTF! 

I yearn for a return to normalcy. I wanna talk to who's in charge! 

From dank and dreary Dead Horse Point State Park,

It's a great day for hypothermia!

Cheers!

I still have plenty of IPA's and a dry hotel room in Moab is looking better and better.

Jeff 

"West and Wewaxation at Wast!"

Thank you Elmer Fudd.

After my gig at repairing 4X4 doohickeys in the Maze, I needed a break. 

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2015/10/edward-abbey-classic.html

So I turned thumped up and filthy Barley the Van east to Grand Junction, home of my long time friends Jack and Judy Miller.

Barley was wounded too. I had to replace a cracked battery that couldn't handle the road abuse. There's nothing like sniffing sulfuric acid fumes for a good night's sleep. No wonder I had a scratchy throat and itchy eyes. 

Manana, we're heading back behind the Zion Curtain. My beer and coffee supply are holding up well. Jenny will be joining me for her first close encounter of Utah. We hope the weather cooperates. One can only spend so much time at the Moab Brewery.

Last photo: "Be vewwy, vewwy quiet. We're hunting wabbits!" 

Elmer Fudd is the Yogi Berra of cartoon characters. 

Cheers from River City,

Jeff

Edward Abbey's Classic...

character from his breakout novel, "The Monkey Wrench Gang" is named George Washington Hayduke. In one chapter, our hero is on the lam and being hotly pursued by the Mormon Posse. Where did Mr Hayduke run to? To the Maze of course.

It's still a place, I discovered where one can disappear. 

This notion makes me grin. 

While there, I covered thirty miles of sketchy trails. The act of missing a set of cairns could have had me wandering off to Neverland. No, not Michael Jackson's estate where creepy things happened, but the one that makes front page news in a bad way for the hiker. (Me). I never saw a soul in those miles. That makes me grin II.

It's a drastic landscape of washes, slot canyons, slick rock, spires and arches. There's little frame of reference to use as a lighthouse. Oh yeah, once in awhile the La Sal Mountains spring up into your personal viewfinder (Moab lies at the foot of them),  but you can't get there from here by walking. There's cliffs, two icy western rivers to swim and all the above obstructions to negotiate. Even Chuck Norris couldn't do it. 

Our expedition was running out of gas so we had to cut our trip short. It was a grueling nine hours of driving time to make it back to a gas station, hotel and a meal in Green River, Utah. Greg's Ford Truck 4X4 thingamajig  broke. Greg was able to repair the what-ya-ma-call-it in the dirt. I was the able bodied assistant. 

"Jeff! It's righty tighty! Lefty loosey" As you can see, my hands got dirty.  

Was it worth it? Hell! Yeah! It's not often I get the chance to be in one of the most remote areas of the National Park Service land holdings. I just hope I don't have to wait another thirty years for the opportunity to return. 

For you twenty or so blog fans, I'd be more than willing to provide guide service and provisioning if you want to beat up your 4X4 vehicle. I'll even bring the IPAs and coffee. 

Thank you so much Greg Lyle and his wonderful family for allowing me to tag along. 

I hope it was as good for the Lyle's as it was for me. I needed a cigarette, it was that good.

Cheers from Green River, Utah.

I still have real beer left.

Jeff 4X4 enthusiast. 

"Hayduke Lives!"

Postscript: Greg's truck limped into Green River with the equivalent of three Bomber beer bottles of diesel. Six/tenths of a galłon.