 | USA - SEPTEMBER 2002 |
| USA - SEPTEMBER 2002 |
HIGHWAY 12 - ESCALANTE TO GROVER
Leaving Escalante
The road climbed gently out of Escalante (or Escalente as I saw it once spelt somewhere), and after a couple of minues I arrived at a bend. Here, this was the view that confronted me just here. I just had to stop.
I can safely say that I have never ever seen ANYTHING even as remotely spectacular as this (now how many times was I to write this before the end of the voyage?). This was just completely unbelievable. It seemed to me that almost every 100 yards or so, there was a view that I just had to stop to photograph
I mean, just what can you say about views like this? Stunning? Superb? I've no idea.
And how often am I lost for words?
There is nothing but canyons, gullies, river courses carved out of the solid rock. Some tree and grass following the line of the water course, but apart from that, nothing at all. There were quite a few tourists, including a few French ones who were really surprised to find a foreigner who would converse with them in fluent French.
Here on the left where the road disappears into yet another canyon, you can see some buildings. A way further up the water course on the left was a farm in the late 19th century which was the scene of a famous murder where one partner of the ranch killed the other during a dispute over working practice. The alleged murderer turned himself in to the sheriff who placed him on parole to go to the US marshall at the regional capital, but he disappeared en route.
I suppose round here, it's pretty easy to disappear into the back of your own beyond, just like the legendary Oozelum Bird.
On top of the plateau
You can see in this photograph that I've now arrived right on the top of the plateau, looking over to my left (or northwards. Behind the mountains in the far distance would be Salt Lake City, maybe 150 miles away.
A little further on was one of the best views of a gorge that I had during the entire voyage. You can't describe views quite like this.
Further on again a few hundred yards, I stopped the car at the side of the road to get a good shot of the southern side of the plateau. This was another one of these photographs that can't do any justice at all to the view that you actually saw, more's the pity. Yes, here I was really on top of the world and you can understand why it took until 1942 for the road to reach here.
Boulder to the Fremont River
Finally I arrived at Boulder and climb the Boulder mountains to go "over the top" to the Fremont River. Just on one particular bend was a view in my rear-view mirror that made me stop and get out of the car.
Do you recognise the view in this photo and the one above?
You should do - it's a view of the mountains that I've just spent two hours driving over.
It looks even more wild and desolate from up here, doesn't it?
Then of course, if you were me, you'd have a quick look all around you. Tomorrow I was heading in a direction that was more-or-less south-east from here, so in my shoes you would have a quick peek to the south-east to see what the terrain over there holds for you, wouldn't you?
What can you say about that? Not very much from the photo, but in real life you can say even less, because you're speechless, just like I was.
HIGHWAY 24
Now I was down off the mountains and on to Highway 24 going east. This led me along the Fremont river valley, a gorge carved into the rock some 100 feet or so down and wide enough for a road - but in some places only just. There were spectacular things to see and to photograph, but nowhere to stop, but when there was somewhere to stop, there was nothing spectacular to see or to photograph. Just as you would expect, in fact.
A bit further on, though, the road burst out of the valley into a wider plain. There was a pull-in here and a "gentleman's rest room" (and I was bursting!). So a brief stop and a photograph (on the left) of Chimney Rock. There are thousands of rocks called "Chimney Rock" all over the States, so if you've heard of a famous one, it probably isn't the one you've just found.
In case you're wondering, my "famous" Chimney Rock is on the Oregon and California Trail in Wyoming.
From here you can see the view back into the Fremont Gorge, the direction from which I'd just come. The difference in time between the photo on the left and that on the right is as long as it takes to go for a ride the porcelain horse. This gives you some idea of how quickly the light has "gone" in this part of the USA on a late September evening.
Yes, the light is really going now, and here I am, somewhere in the gathering dusk in the desert miles from anywhere. The choices weren't too complicated. Either I could go back about 50 miles to Richfield, turn off and head north about 40 miles to Moab, sleep in the car, or try my luck in Hanksville, a small one-horse town in the middle of the desert.
Now I hate going back, or turning off. Particularly if it means going to the big city. "Onwards or upwards" is my motto. And I've slept in a car before (thousands of times before, in fact).
HANKSVILLE
So here is the town of Hansville, Utah. Originally known as Graves Valley, it was established in 1882. The Pony Express followed in 1883, and in 1885 the name was changed to Hanksville, after Ebeneazer Hanks, one of the original settlers.
The population is 197 according to an estimate in 2003. For some reason, the town was omitted from the census of 2000.
The low population could be attributed to the fact that bromide is found in the neighbourhood. When I found that out, I had nightmares in case I had drunk any of the tap water.
One thing about Hanksville though was that even this most unlikely place had a motel, as you can see. You can tell that there isn't much trade around here, due to the number of weird sculptures of dinosaurs made from old scrap. Obviously some people have nothing better to do. But despite that, I at least found it all quite amusing.
The motel was very 60's, traditional, olde-worlde, but clean, tidy, comfortable and good value for money. Once again, rural America comes to the rescue
I had a good chat with the owner, an old guy in his late 50's or early 60's I guess. He'd been around the block a few times, I'm sure. He told me that in the past he held the tow-in licence for Wayne County (and probably even Jayne County too) - so he pulled in all the abandoned or impounded cars from all around the area. It goes without saying of course, that my ears pricked up at this.
"I bet you've had some good ones pass through your hands" I said, hopefully. That was a leading question if ever I've asked one.
"I surely have" he replied, and gave me one of those inscrutable looks. What followed was one of the finest examples of what is known as a "pregnant pause", or even an "enigmatic silence", that I have ever heard in all my life.
"I bet you wish you still had them now." I said hopefully, remembering what happened when I asked a similar question to a garage owner in Brittany in 1989 (I've come a long way in 13 years!) and led to a story that I still dine out on even now. I explained to him my weird interest in junkyard salvage projects.
After another long while, we started again.
"Oh, well, if you're really interested, then there's still a few out back" he said. Then we had another enigmatic silence. This was like plaiting fog, eating soup with a fork, or corresponding with the Football Association of Wales.
"Well, would it be a problem if I went an took some photographs while it's still light?" I asked. My hope was turning to something like despair by this time.
"You just make sure you close the gate and don't let the cattle out".
So, tell me. What would you do? Go to check out your room, or would you go for a scramble around a junkyard in the fading light? Do bears live in the woods? I'm normally not at my best in the presence of large animals, but you don't think that that was really going to stop me?
And I'm certainly glad I decided to stop at this motel. And take the time to go for a wander round like this. Just look at all of this. You could have a lot of fun making an interesting project out of all of this. Well, I could, anyway.
It is practically complete and here in the desert of southern Utah it never ever rains so nothing ever rusts.
In the next two photographs, you can see a couple of old chassis, complete with wooden-spoked wheels.
They look like they've been stripped down to take modern engines and "funny car" bodies, but the owner lost interest. Any kit car builders out there fancy doing something quite interesting and different?
Some aluminium sheeting, a couple of sheets of marine plywood, a bit of 2x1 and a long weekend and you'd have something nice and unusual at the end of it.
Thinking on, I saw a nice and interesting bodyshell a couple of weeks ago in Wheatland, Wyoming. You know, I could be on to something here with all of this.
You know, this place is really like a treasure trove. I could spend a whole day wandering around a place like this.
Most women go in for retail therapy by wandering around clothes shops and the like. I fully believe in retail therapy too, but in my case it would be in a scrapyard like this
. If you have a close look at all of these cars, you can see that they have been here for years. But because it never rains, there is no rot and very little rust, and they are all in perfectly restorable condition.
All these cars are for sale, and the owner will even arrange shipping for them to Europe or anywhere else you want if you ask him nicely. So hurry up and get those bids in.
However, you can forget all about the powder-blue Mustang! That one is mine. I saw it first.
As for the other Mustangs, and anything else around here, please help yourself.
Yes, if you parked this jeep in your drive, you'd certainly put the Wyllis up your neighbours.
Sorry. I'll get my coat.
But see how the light has gone. Shame. And I was hungry by now, too. Time I organised myself some food. God alone knows what I was going to eat in a one-horse town like this.
Next morning I was up early (again) so I had a long chat with the owner. Two old men sitting on the porch drinking coffee and putting the world to rights. This was really rural America.
I told him about my adventures at Page and the Glen Canyon Dam. He wasn't in the least surprised.
"That's nothing" he said, and proceeded to tell me the most amazing story that I've ever heard in the USA. He has a friend in Northern Utah who is a farmer, and the land has been farmed for generations. It seems that, suddenly, he's had to quit farming.
Reason?
"Well, in the area they've just built a pile of new houses for incomers, and they've pulled his water rights to give them to the new inhabitants".
"
"But that is residential - this guy's a farmer, he needs to grow things - people need things to eat" I exclaimed
"So what?" was the reply. "The government doesn't care. You can buy food in. No-one cares any more about the farmer"
Now I don't know about you, but my opinion of American administration, not very high to start with, is going down and down. We already have water wars going on in the Golan, not to mention the Turks Syrians and Iraqis at each others' throats over the Birecic and Ataturk Dams on the Euphrates River. Once the Oil Wars are over, we'll all be having water wars.
I explained to him about the Channel Tunnel and the fact that there's a water pipeline that runs through it. There's a French company at one end of the pipeline, and at the other (British) end the public utility has just been sold - to a French company. In a case of water shortage or drought in Western Europe, no prizes for guessing which way the water will be flowing. In fact, in the dry summer of 2006, there was a hosepipe ban and drought order in South-East England while North-East France was untouched by any restrictions at all. Purely a coincidence, of course.
He was well-up to speed on this. He told me of a system he and some friends had invented - the "Wildlife Saloon" - that can be used in semi-arid areas to hold water for long periods to aid in irrigation and livestock watering. I willingly took a couple of CDs and some notes to read at my leisure. What with the idea I'd heard of in Colorado about growing Jatropha in semi-arid areas to use as an oil crop, I thought that here I might be on to some thing.
Yes! One thing I do like about rural USA is that it's so full of surprises. You never know just what awaits you just around the corner.
And not just novel irrigation projects too. Another thing was a petrol station where the office and shop had been carved out of the inside of a huge rock. I don't know why I didn't take a photograph of that.
However what was more important was the food. Most people have by now realised that I make as much effort as possible to be a vegan (life is so cool on Planet Vega!) and in the USA, sometimes it's ... er ... difficult. In the depths of rural USA it's even worse. So I was prepared for anything. Almost.
The choice of restaurants in a small town like Hanksville was, as you might expect, "limited" to say the least, so the "Slickrock Grill" would have to do. I went in, all full of trepidation, prepared to meet my doom, and was met by the tradional American Diner Smiling Waitress.
"I'm sorry to trouble you" I said, "but I don't eat any animal products. I wonder if you have anything that I can eat".
"Sure thing" she replied, bunging me the menu. "There's a couple of things on there. If there's nothing you fancy, though, you can always stoke up at the salad bar!"
Dead right she was, too. I had an excellent meal here, and I stoked up at the salad bar too! Yes. I'd definitely eat here again! Five star place, this was.
HIGHWAY 95
At the county line, there I was in stitches again, as you could gather from the sign here! Well, I suppose that the othere side of the line one would be in Jayne County!
So, for those of you who don't know his (or her) album, Rock 'n' Roll Cleopatra
A few miles on was a sign indicating a scenic turn-off (have you ever wondered why they don't have scenic turn-ons?) and as the road I was on was very unscenic, I decided to pull off, eat my breakfast, and admire the view.
Do you realise that if I hadn't have turned off here I'd have missed the view. Click on the thumbnail to enlarge the photo (but remember to click on the "back" button on your browser afterwards). Wasn't that just so impressive?
These are effectively the headwaters of Lake Powell where it reverts to the Colorado River - it had taken me a whole day to go halfway round the lake from Page to here. Across the water is Hite Marina.
There's a river that branches off from here and disappears into the mountains. The story goes that when John Wesley Powell, who explored so much of the water around here during a 10 year period after the end of the Civil War, first saw that river, he shouted over to the other boat that was with him "I suppose that's a really good trout stream up there". The other crew went up to have a look, and on their return, shouted over to Powell "no, it's a dirty devil of a river".
The name "Dirty Devil River" has stood since then.
So breakfast having been duly eaten, and scenery having been duly photographed, time to go.
This is another "look what I've just seen in my rear view mirror so I have to go back to look" photograph
Well, Hall wasn't obeying the commands on the roadsign - he didn't even deviate - he just went straight on.
And "frog" isn't the usual second syllable to "bull" whenever some people refer to what I've written, that's for sure. You've probably realised this for yourself by now! Time to hit the road again.
So here I was, driving along Highway 95, following the exploits of Doc Sarvis, Bonnie, Hayduke and Seldom-Seen Smith, members of Ed Abbey's The Monkey Wrench Gang
Yet it was a wide metalled road sloping gently uphill. But with a sign like this, you would, wouldn't you? Well, I did, anyway! I drove along this nice road gradually rising up and up in a nice gentle slope until all of a sudden the road disappeared and I came to a dead stop. And what I saw, well, I was speechless (and those of you who know me will realise how much of a rare event this can be), if not spellbound. I never expected to see anything remotely like this in all my life.
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