Rachel's Road Trip: 07/13/14

I drove southwest on July 3, across Kansas, into the narrow bit of Oklahoma, and on to New Mexico, fascinated by how the land changed from rolling green hills, to flat golden fields, to billowing brown dust. When I stopped to get gas and check oil a friendly man in an NRA hat inquired if I needed help. We chatted for a minute, and when he learned my cross-country plans, he asked if I was “packing”. I smiled, shook my head, and told him “no, but I have a whistle.” His look suggested he didn’t think I’d clear Kansas.

During the drive my iPhone navigation app started using “east” and “west” interchangeably, which kept me alert as I pressed on toward Cimarron, New Mexico. When I got to my campground, the woman at registration gave me the familiar warning to store all food in the car, explaining they have a bear which frequents their dumpster and once walked on some campers who took food into their tent. I looked around, saw I was the only tent in a sea of RVs, and closest to the dumpster, and stuck my sunblock and toothpaste in the car, just in case.

On Friday, July 4, I drove farther into New Mexico, through the Rocky Mountains, with each bend in the road revealing breathtaking views of pine covered ridges, rushing mountain streams, and sheer rock walls. I was on my way to Ghost Ranch.

Established in the 1930s, Ghost Ranch has hosted famous guests like Charles Lindbergh and Cary Grant, offered respite to the atomic bomb builders, served as home and inspiration to Georgia O’Keeffe, and provided the backdrop to movies like City Slickers and Indiana Jones. More importantly in my world, it’s where my parents first met, working one summer during college.

I chose a quiet campsite facing a mountain called Pedernal, which O’Keeffe painted often. I was again racing the rain as I put up my tent, backing into the same cactus twice. As I sat that night reading, the wind gusts were so strong that once I actually thought someone had fallen against the canvas, onto my back. I turned off my lantern wondering if the tent would stay up through the night. It did, though the storm wrenched 3 of 8 stakes from the ground.

I spent July 5 and 6 exploring the ranch, meeting staff and other guests, and hiking. I’d heard about an old monastery nearby, so set off Sunday afternoon down a 13-mile dead-end dirt road to visit. It wasn’t until mile 11 that I started to worry about just showing up. My anxiety and curiosity grew in equal measure as I parked the car and walked the final half mile on foot, down a maze-like gravel path with large wooden crosses at every turn. I was relieved when I finally arrived to find welcoming Benedictines and a gift shop.

On Monday, July 7, I drove into Santa Fe for an oil change and walk through the artsy downtown, then visited Los Alamos, the birthplace of the atomic bomb. The logistics of how Los Alamos was built, run, and kept secret were fascinating; even birth certificates listed a PO box instead of town name. Yet though I was glad I visited, and amicably snapped a photo for a smiling family in front of a replica of one of the bombs, it was sobering and Oppenheimer’s quote from the Hindu Bhagavad Gita echoed in my mind: “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of Worlds.” I returned to Ghost Ranch in time to have dinner in the dining hall, borrow a video about Georgia O’Keeffe from the ranch library, and watch Pedernal’s violet hues deepen one last time as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

I left Ghost Ranch on July 8, heading northwest toward Mesa Verde in Colorado, and its Native American cliff dwellings, built by the Ancestral Pueblo people between 1200 and 1280. I stopped for lunch and supplies at a cafe/grocery a few miles from the park. When the woman working the checkout learned I’d be camping at Mesa Verde, she encouraged me to take more cheesy bread from the salad bar, and instructed me to listen during the night, saying it was a spiritual place. I promised I would, and mentally added spirits to my list of things to listen for at night, alone, in my tent.

I got up before dawn on July 9, packed up my campsite by lantern light, and drove deeper into the park to see the cliff dwellings from a distance before joining a tour into the one dwelling tourists can enter. Ranger Jim hummed the Indiana Jones theme as we climbed a 32-foot ladder, on the side of a 700-foot cliff. I didn’t love that part, but getting inside was worth it, and the crawl out through an 18-inch wide tunnel was easier.

I left Mesa Verde around lunchtime, Grand Canyon bound, making a quick stop en-route to visit the Four Corners, where Colorado, New Mexico, Utah and Arizona meet. I was tired. When the radio failed, I popped in the road trip CDs my Open Society Public Health Program colleagues made me. And when I started to get drowsy, I stopped for gas and coffee, pouring from a dark pot labeled “jolt” which revived me. Somewhere in Arizona I hit a bird, and passed a few miles worrying that it may have ricocheted through the sunroof and be somewhere in the car... And then I saw the Grand Canyon, and forgot the bird, my fatigue, and everything else as I took it in. Teddy Roosevelt was right: “You cannot improve on it.”

On July 10, I took at 7-mile hike along “Hermit Road” on the South Rim, and on July 11, I ventured into the canyon itself on a 9-mile hike. The way down was breathtaking; the way up was, too, given the altitude, grade, and heat. About a mile from the top I came across a father with two little girls who asked me to get him medical help. I had almost no cell reception in the canyon itself, but ascended as fast as I could and called a 911 dispatcher at the top, who immediately sent a ranger. I returned to my tent, passed out for an hour, took a $2 shower, and then warmed some leftover stew for dinner. I wasn’t so worried about bears at the Grand Canyon, but the aggressive ravens were as big as dogs.

On Saturday, July 12, I left Arizona heading north toward Zion National Park in Utah, driving through stunning rock formations and a harrowing mile-long tunnel, built in 1930 when cars were much smaller. I’d decided to spend an extra night at Zion, and luckily secured the last tent site available, C27, with the understanding that I’d need to pack up and move to my reserved site the next day. Miraculously, C27 was my reserved site, but the ranger warned me it had a lot of ants. I sprayed my tent with a special insect repellant for fabrics which seems to have deterred them from climbing it, then crouched on the picnic table bench to keep them from climbing me as I cooked pancakes and eggs for dinner on my propane stove. It made me miss the ravens. Current mile count: 4452.