Twenty-Five to Life

A quarter of a century has passed since Mark and I got married. 

October 27, 1990

Wow, that sure sounds like a long time.

When I was a kid I used to think "old people" (people younger than I am now) were crazy when they kept saying how fast time goes by. "You're getting so big!" Grandma Thelma would exclaim, "Seems like just yesterday I was rocking you to sleep."

At the time I thought Grandma was nuts. Did she know how long it took for Christmas to come? Did she know how excruciating it was to wait for the last day of school before summer vacation? It took forever! Longer than forever!

That lasted up until the end of high school. Suddenly, there didn't seem to be enough time. The first day of college turned into finals much faster than I could study. Graduating was a shock. What do you mean I have to get a job? That's when things really started speeding up.

Pre-marriage: 1988. (Those are safety glasses on Mark not a fashion misstep.
We worked in a laboratory; not sure why I wasn't wearing mine.)

No one can say we had a whirlwind romance. We were friends, we dated, we got engaged, we got married in the space of 3 years. Our first year we spent crammed into a one bedroom duplex with two big dogs, all our wedding gifts still in boxes stacked in the hallway (occasionally knocked over by one of the big dogs). When we moved to a rental house we stacked the boxes in the spare room and lived in the rest of the house. It was eight years until we bought a house and unpacked the gifts, finally serving holiday dinners on the china we received.

Tahoe 1999, pre-camper days.

We've now known each other longer than we haven't. We met when we were both 23, and we've been together for 28 years. Sounds impressive, but like Grandma used to say, it feels like just yesterday.

I look in the mirror now and am shocked by what I see. When did this happen? I still feel the same, and as long as I don't look at that reflection, I can believe it's true (that might explain the state of my hair on occasion). I'm still waiting for the day Mark and I start to look alike; they say that happens you know. God I hope not. Mark's got a pretty good beard going these days.

Backpack trip to North Dome (Half Dome in the background), 2001

I don't have any advice about how to make a marriage last; I seriously think we got lucky when we found each other. Neither of us have strong opinions that we don't agree on; that saves us from serious arguments. We both enjoy the same hobbies, and the few we don't share we've found others to share them with. We've learned how to deal with the other's grumpy days without taking offense and how to sense when to shut up and listen. We don't have kids, so either we've been living the empty nest syndrome this whole time, or we've enjoyed it so much we didn't notice.

Death Valley 2004

When our now-eighteen year old niece was five, we were teasing her, pretending to take away her favorite toy. When Mark ran off with it and I pretended to be in distress, telling her he wasn't going to come back, she just rolled her eyes at me. "He'll come back. He wouldn't leave without you because you match." At that point in her life, she had never seen us apart; she couldn't imagine it any other way.

Frankly, I can't imagine that either.

Hawaii 2005

Like a lot of couples we spent our honeymoon in Hawaii. We went back for our anniversary, this time  spending it hiking in the national park there trying to catch the volcano erupting (there's a metaphor in there somewhere, I'm sure) and snorkeling around the reefs with an eye out for sharks (another fitting metaphor I suppose).

Hawaii 2015

We had a lot of fun, because hey, how can you not have fun in Hawaii? Now that we're home we immediately started planning our next adventure.


Because that's what we do. We match.

Valley of the Gods & Goosenecks State Park: Utah's Showing Off Again

Always listen to Craig. 

That was the lesson we learned on this year's trip to the Southwest.

When planning our post-Overland Expo trip this year, a lot of emails flew back and forth in the days prior to departure. What about White Rim Trail in Canyonlands? Camping there was already booked up. How about Moab? Always fun, but crowded. Grand Canyon? We did that last year. Craig mentioned he had always wanted to go up the Moki Dugway, having been down it before but never up. And by the way, Valley of the Gods is just a hop skip and jump away from there. And after consulting a map, he realized Muley Point was just up the road, and wouldn't it be fun to go visit the Hawaiian Rolls?

What?

That's crazy talk Craig, but ok, we're game.

A little background: Craig is an archaeologist, specializing in aviation. His work life is devoted to studying crash reports, satellite photos and old photographs looking for clues as to where missing aircraft from as far back as WWII might have gone down. When he's fairly sure he's got the right area he drives out, hikes out and tries to find the rusty bits and pieces that might indicate he's found the site. He's a man obsessed, but in a good way.

This explains in a roundabout way how he came across a this photo:

Photo Credit: Adriel Heisey

He became so enamored with this picture he spotted in an Archaeology Southwest magazine issue, he studied Google Maps satellite view until he narrowed down where it might have been taken. What he came up with was a mesa near Muley Point Utah, accessed by the Moki Dugway, just adjacent to Valley of the Gods. Voila! The perfect place to explore, and just a half days drive from Flagstaff.

The namesake for Mexican Hat, Utah.

To get to Valley of the Gods from Flagstaff, drive up highway 89, turn towards Tuba City on 160, then turn north on 163 at Kayenta. From there you cruise through the outskirts of Monument Valley to Mexican Hat, cross the San Juan river and wave hello to the Swingin' Steak Grill, and maybe stop in for one of their famous steaks, grilled to perfection as it swings over a wood fire. (Or so I've heard. We didn't actually stop. Next time!) Take the turnoff at 261 toward Goosenecks State Park and drive almost smack into the side of a huge mesa. Turn right to get to Valley of the Gods; go straight and you'll be driving up steep switchbacks cut into the side of that mesa, the famous Moki Dugway.

Wind, Dust, Thunderstorms. I'm beginning to think the name Utah is derived from the Navajo word meaning "Crappy Weather"

Now, I love Utah. I really do. The red sandstone that is so famously carved by wind and water into arches and hoodoos, towers and spires; so very grand. But why is it every time we go, the "sculpting" has to be in progress? What is it about us that attracts 50 mph wind gusts and thunderstorms followed by torrential rain? Isn't it supposed to be a desert?

Driving through Monument Valley, through wind and rain.

We convoyed with our friends, Craig and Rasa in their Toyota truck towing their gigantic tent trailer and Mel in his Wrangler with his tricked out old army Jeep trailer, our big Ford truck bringing up the rear. We watched the trailers wag back and forth in the wind ahead of us as Mark gripped the steering wheel as the truck tried to change lanes on it's own. Off to the left, huge black clouds were hanging low over the desert. Now and then a lightning bolt would stab down and seem to touch the "monuments" that make up the valley. This was going to be fun.

By the time we reached the entrance of Valley of the Gods, the wind was tearing across the park in gusts strong enough to bend the metal sign posts off kilter. We slowly drove down the gravel road, searching for a spot that was big enough for all three of our rigs, and with enough protection from the wind to allow us to pop up our respective campers and tents without having to chase them down the valley. Thankfully, we had all brought our FRS radios so we could communicate without having to get out of our trucks. If you've ever tried to get out of a car in this kind of wind you will understand the risk you take every time you open the door; watching your expensive set of topo maps along with various bits of road trip flotsam (napkins, apples cores, gas receipts) fly into the next county is not fun. Been there, done that.

Valley of the Gods is on BLM land, which means dispersed camping is allowed anywhere a previous camp has been made. Off road driving is prohibited, but there are plenty of spots to choose from, ranging from large pullouts along the main road to campsites on spur roads right beneath some of the monuments.

Circling the wagons, Overland-style. That's Craig behind his Fleetwood trailer, trying to hook things up while the wind was trying to rip everything out of his grip.

The view from camp. Not too shabby.

The storm made for a dramatic sunset that night.

As we were setting up camp in the wind, the guys from Ninkasi Brewing Company drove by, stopped, backed up and handed us some beer (they had attended Overland Expo as well). They said anyone who was willing to camp in this weather deserved a free beer.
We are now fans for life.

We found a nice spot nestled down behind a small outcropping. It was still windy, but tolerable. The saving grace of all this weather was it had rained just enough to keep the dust down. Small favors from the heavens. We set up camp then huddled in Craig and Rasa's trailer for dinner, holding onto our plates as the whole thing rocked in the wind. It definitely wasn't a-sit-around-the-campfire night.

Good morning!

The next morning Utah decided to show us it's alternate personality. Waking up to silence, we looked out the window and found it was a gorgeous, blue sky/puffy cloud/red monument/perfect kind of day. We hopped out of bed, grabbed our cameras and walked down the road before our campmates were up. If there's a better time or place to take photos than Utah at 6:00am, I don't know where that is.

Yucca flowers try to out-spire the spires in Valley of the Gods.

Evening Primrose decides to stay up until morning.

A backlit daisy seems happy the wind stopped.

Lupine

A break in the clouds highlights one of the many spires in Valley of the Gods

Mark hurries back to camp after our photo shoot went a little long. Way off in the distance you can see our camp, the white dots to the left of the road under the center spire.

We were having so much fun we didn't realize how long we had been gone. When we got back to camp our mates were waiting with breakfast for us. Scrambled eggs and veggies from the garden; perfection.

It was the perfect day to take a little exploration trip and find the Hawaiian Rolls, stopping in to see Goosenecks State Park along the way.

Goosenecks State Park, Utah

Goosenecks State Park overlooks an area where the San Juan River makes multiple u-turns, cutting sharp curves through the desert floor. Standing in one spot you can look down a thousand feet and watch the river as it makes it's way through three full curves. From above, it looks like a giant wiggly W. It's a spectacular view, and there are some primitive campsites if you like flat, windy places, but there isn't much else there.

Notice the red tinge to the clouds. That's not Photoshop; the white clouds were reflecting the red earth beneath them.

The San Juan river has cut it's way 1000' into the plains of Utah.

We stood and stared down for a while as more people started pulling into the park. Turns out, this area is very popular with the European tourist crowd. There were lines of rented Harley Davidsons parked in rows along the edges of the lot. A group of riders pulled in behind our parked trucks as we were trying to leave. We waited and watched as one woman tried to back her motorcycle up to the curb. She almost made it; Craig and Mark helped her prop the bike back up after it spilled over.

Note to self: do not rent your expensive fancy motorcycle to people whose total riding experience amounts to puttering around Florence on a Vespa.

Next stop: Moki Dugway and the Hawaiian Rolls of Muley Point.

To be continued...

Overland Expo 2015: Weather That Almost Won

This year's Overland Expo started out so promising. We pulled into Mormon Lake under partly cloudy skies, checked in and received our packets then made our way to the campground. The gale force winds that usually greet us were absent, and the temps were in the pleasant 60s. Even better, this year the campground was laid out in rows marked off with cleverly named streets. No more willy-nilly free-for-all camping that left us trapped in a sea of 4x4s like the previous years. Our friend Mel had staked out an area for everyone in our group; we pulled in next to him and popped up.

This was gonna be great.

Thursday afternoon before Overland Expo 2015, sunny skies and all is well.

We pulled out our chairs and watched the procession of campers, trailers, RVs, and various outlandish vehicles drive by, guarding the spaces around us for friends that were arriving late. The clouds that had been hanging off to the east started to move over us and it was getting a little chilly, but no worries. It was almost beer time and we had jackets.

The wind kicked up a little. No surprise, this was Overland after all. Then the wind carried in a few raindrops. We put up our hoods. No big deal. We're overlanders! We are tough! We cooked dinner huddled around the stove, as much for warmth as to shield the burner from the wind and rain. Socializing was made more difficult by chattering teeth and the cold, which had dipped into the 30s by the time the sun went down. Everyone decided they were really tired and went to bed just after 9:00pm.

The view from under our tarp. Rain, rain and more rain. 

The morning brought rain mixed with torrential rain and occasional snow flurries. The surrounding "dry" lakebed had turned into a gluey, boot sucking muck, a charming mixture of silty soil and cow dung that coated our shoes in alternating layers of slick mud and the tiny lava rock they had (somewhat belatedly and futilely) laid down on the footpaths. Walking was a chore; haul one heavy boot out of the muck, search for the driest, least deep area to place it and do it all over again until you reached the drier Expo grounds. By the time you got to the concrete each foot weighed at least 10 lbs and everyone was walking like Frankenstein's monster. I felt sorry for the lodge: the classes that were held inside were coated in pathways of mud tracked in by the hundreds of boots tromping up and down the stairs.

My boots, after I had cleaned them off to the best of my ability. 

Saturday morning the weather changed. Overnight three inches of wet, heavy snow fell, coating the trucks and tents, weighing down our awning until it bent the poles inward. Mark had gone out a few times during the night to flip the snow off, leaving piles of snow around the edges of the awning that melted in the morning, creating a deeper, thicker mud moat around our camp.

Does this look like fun? Believe me, it was colder than this looks.

Our truck that morning. It was actually warmer inside with the insulating layer of snow.

Mel's rig. He stayed in bed until the last possible minute that morning.

At this point, a lot of our neighbors decided they had had enough. Unfortunately, by this time the mud was so thick many of them couldn't get out on their own. Teams of recovery vehicles started roaming the campground, pulling helpless RVs and overloaded trucks and trailers out of the muck. Of course this churned up even more mud and some of the recovery vehicles needed recovering. In the end, the tow trucks called in from Flagstaff refused to come out to the campground and it was up to a guy named Wolf and his deuce and a half, an old WWII cargo truck. He was pulling people out for donations to fill his gigantic diesel tank, which was getting a serious workout. Yeah, they don't make 'em like they used to.

This is how it's done (if you brought the right vehicle, and the right driver):

We watched all this with interest and dread. We weren't planning on leaving until Monday morning, and we had been nervously monitoring the weather forecasts every few hours. It was supposed to start clearing Saturday afternoon but during happy hour that evening, we watched as the heavy rain turned to hail then snow showers. We had been planning on having a potluck meal that night, but that sealed it: we went to the pizza place, the best 60 bucks we've ever spent.

Mel, Chris, Max and Jason braving the rain for a sandwich.
This is how most of our meals were spent: standing up, eaten as quickly as possible.

When we returned to camp we found it had become a little island in a sea of mud. At least half the campground had vacated to higher ground and/or warmer climes leaving us with few neighbors. That night was quiet, except for the whirring of those lucky enough to have heaters in their rigs. Hey, there's no shame in it; we set ours to go on at 48, and it was cycling all night.

Sunday morning brought hope. Sunshine was starting to break through, and by the afternoon it turned out to be a beautiful day. Rays of semi-warm sun bounced off the mud puddles and danced on the small lake that had once been the volunteer campground. A lone Oz tent was still standing in the middle, a testament to the sturdy tent and it's stubborn owners. They must have packed waders because there was no way to get out of there without sinking to the knees in the mud.

The nice thing about dry lakebed camping: as quickly as it can turn to muck, it dries out all the quicker. By early afternoon, if we were careful, we could walk across the campground without breaking through the crust. Only in the worst places–the roads that had suffered the most damage when people had gotten bogged down–were there mucky places left.

One of our favorite classes during our first Overland Expo was taught by Martin with Adventure Trailers. He was teaching us tire repair, a skill Mark has used quite frequently in the past few years. The lesson that stuck with both of us, though, was this: when faced with something that's stopped you in your tracks–say, a flat tire–and you feel panic setting in, the first thing you should do is stop and make a cup of tea. Take a moment, think it through, and by the time the kettle boils you'll have realized how to get at the problem with a clear, calm approach.

By Monday morning, our truck and camper were mostly dry as we packed up, and we drove out of there with nary a slip of a tire. Martin was right: sometimes it pays to sit tight and have a cup of tea. A nice blazing hot cup.