Arches and Marching Bands (Moab, UT)

Moab, Utah – Days 13 and 14

CANYONLANDS (dusty) Campground, lovely folks, 50 cent coffee; 100% rating!

The Moab Husky Marching Band woke us up before dawn when it was still dark. Hell’s Bells: the football field lights are still on to help them navigate their maneuvers. We couldn’t stop laughing in the early morning hour, as they played the same song over and over again. He is in a mummy sleeping bag, and I am wrapped up in whatever I can find to stay warm. As a former drum major of a competitive band, my ass was out of the tent and in the stands watching the dynamics of an incredibly small, yet tight unit. Later, we went to breakfast at the "historic Golden burro Cafe," where five presidents have dined since the (last) turn of the century.

We visited the National Arches Park twice, and each time was completely different. The first day was “severe clear,” with gnarly, jagged red rocks starkly contrasting against a Carolina blue sky. Despite my goofy foot, we manage a nice two-mile hike. On the second day in the park, there is a passing thunderstorm so this is going to be a drive-through. Despite losing our pass, we were able to tap dance our way with the older ranger lady with the long silver braids into entering again.  The sun is dancing through the clouds, casting a mosaic of shadows against the hills.

One evening, there is another frantic moment when I couldn’t get out of the tent. He is so calm and loving, and helps me with soothing words and kind gestures. It was completely anathema to my former life, when I was made to cry for my goofiness and inabilities and would pee myself because there was no partnership with little concern.

Occasionally I would have to set up shop in the middle of the campground to recharge my computer, making me vulnerable in the middle of Colorado mountains and strangers from another time zone. Somehow, I didn’t mind because it wasn’t so strange.

Today we are getting a pair of prescription sunglasses to replace the ones He lost at the Orvis Hot Springs. We drive 10 minutes outside of town and are immediately in the desert, down a couple of side dirt roads, a wooden sign with a pair of glasses burned into it. 

"Are you sure this is it?" I ask hesitantly.

There is a double wide, and further down the dirt driveway is a log mansion.  A man somewhere between 38 and 60 with a long gray ponytail comes out to greet us. Dad gum if he isn’t barefoot and in a tye-dye. Barefoot in November! leading Him into the trailer. He casts a skeptical smirk across his shoulder back at me, and I smile and shrug my shoulders: “UTAH!” I mouth.

I listen to the local Ute Rez radio station, and 10 minutes later He emerges with a pair of Ray Bans with blue-block lenses and a huge grin, thumbs up.

Breaking camp once again goes without incident. A wonderful day so far, even though the Moab Huskie marching band woke us up again with that damn tune. And of course, those are the ones you can never get out of your head for the rest of the day.