Road Trip in the Western Skies

Road Trip in the Western Skies-A Study of Desert Hallucinations-
A short story by S. Redenbaugh


7-13-2006-The first night-A Nevada Night-

The crunching sounds of the salt breaking away under our feet weren’t conducive with our attempts to avoided rattlesnakes, which in complete darkness is very hard to do correctly. We were now well off the Hiway, in a wash facing an orange orb as it appeared to be hatching from the mountain range to our East. Our flashlight for the remaining drive was now awaking, slowly rising up, contorted into a strange shape undoubtedly altered by the desert heat and the smoke circles we sent skyward formed by the rounding of one’s lips. Was that a snake?

Much later in real time we drove in the still hot darkness as the waning Buck Moon gave it it’s best shot. Its light beaming brighter from space with each passing moment, yet the desert seemed to grow, opening wider, expanding 360 degrees all the while sucking the light deep into the sand around us. We had no choice but to continue on.

Still much later and at a new location the Moon finally brought the surrounding landscapes into as clear of a picture as one can get at 3:00 a.m. Nevada presented us with Elko, and we laid down our weary eyes understanding the wake up call was but four hours away. I dreamed of snakes.


7-14-2006-The 2nd day- Timpanogos- The Cave and The Mountain-

7 am came and we went. From Elko we headed due east, driving deeper into a desert marked by the boarded up remains of the dreams of those who came before us. This is somewhere you want to hurry through, not stop and make a life.

Utah soon became our location. Our destination was the cave Timpanogos that lies somewhere south of the Great Salt Lake and its city. Finding no clear direction, and following a less than through road map we discover that like the people of our own valley, utterly unaware of Yosemite and her beauty, that no one here can tell us how to find the cave. Thinking that it should be easy to find a huge hole in the side of a mountain that sticks up in the air 6700’ in their own backyard proved false. Stopping for direction, I carefully conceded that I was a man lost.

Some time later money is exchanged and a better map becomes ours. Using it wisely we soon roll into the valley of the cave Timpanogos. Mountains made of marble and limestone line each side of this canyon, towering high above us. These Ancient seabeds’s now heated and pushed sky ward house what we seek on this day.
Money is again exchanged and we began our mile and a quarter hike up the face of a crumbling distant cousin of El Capitan. Many others are found lying upon the path, dead from lack of water or snakebite. We step over them and continue our trek. One hour later we have risen twenty two hundred feet from the valley floor below us even though the official height is twelve hundred. The exposure sends electricity through two out of four of our collective testacies. Rock slides; snakes and 99-degree heat have not stopped us. Our resolve is steadfast, and our eyes are rewarded as we enter this hidden cave.


Once back out of this gem we stand at the edge of this world and gazed down at the canyon floor far, far below us. Understanding that we had to hike back down if we wanted to live. The view of the canyon, now more appreciated on this downward trek was due to the increased risk of stumbling into a 30 second splat as opposed to the uphill hike where gravity tends to slow one down. We were able to fully comprehend the lack of any type of rail system on the asphalt path, now seeing how the paving ran to the edge of the shear drops. About one quarter of the way down, the strain of the decline began its assault upon my knees, which were now quivering like a bowl of desert at Bill Cosby’s house. The shock to them grew so great that I had to turn, facing uphill and take my stride backwards. Soon a huge group of camera clicking Japanese were following me, viewing an American doing things his way. Through their interrupter the ten-dollar guide fee was collected for each of them.

Still, much later we stopped at a Wyoming supermarket. Filling up our baskets with black powered goodies the proprietor had to point to the no running sign, as we, like two kids explored this explosive candy shop. More money was exchanged.


7-15-2006-The 3rd day-Breakfast in Wyoming-

I am now a passenger on this endless road through this equally endless blue-skied Wyoming. Settled in to write, having partaken in a hearty breakfast complete with the presentation of a local Indian Smoke Dance I turn my gaze skyward and feel the white softness of these clouds enter my soul. Patches of long brown blades of prairie grass began to turn into fields, greening as we intersect a river of significance, made apparent by the growing number of anything man made. Present road excluded. Springs receiving the filtered water of their host hills spill out life giving water to small clusters of trees, and the multiple shades of green grows as we cross the Continental Divide. Beauty abounds here, as do snakes.

This vast landscape had become slightly less appreciated one short hour ago. The sun had begun to heat the cloudless day, and our drive would be long, but now, Wyoming is opening her beauty to us, revealing her richness, suggesting the possibilities. Her pallet hued in so many shades as the clouds paint their shadows upon her luscious canvas. Dancing, floating, expanding ones true understanding of just how majestic this place called Wyoming is.

Now, growing closer toward Colorado, piles of rock appear, stacked one atop another, each pile imitating varied cartoon characters from my childhood. Droopy ears, extended tongues, and large noses can be seen by the trained eye, hidden, carved in stone, etched in time. These images, many coated with a deep green lichen bring a peaceful, and to borrow the words of an eagle, easy feeling to me. Soft textures rise and fall as we drive past them, where they have stood, like the sentries of time, and landlords of snakes.

Arriving much later in Colorado Springs we secured bedding for the night. Word on the streets was that the Cave of The Winds would be having a 9 pm showing of a first class laser light show. Money exchanges hands and we took our seats. Soon, tens of thousands of teenaged children and future rest home operators flooded the bleachers, spilling out from 4 huge busses. The chatter of nothingness from this crowd was soon broken, silenced as lasers beamed across the canyon forming a spectacular sight. Enchanted, this child of the sixties was mesmerized watching the random repeating patterns bounce across the side of the canyon wall.


7-16-2006-The 4th day-Never Trust A Hotel Clock Radio-

“Umm, umm-morning? I said, digging deeply into my vast, eloquent morning, verbiage data bank. The cell call had awakened me and I knew we had over slept. About half an hour later, we were on the road, gassed and fed, undeniably an hour and a half late for the pick up. Which wasn’t a snake.

Henry had grown so much in six months. I had last seen him this past winter, watching him digging a hole, then hiding the dirt. When I asked him why the dirt was being stashed he stopped, looked left, then right, making sure no one else would hear. He then told me “Well. Yesterday, I dug this hole and then someone filled it in so this time I’m hiding the dirt”. I remember holding back my laughter; fully understanding what he had expressed and simply nodded my head. Five year old wisdom, light years ahead of many adults.

Today, he greeted us with exciting news; detailing his account of trapping two rolly poley’s under a rock in the front yard. Running there he lifted a small rock, revealing his treasures. Our journey was now half way through.

Later, we return to the Cave of the Winds and see a line awaiting tickets that seemed to go on for days. My adult traveling companion uses his connections and we are moved to the front of the line. Tour 27 begins and we enter the cave. Beauty runs deep inside this mountain. What we get to see is only one quarter of one cave of a collective group that totals 70 within this canyon.

Much later today as we drove through Denver, a Bob Seger song came to my mind. It was from his album “seven”, the song entitled, “Get out Of Denver”. Believe me when I say his words proved sage advise.

Soon Denver becomes a distant memory in our rear view mirror and the real beauty of these Rockies explodes. We followed Interstate #70, which snakes through the amazing mountain range. This Interstate runs through a canyon, which contains; one railroad track, the road itself, and one river. The White River runs untamed here. It cuts into the canyon floor, just as it has for so many winters, summers, springs and falls, hurrying towards its convergence with the Colorado River. And, as far as the railroad goes, well, I would be lying to you if I said that, this railroad, was once used to smuggle Elvis into a secret underground bunker in order to meet with space aliens to co-write songs that could be used to brain wash the earths population. Then again, if you looked hard enough, I’m sure a tour leaves each hour from somewhere

Glenwood Canyon is a place I would explore until I died if given the opportunity. Layers upon layers of the past have been opened here by the unrelenting carving power of water and time. Rocks formed by pressure and heat deep under the earth’s surface, then thrust sky ward, exposing them to the brutal Colorado winters have left behind a picture of time itself. In the canyon, there are places where man has made the most out of Mother Nature’s wonderland. The town of Glenwood Springs is a prime example. Here there is a cave that is the exit for volcanic steam rising thousands of feet up through cracks in the earth’s crust. In this cave you can get a massage, sit in a sauna or get one of hundreds of other services. None of which involve snakes.


7-17-2006-The 5th day-Glenwood Springs Cave-

I am a caver afraid of certain enclosed spaces, through not the one’s contained with-in the coolness of caves. I am however a bit shaky when it comes to the ones that shallow you up with doors that close. Doors that won’t open on my command leave me with that deer caught in the headlights look. Gondolas are one of the many types of “transporters” that I don’t care for. This became an unfortunate issue today as we hopped on one that would have taken me to Glenwood Caverns. I sat down and looked around, and in a nano-second my brain determined that there wasn’t enough fresh air supplies to adequately allow me to live with-in the confined space here. So, just as quickly as I had sat down, I sprang up and exited, telling my friends that I was feeling way to much claustrophobic to go. So, here I sit, hoping equally that the cave is spectacular for them, and that I have not put a damper upon their enjoyment of this underground beauty.
This is also perhaps, a huge reason I haven’t seemed prone to a life of crime. Why caves were ever removed from this phobia list of mine is no mystery. They offer me live. They fill me with joy. They tickle an insatiable thirst for discovery. They send a profound sense of history deep within me. My issue today is how I was to get there. I now eagerly await their return, and their verdict as to whether this cave rocked and was worth it all. I know I have missed out on something special, and can now only hope that I am able to live vicariously through their adventure.

End of day update-Turns out they had a blast, and then we drove to Ely Nevada. This put us starting in Colorado, all the way through Utah, and into Nevada where we stayed in a two-bit dive called Bates Motel# 6. We headed out for dinner at 9:30 pm at the “Nevada Hotel”, an old favorite since 1888, which did not have snake on the menu. So, I had a short stack of Blueberry Pancakes and a side of Biscuits and Gravy, which won the trips “Best Grub” honor.


7-18-2006-The 6th day-Damn The Torpedoes –

Up at the crack of dawn, which for us while in Ely, is 8:30. We ate, fueled and split like a bad seem in a vertical toupee, although I really haven’t a clue what that means. We then drove more; saw more, sort of the same old same old same old. Because we were heading home nothing was stopping us except, gas, food and elimination. Then, somewhere in Nevada it happened. I was driving, cruising along at fifteen under a hundred when the Jeep began to shake. It started on the right side, and moved to the center, then the sound waves hits. As they did, the shaking shifted to the left and the percussion thumped deep in each of our chests, and then it was gone. In their place a F-16 zoomed into sight, by now a mile to the left side of us. Stunned, we watched it bank right and then pull straight up. It then turned again and at first something seem to pull away from it. Falling towards earth, it seemed to right itself and then it shot straight towards the mountain directly south of us. Before either of us could say a word the rocket slammed into the base of the mountain and exploded! Dirt and smoke cascaded upwards, the sound passed through the closed windows and we immediately pulled to the side of the road, cameras in hand, we exited quicker then a Kennedy from a submerging car. The jet had pulled up, almost out of view, and then arching over it turned, facing the spot it had just targeted and another rocket shot from it. We started snapping pictures as it screamed towards earth, striking the exact spot the first had hit. The explosion was bigger, creating a huge black mushroom cloud. Our eyes wide, we stood silent. The grass on the hill began to burn, and then we drove away. I thought to my self that surely some snakes had just died.

We made California by 5, and Mountain Ranch by 6:30. Our journey was almost complete. We were headed down the single lane road that dead ends near my friend’s house when something startling happened. In broad daylight a mountain lion appeared on the left side of the road no more then 25 feet in front of us. She turned away from us, and darted towards the other side of the road. Large and forceful, her powerful muscles showed as she bounded away. Scrambling up the bank to our right she disappeared into the dense brush. We quickly stopped and looked up where she exited the road. Though she was gone from sight a new fear rose in me as we saw branches still moving from her rapid departure. In the 22 years I had been coming here I had never seen such a large creature and now it was leaving a mark on my psyche. It stripped away the feeling once held of being safe in this valley. At least now, snakes didn’t seem so bad.