Day 8: Mesa Verde to Moab (Grandparental Advisory: Graphic Danger Included)

For a while I thought I would be writing this blog post about how every day on a trip can’t be “epic”. Sometimes you get to a National Park and the fun tours are all sold out, or teens are so sullen you ask them if they’re turning Emo, or the hangries from that Lance Cracker lunch while stuck in traffic on a Utah road that resembles Kansas might just be what you get. But not this day! This day unexpectedly turned around, and by turning around, I mean tried to kill us but only made us stronger.

Our first stop of the day was Mesa Verde, a National Park and World Heritage Site inhabited by Ancestral Puebloans as early as A.D. 550. We had hoped to be able to climb through the small walkways and steps of their ancient adobe or stone dwellings tucked into cliff recesses, but peppier tourists than us bought all the tickets, so we took a “self-guided tour” of the mesa canyon overlooks and got a good sense of the magic there. Similar (but obviously different) than looking out over St. Louis from the Gateway Arch, it was certainly impressive to think about the ingenuity of the human mind, and the drive to build– for safety, function, and form.

From there we said goodbye to Colorado and its temperate weather, and hello to the hundred degree canyon lands. The first time a sculpted, fossilized spaceship of a rock jutted out of the landscape–a hint of what was to come– I squeeed. Little did I even know.

We were all still a little grumpy, for no apparent good reason, and even a midday swim at our next hotel couldn’t wash off the irritable vibe among us. That’s how we began our first hike in Moab on the Corona Arch Trail– hot, hungry, thirsty, whiny. But it was only 1.5 miles to the Arch, an “easy to moderate” walk appropriate for 8 year-olds according to the most recent All Trails reviewer. So we pushed through and very quickly, the vibe changed… because Spaceship Rocks.

We were on another planet. A red and orange planet, dry and dusty, with patterned rocks and interesting foot paths, sweeping views. Lia chimed in with the refrain of every hike we’ve done so far: “This is my favorite hike we’ve done so far.” Then, we reached the “second cable where steps have been cut into the slickrock (per hike instructions)”. Ha- steps, you say?! Random toeholds, Liar! Slickrock? What is that? Oh, it is slick rock. That is when the thing happened that shot us with adrenaline for the final half of the ascent to the arch. A classic tweenage thing, a classic tourist thing, a thing that no one wants on a family member’s obituary.

The cell phone drop from the pocket, bouncing, tumbling, cascading down the mountain, past mom’s netted hands, over the edge, and onto a ledge just beyond the trail. The cry of “Noooooooo!” that came from the son was heard by the father as son bouncing, tumbling, cascading down the mountain over the cliff. It wasn’t that, but for a brief moment, it may have been, until mom rescued the phone and confirmed nary a scratch. Pulse rapid from the reality of slickrock physics, we reached the next level of the hike and tried to reset, but where one might have thought there’d be more hand cables, one found only more slickrock, curved space stone, and an emerging view of a stunning arch atop a steep, STEEP, canyon. We sat, sipped water, and said, “Maybe this is close enough.” Lia, aka Emo Girl earlier in the day, said “We are not quitters.” So on we went, absorbing this momentous thrill, barking at children to go slow, watch their step, crab-crawl like mom if you have to. Beneath the arch, we marveled at this creation, the power of the Colorado River that formed it over millions of years, and the hiking man that came up behind us at a clip of a damn mountain goat like his boots were slickrock magnets. Once past Cellphone Ledge on the descent, the whole family breathed in a new way for the first time that day, laughing, practically skipping, tasting the cold brewery beer to come, making fun of Kansas (Lia: “I know why Dorothy loved Oz so much.”)

And that my friends, is how this family does epic adventures in the American west. Like morons. Or like people who believe All Trails reviews. Sorry Grandma Irene and Nemmie, that you had to read this post. Trust me, all is well, and everyone says it was worth it.