I've wanted to see Goblin Valley for about 10 years, but it was out of the way, difficult to access, and still is. The pictures of it are haunting. It called to me, much as Joshua Tree had before it, and other special places in the US. It appears in more and more motion pictures, so its days of being an unknown treasure are about over, much like Joshua Tree's. Last time I saw JT, there was a kid in day glow spandex skateboarding down the middle of the highway.
We saw Goblin Valley. We liked it. But it fell short. I think the 6 dollars at the gate about right. Any more and you might feel outraged after viewing the few acres of mud and sandstone shaped mushrooms. Since many of us will not be returning, the State must get it's coin the first time, like a mosquito drawing blood before being slapped. I'm glad I went. Don't misunderstand. WE had a blast, and that is what counts. I'm not sorry I found it, I just won't be going back any time soon.
Valley of the Gods is another story. That place calls. WE plan on spending a couple days there. Roads, access, spires and buttes, shadow and light, minerals, rocks, snakes, lizards; what's not to love? Southern Utah is open and not overrun. Nothern AZ is semi closed. Gated and fenced and dictated.
The houses are coming, the houses are coming. The great Sonoran desert is being cropped. Developement occurs in the middle of the richest places, those full of plant and animal life, with many geographic features. It makes no sense to me. If you're going to put down asphalt and concrete anyway, why not bury the creosote sand plains, or the sagebrush flats? Damn shame. We love it, we cover it, and haven't a clue where it went after we put our teflon kevlar plastic bagged society smack dab in the middle of its heart. Where did it all go? There will be a city from Phoenix to Tucson to the border of Mexico. Land speculators know this. And I don't have a million dollars to buy.
IN Flagstaff I ran into a character named Frank --- . Self proclaimed billionare. Probably is. He was driving a yellow Chevy special project roadster. He'd enjoyed a old rail road depot in central Montana, and wanted to buy it and move it, brick by brick. Seems our soldiers in WWll on their way out via train had carved every brick with name, unit, and dog tag. Real peice of history. Frank had been in Nam. He was missing some of his arm muscle. Did not like the AR. Seen it jam and cost lives; seen it hit and cost lives. Hated the Federal government or any government. Self styled anarchist.
On the fifth day out I cut my long hair. On the sixth day my beard, leaving a small crop on the chin. Next day that went, and the day after the moustache. So I look like cream filled white bread. People treat me differently. Old Frank had no way of knowing what I knew or did not know, other than by the look in my eyes and the words I choose. As always, dirty, clean, big little yellow or black. Who you are is bigger than the package.
Frank was about the last good thing I met. The owner of a inn in Bluff AZ banged on our door at 930 and then opened it. "Oops, sorry." She hastily retreated. There was a card on the table inviting us to a continental breakfast. Toast; one dollar. Muffin; one dollar. Cereal; one dollar. Juice, coffee, tea; one dollar. Don't park on the sidewalk.
She'd hid pretty good by the time I checked out so I could say nothing to her. You owe us a continental breakfast, Lady. First place in my life that opened the door I'd paid for. They get to thinking they own something of you, these little people in little places and little situations. I'd a landlady like that once. Barge in any old time. How are my walls doing?
There was a flock of French tourists haggling over price. We rent three rooms how about a break? No go. But yours truly had the Triple A discount, first good thing that card ever did for me. I spotted a Tarantula outside and soon had a mob of tourists around it. Gave a brief lecture on it and the local rattlesnakes. It was fun. But afterwards poor Trav wanted his bed linen inspected. He did the rest of the trip, whenever we'd stop, I'd look in the blankets for crawlies.
Next morning I noticed the French tourist head of clan raiding the ice maker. He was loading up his cooler. Save himself 2 bucks. He'd show America. He'd get his money's worth. How many times have I seen retirees doing that nowadays?
The road was horrible everywhere. Once I hit the California border two people attempted to merge right into my vehicle. Only the fact I treat all of them with paranoid hostility and hypersurvelience saved me. IN Montana I had the delightful experience in Island Park of having Yahoo's use the passing lane by driving 2 miles an hour faster than the long line of trucks and trailers to be passed. This would inevitably result in either the rest of us being left behind in the trucks, or the passer not making it to the end of the line and all of us still stuck.
Then there were the guys who'd pull out 200 yards ahead of you at 30 mph when you were doing 75 in a 70 mile zone. They figured once they were squat in middle of road they'd earned legal status. Can't touch me. Don't rear end my vehicle. I'll sue. I was minding my own business, officer, when that maniac came up behind me at high speed; and in Yellowstone Park, too.
In Utah if you drive the speed limit you create a dangerous situation. You must go between 15 and 20 mph over to maintain steady traffic.
And everywhere, diamond lanes are flaunted and disregarded. Mass non compliance.
Several years ago I'd stopped at an Idaho rest stop and grabbed a few chunks of lava rock. There was no prohibition against it, and central Idaho is much lava rock, as you probably know, hundreds of miles of it. This time when I pulled up there was a sign saying no mineral removal. So I promised Carter we'd stop at an open place down the line. I guess after seeing me cart backpacks of black rocks away the State of Idaho finally reacted.... At the Fall river crossing, just before the mountain climb to Henry's Fork, I stopped the Scooby Do (Subaru) as the eye of a thundercloud was about to hit. Trav couldn't leave his Game Boy so we left him behind. You spend an hour killing bad guys on a game, and if you turn it off you have to start over. There were only select places to 'save Game'. We ran over the railroad tracks and down a bank overlooking the river. I found a nice rock for Carter, and an OK one for Trav. The wind was howling, the water roaring below us in certain death, and the cars on the highway nervous and fitfull. Wet road and storm spooks plenty of people. I heard this horn go off, non stop, really insistant. The Cops? An angry Idahoan telling us no minerals may be taken? It was Trav. He'd triggered the alarm to the car, the horn and lights going off in waves. Poor guy was crying and unable to make it stop.
He felt devastated. He had no rock by himself. He'd wanted to go with us. I promised he could trade the whimp rock I'd found for him for one of my bigger rocks at home.
Like all road trips, I'm glad to go and glad to be home. IN CA I had to worry about legal transport of the Russian SKS and Russian M44 I had. Lord knows, the Bureacrats sure can't decipher their own regulations. Like a crap shoot. Do they like you? Hey, I'm a cream filled white boy; please like me. The M44 had the bolt removed, the SKS had a cable lock through the action. The bayonet of the SKS removed, but the M44's still there as it was permenantly attached. It actually is calibrated to shoot to point of aim with the bayo extended. Somehow, that's going to make the deer hunt just a little more exciting when you do it with a Russian M44 bolt. Damn deer might turn on you. Might need to finish it with a good thrust to the heart lung area....
I was able to visit more with Trav than I had in some time. He's the middle kid and squeezed between his older brother's intelligence and younger's little kid good looks... He's a great guy all by himself and I discovered his joy and optimism a real boon to be around.
We didn't spend much time with Mom. She'd shoo us away. But she did get to see the grandkids, and Dad even gave the kids hugs. He loved them, the old crank.
munk
We saw Goblin Valley. We liked it. But it fell short. I think the 6 dollars at the gate about right. Any more and you might feel outraged after viewing the few acres of mud and sandstone shaped mushrooms. Since many of us will not be returning, the State must get it's coin the first time, like a mosquito drawing blood before being slapped. I'm glad I went. Don't misunderstand. WE had a blast, and that is what counts. I'm not sorry I found it, I just won't be going back any time soon.
Valley of the Gods is another story. That place calls. WE plan on spending a couple days there. Roads, access, spires and buttes, shadow and light, minerals, rocks, snakes, lizards; what's not to love? Southern Utah is open and not overrun. Nothern AZ is semi closed. Gated and fenced and dictated.
The houses are coming, the houses are coming. The great Sonoran desert is being cropped. Developement occurs in the middle of the richest places, those full of plant and animal life, with many geographic features. It makes no sense to me. If you're going to put down asphalt and concrete anyway, why not bury the creosote sand plains, or the sagebrush flats? Damn shame. We love it, we cover it, and haven't a clue where it went after we put our teflon kevlar plastic bagged society smack dab in the middle of its heart. Where did it all go? There will be a city from Phoenix to Tucson to the border of Mexico. Land speculators know this. And I don't have a million dollars to buy.
IN Flagstaff I ran into a character named Frank --- . Self proclaimed billionare. Probably is. He was driving a yellow Chevy special project roadster. He'd enjoyed a old rail road depot in central Montana, and wanted to buy it and move it, brick by brick. Seems our soldiers in WWll on their way out via train had carved every brick with name, unit, and dog tag. Real peice of history. Frank had been in Nam. He was missing some of his arm muscle. Did not like the AR. Seen it jam and cost lives; seen it hit and cost lives. Hated the Federal government or any government. Self styled anarchist.
On the fifth day out I cut my long hair. On the sixth day my beard, leaving a small crop on the chin. Next day that went, and the day after the moustache. So I look like cream filled white bread. People treat me differently. Old Frank had no way of knowing what I knew or did not know, other than by the look in my eyes and the words I choose. As always, dirty, clean, big little yellow or black. Who you are is bigger than the package.
Frank was about the last good thing I met. The owner of a inn in Bluff AZ banged on our door at 930 and then opened it. "Oops, sorry." She hastily retreated. There was a card on the table inviting us to a continental breakfast. Toast; one dollar. Muffin; one dollar. Cereal; one dollar. Juice, coffee, tea; one dollar. Don't park on the sidewalk.
She'd hid pretty good by the time I checked out so I could say nothing to her. You owe us a continental breakfast, Lady. First place in my life that opened the door I'd paid for. They get to thinking they own something of you, these little people in little places and little situations. I'd a landlady like that once. Barge in any old time. How are my walls doing?
There was a flock of French tourists haggling over price. We rent three rooms how about a break? No go. But yours truly had the Triple A discount, first good thing that card ever did for me. I spotted a Tarantula outside and soon had a mob of tourists around it. Gave a brief lecture on it and the local rattlesnakes. It was fun. But afterwards poor Trav wanted his bed linen inspected. He did the rest of the trip, whenever we'd stop, I'd look in the blankets for crawlies.
Next morning I noticed the French tourist head of clan raiding the ice maker. He was loading up his cooler. Save himself 2 bucks. He'd show America. He'd get his money's worth. How many times have I seen retirees doing that nowadays?
The road was horrible everywhere. Once I hit the California border two people attempted to merge right into my vehicle. Only the fact I treat all of them with paranoid hostility and hypersurvelience saved me. IN Montana I had the delightful experience in Island Park of having Yahoo's use the passing lane by driving 2 miles an hour faster than the long line of trucks and trailers to be passed. This would inevitably result in either the rest of us being left behind in the trucks, or the passer not making it to the end of the line and all of us still stuck.
Then there were the guys who'd pull out 200 yards ahead of you at 30 mph when you were doing 75 in a 70 mile zone. They figured once they were squat in middle of road they'd earned legal status. Can't touch me. Don't rear end my vehicle. I'll sue. I was minding my own business, officer, when that maniac came up behind me at high speed; and in Yellowstone Park, too.
In Utah if you drive the speed limit you create a dangerous situation. You must go between 15 and 20 mph over to maintain steady traffic.
And everywhere, diamond lanes are flaunted and disregarded. Mass non compliance.
Several years ago I'd stopped at an Idaho rest stop and grabbed a few chunks of lava rock. There was no prohibition against it, and central Idaho is much lava rock, as you probably know, hundreds of miles of it. This time when I pulled up there was a sign saying no mineral removal. So I promised Carter we'd stop at an open place down the line. I guess after seeing me cart backpacks of black rocks away the State of Idaho finally reacted.... At the Fall river crossing, just before the mountain climb to Henry's Fork, I stopped the Scooby Do (Subaru) as the eye of a thundercloud was about to hit. Trav couldn't leave his Game Boy so we left him behind. You spend an hour killing bad guys on a game, and if you turn it off you have to start over. There were only select places to 'save Game'. We ran over the railroad tracks and down a bank overlooking the river. I found a nice rock for Carter, and an OK one for Trav. The wind was howling, the water roaring below us in certain death, and the cars on the highway nervous and fitfull. Wet road and storm spooks plenty of people. I heard this horn go off, non stop, really insistant. The Cops? An angry Idahoan telling us no minerals may be taken? It was Trav. He'd triggered the alarm to the car, the horn and lights going off in waves. Poor guy was crying and unable to make it stop.
He felt devastated. He had no rock by himself. He'd wanted to go with us. I promised he could trade the whimp rock I'd found for him for one of my bigger rocks at home.
Like all road trips, I'm glad to go and glad to be home. IN CA I had to worry about legal transport of the Russian SKS and Russian M44 I had. Lord knows, the Bureacrats sure can't decipher their own regulations. Like a crap shoot. Do they like you? Hey, I'm a cream filled white boy; please like me. The M44 had the bolt removed, the SKS had a cable lock through the action. The bayonet of the SKS removed, but the M44's still there as it was permenantly attached. It actually is calibrated to shoot to point of aim with the bayo extended. Somehow, that's going to make the deer hunt just a little more exciting when you do it with a Russian M44 bolt. Damn deer might turn on you. Might need to finish it with a good thrust to the heart lung area....
I was able to visit more with Trav than I had in some time. He's the middle kid and squeezed between his older brother's intelligence and younger's little kid good looks... He's a great guy all by himself and I discovered his joy and optimism a real boon to be around.
We didn't spend much time with Mom. She'd shoo us away. But she did get to see the grandkids, and Dad even gave the kids hugs. He loved them, the old crank.
munk
But the people in big cities in Utah are also crazy! LOL Any ways, thanks for posting and keeping us upto date. 
