A rare event occurred this past weekend.  Make that two rare events.  I had a (wait for it) whole weekend off and I went South.  To help put the significance of these events into context, one should know that I don’t use italics in my blog because they are word art useful only when semantics alone cannot adequate paint the picture,  and I would like to think that my writing is usually colorful enough without needing to call letter slant in as backup.  Yet today I use italics in celebration of the fact that I got two whole days off– in a row.  Anna for the win.  Then, instead of following my usual path to the snowy white North, I got in my truck and it led me Southerly.  Donna for the win.  Who says people can’t change?                                                      

I had this idea that I would go solo on a desert-inspired soul journey.  But as I rolled into Moab I was overcome with the realization that it was “Jeep Week.”  Hundreds (thousands?) of jeeps migrate to Moab for a week of slick rock driving.  What did that mean for me?  Droves of people, jeeps on trails (and the associated noise), no camping or lodging to be heard of.  I drove around for a bit looking for a spot to pull over and camp, but it became increasingly apparent that this was futile so I threw in the towel and decided I would have better luck finding a spot after a day of running around sand and rocks.  Logical right?  Of course it would be more fun to look for a site after dark when I’m hungry and worn out.  What could be better?  So I headed North of town to Potash Road, flanked by a rock face and the Green River.  I found Poison Spider trail and a sign was prominently posted stating “Jeep Week Route of Interest” (or something like that).  I decided to go for it anyway, and what I found was one of the more pleasant running experiences I have had.  I started out climbing up a pile of rock to a high bluff where I ran across sand and over rocks to an arch.  I then detoured to a jeep road which was basically sand and slick rock.  It wasn’t the Tetons, but it was the tits.

This is where I first ran into the four legged beasts.  Jeepers going in the opposite direction would pull over so I could pass without a dust cloud.  A few offered water, more offered whoops of encouragement.  Two guys on dirt bikes stopped and told me how tough I was (joke’s on them!) and how much they admired that I was running.  The older of the two told me he envied my ability to run and that he was no longer able to run but longed for it.  I don’t know why I was so surprised, but it was in fact a surprise to hear from this crusty old guy that he wished he could travel across the landscape on foot rather than on his two wheeled “rrrarrr rarrrr rarrrrr” machine.  It was really cool and synergistic and downright rad to have had a day on the trails with these gentle giants.  They admired my athleticism (it’s all a matter of perspective!) and I admired their technical driving skills.  I still don’t know that it’s good for the longevity of the rock and the health of the terrain to have vehicles driving all over it, but my perspective shifted.  And when you crest 30, allowing your opinions to shift is half the battle as far as I can tell.

That evening I ventured to the brewery where I indulged of a burger and Johnny’s IPA.  On my way out the door, begrudgingly surrendering to looking for a campsite after dark, I got a text asking my my whereabouts.  And darned if it wasn’t two of the wildest women in the west, beseeching me back in for another round.  Four hours from home and only a few barstools away from good friends.  Many rounds later I found myself camping with them in the site they had found– the wilds of the Moab Inn.

The next day I fueled up and headed South of town for another run.  This time I found myself at the Hidden Valley Trailhead.  You start by staring at a rock face, but you have this nagging suspicion that somewhere within lays a hidden valley.  Where do you come up with these hunches?  Can’t be known, but you just can’t kick the feeling!  After a short scramble you pop out of the rocks into an expansive valley.  The mind wanders to cowboys of the old west, ranch dressing, goals for the future.  Another trail run win.  And with that I bought some cheesecake from Cafe Eclectica and headed back North.  Unbeknownst to me many more adventures lay on the 4 hour drive ahead of me, but that’s a blog for another day.  Soul journey?  No.  But, jeepers, a good time was had.