The splendid southwest – 1

Planning and preparing for trips is a rather time consuming and expensive craze of mine. I now have someone special to go far and away with, who lets my obsession get the better of me. All he had to do was to share the itinerary with me and the travel junkie in me got down to work, booking everything from the flight tickets and hotels to some sightseeing tours, spending hours meant for a good night’s rest before another hectic week at work.

Life would be too easy if everything goes as per plan. That is probably why I ended up in a situation where I had no photo ID in time for my trip. My passport is the only ID I have in this not-so-foreign land, what with my adventures at the Department of Motor Vehicles preventing me from getting a Driver’s license, time and again. That is another story for another time. I had to part with my passport for a while for another official endeavor that took much longer than expected. Some might ask why I never got the California state ID, let us just say I was too immature and assumed it was for people who went drinking often and were afraid they would lose their passport, until they got their DL. So, there I was, explaining my situation to every other colleague and friend that lent me an ear, and not once getting a positive response where they thought it was possible for me to travel on a domestic flight without a valid photo ID. Some even went so far as to convince me that it would be futile to even try. The reply that I received to my email to the Transportation Security Administration was the only silver lining, assuring me that it was still possible to clear the security check with whatever other documents I could provide to prove my identity and cooperating with them in case of additional checks. I decided to try, as my flight was to Salt Lake City and driving all the way there with my Indian License is something that I could try but would only be made up for by sacrificing the first day of our itinerary. I arrived at the airport a good four hours before the stipulated time for takeoff. The officer at the security gate seemed convinced that I am not an undocumented immigrant after looking at my social security card and a credit card. I could feel my racing heart calm down as he said, “Everything checks out”. Everybody yelled something that sounded like “2 forms” as I passed through, taking much longer than usual because they had to pat me down, open my bags and make sure I am not carrying anything dangerous. We headed to the rental car counter, only a black Chevy Malibu away from exploring the canyons and deserts of the southwest. I was both excited and frightened at the idea of spending ten days on a vacation. Would I get exhausted instead of feeling rejuvenated, would I not want to go back home?

We decided to take it slow on the first day, readying ourselves only in time to miss our complimentary breakfast before making our way towards the Bonneville salt flats. It is the vast remnant of a salt lake, home to the Bonneville speedway where major land speed events are held every year. It was a two-hour drive from Salt Lake City, speckled with occasional drizzles and downpours. We waited in the car as the splendid view got clearer and fresher soaking up the rain. We took a walk in the salt, so much salt that I have never seen before. For those who have been to the death valley national park, this is like a much bigger version of the Badwater basin. I was determined to taste it and taste I did, but it was not any different from cooking salt. It would have been nice to drive on the flats, but some articles I had read online earlier that warned about the tires getting stuck in the underlying mud stopped us. Although we had all the time in the morning, neither of us had had the sense to carry a water bottle. The drive had taken a couple of hours and we were thirsty. The vending machine nearby was our only resort. By the looks of it, it did not seem like it was in working condition, but we gave it a try nevertheless and boy, were we surprised when it dispensed a frozen water bottle. The maintenance guy was kind enough to help us pour some warm water on it for a while, melting just enough ice to quench our thirst. We drove back to the city and headed to a Mexican restaurant where I chose something I had never had before, probably thinking I need to step outside my comfort zone and feel adventurous every step along the way on this trip. The food arrived, I tasted it and for the first time in my life since I had started identifying myself as someone who could eat any vegetarian food, I sat there defeated by what was served. It was not the dish as such, but the sauce called mole negro that was poured all over that deterred me. For those who have tasted Chyawanprash, imagine a dish solely made up of that. I do like that but could not bring myself to eat that meal for lunch. The server brought the manager over after seeing my plate and they wondered if they could make up for it in any way. I felt guilty when we were given the check where the dish was not charged for and hoped that tipping much better than what I would have usually was enough to acquit me. We drove to the Antelope island state park which supposedly had the best views of the Great Salt Lake. The drive was delightful as sunset was nearing, the colorful hues of the sky reflected in the waters. Walking by the lakeshore testified the stench that quite a lot of people allured to while I was reading up to plan our visit. It is a problem only if you go really close to the water, not preventing us from getting some beautiful clicks. Sunset at 5 PM is a hurdle we face on any trip during winter. It would motivate us to start our days earlier, at the least. The Utah state capitol was visible at a distance as we drove back to the city.

We intended to arrive in Arches national park the next day and explore a bit, but the day had something else in store for us. A drive that was supposed to take four hours ended up being much longer and nothing short of a misadventure, often making us wonder if we needed to be airlifted. I would credit it all to my discretion or lack thereof, choosing a spot in the park the farthest from the visitor center to drive to so that we could save some time. We should have realized this is not going in our favor as we were directed off the freeway and on to a gravel road somewhere along the way. The bumps on the road slowly turned into mounds making it difficult for me to maneuvere the poor car and I finally gave up the driver’s seat, taking on the more productive role of chief whiner. We stopped on top of a hillock on the other side of which there lie what looked like steps. There was absolutely no way we could drive any further. It was only our unwavering determination and the belief that every road leads us somewhere that had brought us this far. Only then did it occur to me why the spot we drove to was aptly named the Devil’s garden. We got off the car and walked a bit wondering if we could get into the national park. I was confident there would be an entrance nearby, but we could not leave the car in the middle of nowhere. We drove back, our confidence occasionally taking a beating for the first half an hour or so until we made it to flat road.  I got on and off the car, partly because it would lighten the load that much more and partly because I could watch out for the shrubs and stones nearby. At one such place, the tires gave away every time we tried to make our way back up from a pit of sorts. The sand made it impossible for them to gain traction. We almost gave up and were planning to call for help when it dawned on my counterpart to take it all the way back and speed up to make way through the sand. Lo and behold, it worked! I had never been this thankful for anyone’s driving skills or for a car that went through it. It barely resembled its former self what with a thick coat of mud on but did not seem to have suffered any internal damage and safely carried us to the town of Moab where we would spend that day and the next. A car wash did it some good and put my mind at ease. We did drive to Arches in the evening where we had just enough time to catch a beautiful sunset. If there is any moral in this story, it is to never trust Google maps or anybody in life to lead us in the right path. It is almost always up to us to make the right decisions that we hopefully do not regret. If those decisions are not right, we pay the price in terms of just time and money if we are lucky.

                                                                                                  To Be Continued…