...At least the M and B half of the acronymic moniker (bestowed by your's truly) that represents Maia, Owen, Anita and Brent. They brought food, bikes and beer, so of course they are welcome to our table...but not our living quarters.
We crammed a lot into the two and a half days they were in camp, starting with a hike to view Disney-esque features on the less-trodden backside of Arches National Park.
Less than 20 minutes of hiking and we were treading Arches' white sandstone...heading for one of the red "loaves" pictured below, second "loaf" from the right. From there we figured we'd just "wing it," per usual.
|Such traction..."Trust your shoes, Maia!"|
|Almost there, to the second loaf from the right. We pause to appreciate the surreal formations below...|
|Brent (nervously) captures Daughter scaling a cliff. "Maia, don't put so much trust in your shoes!"|
Given MOAB's pending empty nest (Where did all that time go?) the Father/Daughter campout was more or less a parental mandate. Maia was kind enough to rearrange her Spring Break schedule and accommodate the powers at be. Thank you for squeezing us in, Maia!
|We found a "sidewalk" that allowed us to continue exploring beyond the "loaves."|
|To THIS!!! Cool. Let's go over there...|
|I think Maia inherited the "adventure" gene|
Ultimately, we are "cliffed out." Time to pause, have a snack, and enjoy Utah's red vistas and blue skies.
Now if we can only get back out...
|Didn't seem that steep going down...|
Ok, on to something a little safer...Maia's first single track experience...
I'm pinned indoors as I finish this post. 50 mph wind gusts are sandblasting Goldie's broadside—a tempest of dust outside, a lingering haze inside. I can literally taste red dirt.
I just texted Bobbie in Lovely Ouray, told her a gale of red dirt is headed that direction. She said she feels sorry for me...
Spring in Eastern Utah seems to have Multiple Personality Disorder. Today, she is Angry-Bitch. This is the price paid to April camp around here. I've been through worse, though, like a time back in the late 70's when a group of us tried to tent camp as a storm front blew through. I trimmed my tent perimeter with boulders to keep it from going airborne. Cooking out in such conditions was an exercise in culinary futility. Nothing quite like the crunch of sand in your oatmeal...