A Chronicle Of Chronologically Assorted Purdy Pictures, Or, My Attempt To Inch The Blog Closer To Realtime

To all Rv'ers in search of summer's warmth from November through March, all is fair in love and weather. Especially when Old Man Winter huffs and puffs and blows his way into Southwest Utah's red desert, and my entire wardrobe consists of 8 pairs of shorts.

Chris Spots A Hidden Petroglyph In Natural Bridges National Monument That Rivals Anything We've Ever Seen

Bobbie and I have camped at Natural Bridges National Monument a couple/three times, back in the good ole days when you could just roll into a campground without making reservations a year in advance. We hiked the loop road on top, which, more or less, follows a deep, multihued canyon, well garnished with streaks of desert varnish. But for some reason, maybe because we were always in a hurry on our way to or from a higher prioritized destination. Until—what was it, 2016?—we made a date with Suzanne to get this hike in our respective "bags" and see the "bridges" from the bottom up instead of a "pull out." 

The Will and Skill To Survive In A Hostile Land

It's difficult to fathom the incalculable amount of change that has taken place on planet earth since the industrial revolution, and, perhaps more importantly, the some-good/some-short sighted consequences there of. And to think, that a mere few hundred years prior to the I R, bands of semi-nomadic Native Americans were carving out an existence all around here, in the four corners region of the great Southwest. For the most, part they did it what the had...tools of stone, keen intellect, and a cooperative spirit, for a while anyway. Around the 13th century, "co-op" turned to war-hoops, and shit hit the fan. It's a lesson that shouldn't be lost on us today right here in the good ole USA. Cooperation, not division, is the key to Survival.      

Accidental Tourist Stumbles On A Backdoor, Cross Country Route To Yet Another Cliff Dwelling...And, Bobbie and Chris Shows Up In Camp!

A couple days after healing up from my Hike-a-Bike fiasco, I climbed back in the saddle...vowing to stick to familiar roads and trails. Of course route vows, unlike marriage vows, are written in sand instead of stone.

It Helps To Get Lost If You Want A Good Hike-A-Bike Story...Oh, And Throw In A Rattlesnake, Too

 

It's like the old wilderness adage: Sometimes you have to get lost in order to find yourself. 

Looking Back, 700 Years Ago

After several languid days of hike-a-biking mountain trails above Monticello, Utah, I motored on down the road to a favorite ridge-top boondock in the high pinion/juniper desert country west of Blanding.

The Cure

It took a week of “pre-flight” prep to get Rv Daisy loaded and ready to soar. I was solo for a couple weeks while Bobbie tied up “loose ends” at home. There is an allure to “Blue Highways,” a term William Least Heat Moon coined for lesser travelled squiggly blue lines on paper maps that preceded internet Google Maps. I pointed Daisy west through the peaceful and lovely desolation of Western Colorado, bound for Eastern Utah’s sunburnt version of Lovely Ouray.