7" of Separation

Where's Helen Hunt when you need her.

Just a quick note, I'm in the middle of a tornado zone. Windsor, Colorado, is in shambles. One man is confirmed dead.

I'm safe, about ten miles south of the storm. Red Cross has sent refugees to the hotel I'm at, so I should be safe.

I was literally inside the storm zone though, driving through hail and 65 m.p.h. winds.

While in bumper-to-bumper dead traffic, I watched a semi blow off the road like a sheet of paper.

Here are a few pictures I was able to shoot from the car, before turning around an hauling out of there as fast as possible.

I'll have a complete story later, but there is too much going on here and I'm still shaking with adrenaline.

 

Pam appears to be fine. After spending a morning on the phone with a number of mechanics, none of which could actually see her due to a busy pre-Memorial Day shops, it was concluded that if Pam could make it a day without overheating and the engine was dry, free of any leaks, that everything was probably fine. Well, after taking a long drink of coolant, Pam made it to Denver without a problem. So, fingers crossed, nothing is wrong and she was just underpowered for that pass. "She is that," one mechanic said.

On Ellyn's last day here, to feel a little human, we went out on a date in downtown Denver. A movie and dinner — Iron Man (freaking sweet) and a meal at a nicer restaurant downtown, overlooking Denver's strange mall-like downtown area. We both had fun people watching while waiting for the meal. Denver is place of class distinction, where business casual is the suit alternative and hippies outnumber the indie rockers 3 to 1. It was a nice place, but it's the first city I've been in that lacks a distinction between east coast and west coast. Denver is one on its own.

After dropping Ellyn at the airport at 6 a.m., loneliness immediately set in. It wasn't soul crushing, but it was close. Once out of Denver, I hope it will transform back into that sense of freedom — that rambler lifestyle — that I felt before she got here. When she was here, every time we are together, it all seems like vacation, not life. So, we'll see how the open road treats me today.

Boulder came at 11:30 p.m. We saw it from the back seat of a tow truck, Pam, poor Pam, hitched backwards, tilted — looking broken. She's not broken, though. I refuse it. She's wounded, troubled, perhaps. But Pam will survive.

Ellyn, Pam and I spent three hours waiting in the parking lot of a strip mall in Silverthorne. A coffee shop owner, who spoke with the slow cadence of a true subject of the drug revolution, made conversation about the weather and how "Zen-like" we looked. Ellyn satisfied her need to experience Dairy Queen. I fiddled around with Pam a bit, finding she was having some trouble starting up and even though things felt cool, the gauge still blinked away at me like Hal telling Dave it just wasn't possible.

Finally, our tow arrived and we made our way toward Boulder, and now, in a very welcoming environment, my body is about to give out. Stress, worry and dread for Pam take a lot out of me.

So, some thoughts:

My Aussie friend from the Grand Canyon mentioned something about some fans that sit behind the radiator and pull air through. He told me I should hear them kick on. I do not. This could result in my high heat.

Also, there might be a water pump issue. An obvious choice, though if it were the problem, wouldn't Pam overheat no matter on a climb or not.

Possible it is, Pam just doesn't like hills. Nothing wrong, just a bad climber.

Of course, it might be somehting major that I have no clue about. Let's hope for the better, shall we.

Well, it had to happen sometime, didn't it?

Highway 40 took us from Craig east to Kremmling, though not without a few stops in the mountains to allow Pam to cool off, blow off some steam… quite literally. I'm finding that Pam has a real time of it making it up the Rocky Mountains.

 


The horrible part about the first overheat — mind you, I say first — was not so much the overheat, but my attempt to take a leak on the side of the road. So, lesson number one, when snow melts in soft dirt, it creates the thickest, stickiest mud you will ever see. My flip-flop was the only serious casualty, but my feet and jeans were coated with sludge. Here's to living in your car, though. A bucket to wash my feet and then my jeans left me good as new. Credit here is to Ellyn, actually, without whom, the wildlife around me would remark to each other for years to come about the torrent of curse words that would have been.

I hoped that our morning of overheating would end, and I took an extra precaution by taking Highway 9 out of Kremmling. It went south, avoiding a 11,000 foot summit just a few miles east on 40. Highway 9 wasn't a problem, but it all started to go, well, uphill as opposed to downhill around Silverthorne, where I-70 took us into the Rockies once again. I had hoped the 11,000 foot summit on I-70 would be better graded and that we might make it in a low gear. No such luck.

About 10 miles out of town — heat, steam heat. That blasted little blinking red light. A period of cool off. Then, another try. We got 2 miles. I noted the milepost… 213. This becomes important soon.

So, out of the van, I looked uphill, looked at Pam, looked in Pam, looked back uphill and finally noted the collection of cars trucks and RVs peppering the shoulder for two miles in each direction.

"I don't know if we can make it," I told Ellyn. "We are going to overheat every two miles… if the engine doesn't explode."

Enter AAA.

Let's just take a second to praise God for AAA.

…

Okay, so, about 60 minutes after talking with the friendly call centers in Oregon and Colorado, our truck showed up. We were loaded onto the flatbed and delivered, with Pam, to a parking lot of a strip mall back in Silverthorne. Our truck is on his way to grab another car and he'll then return to load us up and take us all the way to Boulder, a nice side affect of AAA. Turns out the first hundred miles are free and Boulder is only 88 miles away. We will be delivered to the door of Ellyn's friend. Then, after putting Ellyn on a plane in Denver on Thursday morning, I'll attempt to find a VW shop in Denver to take a look at my fans and pumps, just to make sure the overheating is a symptom of something other than a tiny engine on steep, steep roads.

Out of Zion, 89 took us north into the geographic center of Utah and Palisade State Park. We liked the beautiful lake so much, we decided to stay for two days, soaking up the sun, swimming and renting a peddle boat.

Palisade was beautiful, we watched the sunset on the first night and were glad to see clear, blue, sunny skies the following day.

We soaked up too much sun, in fact, and we both have pretty serious burns. Somehow, even after applying spf 30, both my knees are burnt. My knees. Really?

The second day being a Sunday, it made finding the most simple of supplies a challenge, as in the heart of Utah, business is run by the LDS and Mormons don't open shop on Sunday. My search for ice was vast, but ultimately successful.

Monday morning brought another interesting LDS dilemma — not so much a coffee state. Finally, we broke down and settled for truck stop coffee, which by two hours into hte day, was welcome no matter the taste.

Highway 89 is long and mostly boring, so we hit 6 to the southeast and then junctioned onto 191, which fratured 20 miles of uphill climb at something like nine percent grade. Pam hit her all-time low speed of 15 mph, overheating twice in the process. The poor girl needed a serious rest at the summit. It was all downhill from there, though. And with a cool wind blowing through her, she cooled off.

Pam also got her first bath of the trip in Vernal. Nothing like a clean van inside and out to make things feel a little better.

We pressed on into Colorado, through the tiny town of Dinosaur and then through green rolling hills. Some 87 miles into Colorado, we finally stopped in Craig at a little motel that offered laundry. So, in hte end, everyone and everything is clean again. It's a good feeling.

Craig isn't much. It boasts itself as the Elk Hunting Capitol of the World. And a herd of Elk is grazing in the hills behind the hotel as I write this. I don't want to shoot them, just looking is nice enough for me.

Today, we'll press on to Boulder, where we will room with a friend of Ellyn's from New York who is home visiting her parents. Then, off to Denver the next day to put Ellyn on a plane.

I'm both looking forward and dreading the change back into solitude. I'll miss Ellyn's company, that's for sure.

More to come…

Highway 89 junctions at Carmel Junction onto Highway 9, which leads up into Zion National Park. Zion was "discovered" by Mormon settlers and everything in the park has a religious name. They thought, with the green river valley in the midst of a mountainous desert, Zion was a slice of heaven.

The Virgin River runs through the canyon, and a series of small falls and pools called the Emerald Pools is where we chose to hike. Being the first nice weather of Utah’s summer, the park was crowded. We found one of the last tent sites in a packed RV Resort just outside the park.

When entering Zion, you drive through a massive tunnel with only 13 feet of clearance. One lane travels through at a time, with larges buses and campers needing an escort to negotiate the tight, dark curves.

Emerging through the tunnel, you see the beauty of the park. This was truly one of the most beautiful and diverse parks I’ve seen yet.

Today, we are headed north on 89, hoping to find some camping with a little less crowd.

See more pictures here.

Highway 89 took us through Page, Arizona, where a nice gas station attendant and a propane dealer helped me out with Pam’s propane take. The lack of gas… turns out was just a knob. But now I know more about how it all works.

Back on 89, we drove through what seemed like hours of red rock canyons and into Utah, where I saw the first grasslands in a while. We’ve found a spot to rest in Kanab, what should be a sleepy little town but what is instead a bustling little place. Everyone knows everyone here and it’s friendly like a 1950s TV show.

The first thing we noticed when we drove into town was a pack of greyhound dogs all sniffing at each other. Then, more greyhounds. Turns out, Best Friends, the well-known animal shelter, is only four miles out of town. Thus, dog owners flock to Kanab every few weekends for breed gatherings. This weekend happens to be Greyhound weekend, and there is even a pet parade on Saturday.

Kanab seems to be fuled by the pet industry, with groomers and shops and petsitters aplenty. While having a delicious dinner at a local Mexican place, the conversation between a local Realtor who came to grab pickup and a petsitter who was finishing up her meal went something like this:

Realtor: You enjoying all the greyhounds?

Petsitter: Oh yes, I have to work tomorrow and Saturday, though. I hope to take my lunch break during the parade. You going to be in it?

Realtor: (Quickly) Oh yeah. Of course. It’s a neat thing.

Petsitter: You know, I have two Husky-Greyhounds, but they look like Greyhounds, but they are shaggy. And you know, I was going to dress one up like Cher and the other one like Sonny. It would have been great.

Realtor: But you have to work. Well that’s just too bad.

And it is too bad. I bet those dogs would have loved that.

Anyway, Kanab is friendly and the locals all say hello when you pass them on the street. The little ice cream shop hands out generous scoops and the backdrop of red rocks is beautiful at sunset.

Our little hotel is western themed with 1950s headboards on each bed and real wood panel walls. Again, it was super cheap. Friendly, though. The desk clerk filled me in on the Greyhounds and gave me some advice for a good hike in Zion, which is our next destination only 40 miles away.

A few views from the top.

See the whole album here.

From Tuscon, I made my way north to Phoenix Sky Harbor airport, where I picked up Ellyn. Taking I-17 out of town, we hit 69 to 89 and stopped for lunch in Prescott. From there, it was 89 north, a jaunt on I-40 and then up 64 to the Grand Canyon. We went through Prescott to avoid the three inches of snow in Flagstaff.

What beauty! We found a campsite inside the park and took a quick look at the Canyon before calling it a night.

On our first full day, we set out for a three mile hike down into the canyon. Zigzagging down, we feared the climb back up. We came to the aptly named "Ohh Ahh Point," where we lunched on a rock that sat precariously overlooking the canyon. We both had a little vertigo if we gave thought to the drop below.

The hike was worth every step, though. Some days on this trip, I am shocked by what I’m doing. You never wake up expecting that you might be inside the Grand Canyon with such ease. Mules passed us on the trail and made us think of long ago, when 1920s tourists rode trains into the park lodges, before descending on mule.

After our hike, we explored the lodges and the visitor center. Then, we camped and played cards. It’s a joy having Ellyn here with me for more than one reason. The company and having someone to share the amazing beauty all around being two of the top reasons.

This morning, after breaking camp and heading off to the showers, I met an Aussie bloke who was traveling to South America to surf. His vehicle of choice? A 1983 VW Westfalia. Literally Pam’s sister. His came off the line the same month mine did — matching interiors, camper conversion and quirks. His van was a manual, Pam’s a automatic.

Chatting with the Aussie about breakdowns and maintenance, we discovered for the last two weeks — since San Francisco — we have followed almost the same path. San Fran to the desert to Vegas to Hoover Dam to Phoenix to the Grand Canyon. We laughed. "What’s next?" I asked him.

"Zion and Bryce Canyon," he said.

"Us too."

…

Now in Tuba City in the heart of the Navajo Reservation, we are going to make our way north into Utah.

Well, this will be short, as I'm on a terminal in the Grand Canyon campground.

Elleyn made it safe and we made our way to this big hole in the ground. It's massive.

We'll be here for two days before moving on, and at $2.00 for seven minutes of internet time, I think posts will be few.

I moved from 97 degrees in Tuscon to 64 degrees in Pheonix and then on to 46 degrees here at the canyon. In Flagstaff, there is three inches of snow on the ground. Here, there are little patches, but it's melting quickly.

Okay, my timers about to run out.

It's goot to have Ellyn here with me. The conversation's much better.