I decided to leave Las Vegas before my outdoor to-do list was exhausted. I’d hiked Mount Charleston and kayaked on Lake Mead, but I hadn’t been to Valley of Fire. I also wanted to see Bryce Canyon and Zion National Park in Utah.
So I set off on a Saturday after stopping at Carlito’s for a breakfast burrito smothered in green chile. I drove with purpose but not defined direction, moving toward Lake Mead and on to the Valley of Fire, where I spent some time scrambling around the Mars-red rocks all around me. From there, I set off for Utah and Zion National Park.
Valley of Fire was a match compared to the flame throwers in Utah. I knew that seeing Zion and Bryce in 24 hours was like trying to take in the Louvre in an hour. But I was determined to give it a shot.
In short, it was amazing. I drove through Zion on Saturday afternoon, wishing the entire time I had the gear and time to stop and camp there. I found a hotel not far from Bryce Canyon that night, allowing me to get there shortly after sunrise on Sunday morning.
It was a strange night. After three months in parched Las Vegas, I couldn’t get all the way to sleep because of a Utah rainstorm that hammered the roof of the hotel. I had lots of strange dreams. I was unsettled. Working things out.
The next morning, I skipped breakfast and headed straight for Bryce. I was astouned by its beauty. It was cold and windy in the wake of the previous night’s storms, but I marched along the rim of the canyons with my camera and a Cheshire cat grin, hardly fazed by the fact that I was wearing a T-shirt while everyone around me was in Gore-Tex and fleece.
As I walked along the rim of the canyon, a photographer said in a heavy French accent, “Yesterday, the sun was out. Today … the clouds, the clouds.”
“Sometimes a cloudy day is better,” I responded (and submit the photo on this page as proof).
He smiled, clutching his camera and looking skyward.