I truly love long road trips. Last summer my partner and I trekked across the southwestern United States to visit San Francisco. We left home early, sped through New Mexico, froze in northern Arizona, had our fruit confiscated at the California border, and all the while fell in love with the place(s).
This trip, however, involved a slight alteration: no California. Instead, we sped through New Mexico, sauntered about in northern Arizona, and camped in southeastern Utah for several days’ worth of pure environmental romanticism. (I can’t help myself!) Zion National Park was the goal, a goal we happily accomplished with flying colors.
But, truth be told, the ends of our endeavors do not always trump the means. Sometimes we ignore the ends altogether and focus on the process instead.
Take, for instance, Horseshoe Bend near the Arizona/Utah border. It’s an incredibly gorgeous meander in the Colorado River to the southeast of the Glen Canyon Dam(n). But don’t let me do all the talking! Look at the picture for heaven’s sake:
The river was a bit low, but the scene was spectacular otherwise. It was amazing! And to witness it (a) for the first time (b) with my partner and our friends (c) in what initially amounted to nothing more than a detour was utterly and undeniably fantastic. When we’d all first discussed the possibility of this trip and its likely destinations in the early spring, no one had had the foresight to mention this one little stop on the Colorado. The thought did not occur until the trip itself. And even then, its selection was in hindsight: one of our friends had seen the sign, mentioned it in passing, and decided to vote for a turn-around. We all agreed.
Thankfully.
Reflecting on this particular stop got me thinking: isn’t that typical for long trips? The planned points along the designated route (Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, Utah), the bathroom breaks (Shell, FINA, McDonald’s), and the food (Cracker Barrel, Burger King, Convenience Store)–these always seem a part of the big picture. They’re nearly unavoidable during big road trips.
But then again, every once in a while, you come across a rare beauty like the one I experienced at Horseshoe Bend. A detour. Not required, mandated, or legislated by any higher authority divine, federal, or local. And it just seems to seep with wonder and awe.
It begs for your attention, your time, and your companionship.
Aside from the cutesy, couplesque moments my partner and I shared at the various outlooks, my favorite moments at this detour were the silent ones. The private ones. Those moments when, after exploring a beaten path or an unworn trail, I’d find a cozy little spot to situate myself. A place in the rocks to sit, think, and just look around myself. Listening to the wind overhead, the scattering of local wildlife, or the pulsations of the river below.
A detour from travel, trails, and life’s routines in general.
When we first conceived this trip, these and others were the very goals we’d set out to meet. And we did so. Or, at least, I did before we even crossed into Utah.
Perhaps a good sign of the things to come.
