Hiking is Walking

There's a moment in seasons five of Sex in the City, when Sarah Jessica Parker's Carrie is hanging out with her dreamy high school boyfriend, played by David Duchovny (why don't you love me?!), at his insane asylum. She points out how nice it is there, despite the fact it's an insane asylum and blah blah blah, why am I describing this?! I found the video....

Anyway, it's true. The part before the "feces!" Hiking is walking!

Whenever people are like, oh, "I went for a great hike!" or "do you want to go for a hike?" I imagine this: 

And, I'm all like: "meh."

But, if you think of hiking as walking, just walking, then it's cool. (If you have been reading this blog long enough, you know I have some weird mental blocks). In fact, it's even more fun if you call it a "walk about," a la Paul Hogan in Crocodile Dundee. 

So, I did some of that while I was out west. And I would be remiss not to mention it. My walking. 

I had a couple nice walkabouts in Bryce Canyon. One morning I saw prairie dogs, got coffee and a bagel from Vahalla Pizza (you know that whole Viking-Bryce Canyon thing), then saw some horses, and contemplated the rim while eavesdropping on tourists speaking foreign languages. Then, I found a campground, got a bit lost, then backtracked and saw more prairie dogs. 

Another time, I went out to the rim with some loose dogs and a baby. Awesome. 

When I left Bryce, I headed back towards Moab, but I had plans to stop at Goblin Valley State Park. Lexi showed me her pictures from her romantic southwestern engagement trip and it looked like a lot of fun! Weird rock formations! 

Goblins!

So I went back to Hanksville and turned north. The park was about 14 miles off the main highway. No one was at the gate house, so I paid my $8 fee and drove in. The goblins were awesome. The wind was not. Hot, ferocious wind was blasting across the desert. I hopped out of the car, eager to stretch my legs and got an exfoliating facial instead. But, I had paid eight dollars, so I went for a short walk around the park. Hiking: fail!

That night, I stayed in Canyonlands National Park, the Island in the Sky District. The problem with naming it "Island in the Sky" is that all I could think for the next 15 hours was this: 

I got the last campsite, thank goodness. I went for a bit of a walkabout. Alas, the wind was still blowing a gale. I did a few little walks before the wind and the gathering chill drove me back to my campsite. 

Splendor!

I spent a chilly night in my new tent. The wind was blowing and the temperature dropped like crazy, so I was completely tucked into my mummy bag. By morning, though, the wind had died, so I packed up and drove out to the Grand Overlook. 

There was a short hike out from Grand Overlook, so as the sun came up and before the other visitors arrived, I took a little walk out. 

#waitineedtotakeaselfie

Then, I went back to Moab and repeated the entire pre-Rockwell process: Love Muffin, gas, ice and snacks. Then, I drove to Colorado, dodging those cute little prairie dogs the whole way. Didn't hit a one. 

The only problem with the solo-road trip, is that I get "road fever." I talk myself out of stopping more than I should. My thought process goes: "well, if this looks good, what's around the bend?" Then, I never stop. 

I did stop to take this picture.

Especially true when it comes to uranium

I drove through Telluride, got lost, and then found my way to Monroe and eventually The Black Canyon of the Gunnison. The lady at the gate told me that I could drive to the bottom. What?!

"It's a five mile, steep road to the bottom, but the roads are good." I asked if there was camping down there and she assured me there was. I couldn't pass that up!

Top of the canyon.

So, I drove to the bottom. Oh my Lord. That was a road. 

I had to take a break driving down this road: it was so steep!

Once I drove all the way to the bottom, and changed into clean drawers, I wasn't eager to leave again. It was still pretty early and I didn't have good beer or anything besides a huge block of Tillamuck for dinner, so I was tempted to drive back out to Monroe, but a kindly fisherman convinced me to stay.

I met this guy. He was from Iowa, but lives near my parents in Arkansas now. Also a college professor. He convinced me to camp at the bottom.

I set up my tent and went for a walk down the road towards the dam. I didn't get the to the dam, but I saw a lot of cool stuff.

So many dead things.

Dinner and a show, only dinner was Tecate and hummus

By the time I got back the sun was setting in the canyon, so I ate my dinner out of the back of the car and watched the light on the walls. I didn't want to bring my food close to the tent, for fear of bears, but the people next to me in the campground left a bunch of beer and food out, so I figured they'd get mauled first.

And, that's the story of my "hiking" if you will. I saw a lot of stuff, got stretched out after long drives in the car: it was great. So, here's my words of wisdom, for this manic blog post, sometimes your mental images (hikes must be painful) get in the way of fun. If that is the case, feel free to call the above said activity whatever makes you happy.