In July of 1986, Life Magazine described Nevada’s Highway 50 from Ely to Fernley as the “Loneliest Road in America”. Life said that there were no attractions or points of interest along the 287 mile stretch of road and recommended that drivers have “survival skills” to travel the route.
Things have changed a bit, but not much. The biggest change is in the vehicles we drive along these roads rather than the roads themselves. I remember desert driving and the days of vapor lock, overheated engines, flat tires, and no air conditioning. Cars seem to be made better these days, and we cruise along at 70 miles per hour without a thought about our survival. There really is quite a lot to see in Ely, and we plan to return, especially to visit the Great Basin National Park on the eastern edge of Nevada. We also want to come back to check out Ely’s treasure: The Nevada Northern Railway Museum, touted by the Smithsonian as the most complete authentic railroad complex in the country.
That is what we are doing today, cruising along, covering the distance on US 50 instead of I-80, enjoying the eyeball stretching vistas of the high Nevada desert. There are a couple of towns between Ely and Fernley where we will turn north toward the Black Rock Desert. Eureka and Austin are both historic mining towns from the heyday of Nevada history in the late 19th century. We will stop and take photos, enjoy the stories, and the time travel provided at these outposts before moving on down the road. At Gerlach, we will pass the sandy roads leading to the Black Rock Desert where the wild ones have their Burning Man festival every year.
Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, we saw a large group of road bikers pedaling up the long grades, supported by a couple of vans in pursuit. At the same time, we saw a lonely man walking in the opposite direction up another grade with some sort of walk.com sign on his back. Then nothing again but low sage and rabbitbrush and the distant hills. The air again is smoky, not in the concentrated way that it was yesterday in Utah, but high hazy widespread smoke that extends as far west and north as we can see, even from the summits. We are traveling west again through basin and range, so the MoHo is climbing the ranges and dropping into the basins repeatedly shifting gears as we go up, then down, then up, then more down. Glad I am not on a bike!
This morning in our full hookup park, I took the time to cook a good breakfast and clean the house a bit. In the process of cleaning the toilet, adding extra water to help with the black water flush to come, I suddenly dropped the large cleaning washcloth right down into the holding tank. Ugh! I freaked out, but Mo patiently bent a hanger, fished around in there, and got the thing out of the tank before anything got terribly clogged up. Kind of amazing that we actually had one simple wire hangar in the closet among all the fancy lightweight things I have for our clothes. I got all teary and realized that the stress of dropping a washcloth into the sewage holding tank shouldn’t be THAT bad, and thought, gee, maybe I am sad about the trip coming to a close.
Today and tomorrow we will continue our trek across the deserts and over the Warners into the Klamath Basin, to the base of the Cascade Mountains. Home. I am sure it will take a bit of settling in to really appreciate being there and not here, traveling along some highway with ever changing views out the windows.
I woke this morning to the amazing smell of aspen leaves that are sending out their last breath before they fall. Sweetened by high mountain air and spruce it was one of the better fragrances on the planet, maybe only surpassed by rain on dry dust in the desert. As we drove west, however, the skies were darkened by smoke from the huge fires in the mountains of central Utah. 
The landscape of Nevada and several other states is the west is dominated by alternating basins and ranges formed by tectonic processes that trend generally northwest. When traveling directly west, as we did a few years ago when returning to California from Utah, the road was a continuous grade, either up or down, with just a bit of basin between the mountain ranges. These Nevada mountains aren’t small, either, and the grades can be dramatic. 
Highway 93, however, follows a dominantly northern track through the state, and as a result the grades are few because the road usually follows the edge of the basins. We took time to stop and enjoy a surprise state park, Cathedral Gorge, and met some interesting travelers from England who have traveled 49 states in our country, and were showing the west to another couple from England. We took a side road to explore the historic mining hamlet of Pioche, sitting high on a fan above the wide open basin. 
We reached Ely in early afternoon, partly due to the change to Pacific time, gaining an extra hour. We decided that electricity was on the list of desires for this night with the possibility of cable seductive enough to pay a ridiculous high price for the 
Today was a driving day. We weren’t sure where we would end up, and only knew that the route would follow Scenic Highway 12, one of the most dramatically beautiful drives in the west. I have traveled this route before, on other trips, but each time it is a new experience. Each time the aspens on Boulder Mountain are a different shade of green or yellow, the canyons varying shades of clarity, red or hazy. Today there was a lot of haze and smoke and I wondered if possibly there were forest fires going on somewhere. We haven’t watched TV or listened to a radio in many days now, so I really have no idea what is going on out there.
When we left Torrey this morning it was windy and chilly enough for long pants and sweatshirts. Gasoline cost a staggering 3.29 per gallon, with the advertised 3.09 per gallon only for 85 octane ethanol, not something we want to put in the MoHo. We never would have made it up all those grades!
The road is two lane, very rough along much of the way, with many steep grades and curves, including the hair-raising 14 percent downgrade off the hogback. We thought we might like to hike Calf Creek Falls, both the Upper Falls and the Lower Falls have trailheads not far south of Boulder. But it was hot, much too hot to leave the cat in the MoHo 
without air conditioning even if we could take the dog. The white hot heat made hiking seem much less attractive to us anyway, so we decided instead to make it a looking and driving day instead of a hiking day.
Bryce Canyon National Park is on this route as well, a few miles south of the highway ,and we decided against braving the crowds to be tourists at the overlooks. We both have hiked Bryce in the past, and most of the trails are steep and hot, even though gorgeous. Even outside the park, however, the colors of the hoodoos are every possible shade of orange sherbet, pink, cream, white, and red. It’s pretty to look at, but not inviting to hike because the rocks are soft red claystone, crumbly and shifting underfoot. My soul love is slickrock, and solid cliffs of Wingate, so I am content to enjoy the colors and the hoodoos and move on.
I spent part of the drive reading aloud to Mo about 90 different hikes in Canyon Country in the WOW hiking guidebook I bought back at the Capital Reef Inn. So many of the truly great hikes in this part of the plateau involve many miles of rough driving down the Hole in the Rock Road just north of Escalante. The road is the gateway for many famous slot canyons and the canyons of the Escalante River, but they will have to wait for another time for us. I read about backpacking the 38 miles through Pariah Canyon and wondered if I have a trip like that still in me. It’s all downhill, mostly on the canyon floor wading in the river, with slots so narrow you have to carry your pack in front of you to slide through. Maybe someday. It could be a lifetime trip like my Cataract Canyon raft trip turned out to be. Who knows. But today, driving highway 12, I added it to my bucket list.
After a short break and walk at Red Canyon, we turned south on Utah 89 toward Kanab, and then turned west on Highway 14 toward Cedar Breaks National Monument and Cedar City. At the top of the pass, again at 10,000 feet of so, is the lovely Navajo Lake where I camped a bazillion years ago when my kids were just little. It was a different time of year, with the green aspen I remember so clearly all now fiery yellow, gold, red, and peach. 
We stopped for the night at Duck Creek Campground in the Dixie National Forest since the Navajo Lakes camps were closed for the season. Tonight we had our last campfire in the mountains to accompany a card game before we watched the night sky darken.
I am amazed at how quickly the landscape shifts as we travel. It often isn’t a gradual change, suddenly we are in desert, then in spruce aspen high mountains, back to sage, red rocks to cream and buff clays, and back again. 
Tomorrow we will leave the mountains behind as we enter the Great Basin landscape of the west. Once over this last mountain, the basin and range will meet us on the way through Nevada and finally home to Klamath Falls where Basin and Range meets the Cascade Range. 
The wind blew most of the night, bringing fresh, cool, dry air with it. The humidity must be under ten percent and the moon was brilliant even though it is now less than full. I couldn’t sleep last night, in spite of the fresh breezes, and stayed up writing and looking at photos. For some crazy reason, the wireless connection that didn’t work at all earlier managed to work fine after midnight. Now, at 8 or so in the evening, I still have no wireless. I don’t plan to stay up till midnight again tonight posting photos, believe me!
Breakfast at the Capital Reef Inn and Cafe was light and perfect and we traveled back along highway 24 east to the park entrance. One of the first park trails after entering the park is the Chimney Rock Trail, and as many times as I have been here, I never bothered to hike this one. However, a great hiking guide book I found at the cafe this morning discussed Spring Canyon, just beyond the Chimney Rock Loop trail, and we decided that it would be a perfect days hike.
I have too many photos of this canyon. Photographers far better than me with equipment far finer than mine still can’t capture the grandeur and majesty of these canyon walls. We hiked about 4 miles into Spring Canyon, through narrows with walls 400 feet tall on both sides. It certainly didn’t qualify as a slot canyon, with the narrowest corridor maybe 50 yards wide, but it filled my heart’s desire to walk between massive walls of Wingate sandstone and feel the color red. You don’t see red in these canyons, you feel it.
Of course, after eight miles and less water than I should have carried, I was feeling red in a different way, and climbing out of the fairly easy hike into the canyon just about did me in. It was only in the mid 80’s but the sun was intense and the breezes were sporadic. When we finally reached the switchbacks half a mile from the trailhead, I looked down and wondered how in the world we actually climbed up that that thing! I was glad for my hiking sticks, believe me, and my knees were grateful, too. 
There are other restaurants cropping up in Torrey, and some smaller establishments associated with newer hotels are appearing. But for me, the Capital Reef Inn is the perfect compliment to my time in Torrey.
After gassing up in Blanding, to the tune of 3.09 per gallon, our route led us across one of the most scenic roads in America. Highway 95 crosses the great canyons of the Colorado River dropping to Lake Powell at Hite Crossing, and rising again on the east side of the Henry Mountains to Hanksville, Utah. We took our time, stopping along the way for photos, and I cooked breakfast for us while we parked in a wide spot at a canyon trailhead. Again, one of my favorite parts of MoHo travel, the ability to stop and rest, or cook, or eat, just about anywhere we want to do so.
I first drove this road on a wintry February day after traveling to Santa Fe in 1991 alone in my little red Ranger. I fell in love with Canyon Country then and have loved it ever since. In 1993 I spent six days in a small paddleboat with five other women and two river guides rafting Cataract Canyon of the Colorado River. 
Today we crossed Hite Bridge at Lake Powell and I remembered how it felt to see that bridge rise up into view after so many days in the canyons. It was where we put out and then flew back to Moab in less than 30 minutes. It was a trip of a lifetime. I stood above Hite today, and thought again with amazement about John Wesley Powell, who adventured through these wild unknown canyons in a wooden dory, all the way to the Gulf of California.
It was a perfect day and a gorgeous drive, and after leaving Hanksville on route 24 we stopped along the Fremont River in Capital Reef National Park so that Abby could go for a swim. The park was busy with fall visitors, and we decided to bypass the visitor center altogether and go directly to our campsite at the Sand Creek RV Campground. 
Today lived up to my expectations of what the Colorado Rockies would be. I spent much of the time wondering if I couldn’t breathe because we were at 10,000 feet or because the views were just so breathtaking. Again, we spontaneously rerouted and after visiting Ouray decided to go south to Telluride and then take the San Juan Scenic highway south to Dolores and into Utah at Monticello. 
What a great choice. Mo had camped in Ouray in the late 60’s and we stopped and walked through town to see if we could find the campground where she stayed. No luck on the old campground, but the town was delightful, with galleries and shops filled with truly amazing art and some very expensive wonders. 
The aspens lit the mountains like yellow flame, accented perfectly by the dark green spruce. I took a ridiculous number of photos, and with a small point and shoot with a normal lens it is impossible to capture that light and those vistas. 
Of course, I tried, and my photos will help me remember what it felt like to be in this part of the Rockies. 
After Telluride, and the last pass, the road followed the Dolores River, and within a very short distance we were over the mountains and on the Colorado Plateau, approaching Monticello from the east. I knew of a small RV park in Blanding, a simple overnight stop when necessary, so we though maybe that would do if the state parks were full.
Just beyond Monticello however, on highway 191, Mo caught a sign on the west side of the road for the Devils Canyon Forest Service camp and the road even looked paved. It took a mile or two to turn around, but it was worth it. This campground has 42 sites, all spaced well, with campfire rings and water available. After cruising the nearly empty campground, we settled on a pull through spot, and paid our five dollar fee for another night of dry camping. 
We headed west over the Rockies today, no more agenda, no more visiting or guests, just homeward bound. Of course, between here and home lie the red canyons of Capitol Reef, my heart home and sweet spot on the planet. Before we slip into canyon country, however, I thought it might be fun to wander west via a different route than the fast, winding interstate across the mountains out of Denver.
The passes were a piece of cake, really, most of the way had two lanes and the steepest grade was maybe 6 percent. The MoHo has an automatic transmission downshift, so that makes the downhill sides of the passes easy and safe as well, even though we don’t have any extra brakes on the car. The aspens are turning at the higher elevations, and the colors were backlit by the afternoon sun.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the desert. Rabbitbrush and sage are familiar to me and camping in the wide open spaces is something we actually seek. But on this day, somehow, I thought I would be camping in the Colorado Rockies, among spruce and aspen. Instead I am at the Stevens Creek BLM campground on a reservoir of the Arkansas River, surrounded by sage and silence. The skies are clear, and at 7600 feet, I am sure the stars will be breathtaking. 
Not far north is the Black Canyon of the Gunnison, a dramatic National Park, and yet the drive there looks tortuous and we have decided to continue west on 50 tomorrow morning and camp tomorrow night in Canyonlands, at the Island in the Sky, at Horse Thief BLM campground. Canyon country calls, red canyons, not black ones, and I am a bit like a horse heading for the barn. 
Most of this trip has been about traveling and seeing new sights and new places. However, along the route, we had several stops planned to visit friends and family. Mo’s sister lives in the Denver area, with her two daughters close by. In addition, Edna and her husband recently purchased a new (to them) motorhome and decided that a group camp would be a great way to check out all the bells and whistles.
After setup, we brought out some snacks and wine, and because of the weather, snuggled into the MoHo for some catching up time. As the evening wore on and cleared up a bit, Mo and I took an opportunity to try out the great bike trails that surround this very lovely, open park. 
We all settled in to a peaceful day, with Tom and Edna hanging out and Mo and I driving to their home to visit Tom’s mother, who is a precious lady over 100 years old. It was great to see her again. 
Later in the afternoon Edna’s daughters appeared, even in the midst of their busy schedules, and we visited some more and caught up with all the family news. Susan’s newest son is just 12 weeks old, so of course everyone had to ooh and ahh over the baby.
