Four Corners, Three T-shirts and a Double Cheeseburger

Buoyed by two good night’s sleep in Moab we were refreshed for what would be one of the longest road journeys – around 290 miles – of the entire trip before we reached our next overnight stop of Durango, Colorado. Two conscious decisions led to this – firstly, to make a detour to visit the Four Corners Monument and secondly, to ignore our trusty route planner’s recommendation to travel as far south on US-191 to Bluff before heading east, and cut off earlier at Monticello to pick up the 491. We were to make yet another detour, of which more later.

Having filled up at the Maverik gas station (this chain was a regular source of cheap fuel throughout the trip), we set off in the company of the customary blue sky (the rain on our journey into Moab two days previously had been a momentary aberration) and soon found ourselves alone on the road.

After 53 miles we took US-491 at Monticello as the Eagles sang on the in-car CD player “put me on a highway, show me the sign”. Well, the next sign we saw was one welcoming us to “Colorful Colorado”.

We had left, at least for now, the dramatic sandstone formations that had dominated the landscape for much of the past week. The area was a blend of flat pastureland and forest, dotted with the occasional homestead and small ranch, outside which horses and cattle grazed.

The Eagles were soon usurped by Kiss Country Radio 97.9 FM (“Keeping Cortez, Farmington and Durango country)”, which was to be our companion for the remainder of the day.

Dove Creek was the first town of any substance in Colorado with its business park and small airport. Further evidence of the growing number of grazing livestock was an advertisement on the radio for feed grains.

We were amused by a sign that announced that the Colorado Welcome Center was another 34 miles, an indication of the vast scale of this nation that you had to drive 50 miles before you could be officially welcomed to the state!

The San Juan National Forest which was to follow us all the way to Durango began to assume greater prominence as we passed the settlements of Cahone, Pleasant View, Yellow Jacket, Lewis and Arriola.

At Cortez, the largest town on today’s journey but one beset by roadworks, we eschewed the signs for Durango and branched south towards the Four Corners Monument.

Shortly afterwards, a low mountains range denoted that we were entering the Ute Mountain Indian Reservation. Once notable hunters, the Utes had been split up and relocated to poorer land by the white settlers’ westward expansion.

However, mineral leases and tourism had enabled them to build an impressive casino, hotel and resort (pictured above) where we halted briefly for free if indigestible coffee, restrooms and a futile flutter on the penny slots.

We managed to miss the turning for the Four Corners initially, but recovered the route within three miles. Had we taken the right road we would have avoided almost getting crushed by an immense truck turning left into the road at which junction we were sitting. The driver, equipped with almost obligatory drooping moustache and cowboy hat (not unlike the Dennis Hopper character in Easy Rider), did not seem amused, but his cargo of blindfolded horses appeared less concerned.

Crossing the San Juan River we arrived at the Four Corners Monument, the only spot in the U.S. where four states (Utah, Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona) meet at a single point. Whilst that might sound glamorous, the reality is less so – it is a barren, hot (77 degrees) and dusty place, given over to the presence on all four sides of the ubiquitous Indian gift stalls (we were back in the Navajo Nation at this point).

That said, in addition to doing the tourist thing and having our photos taken spanning all four states (I was surprised we were not charged for the privilege), we picked up some lovely t-shirts.

So pleased with our purchases were we that we then contrived to leave them behind in our motel room in Durango the next morning. Happily, thanks to the kindness of the proprietor and a payment of £25 to UPS, I can now report we have just taken custody of them again at home.

We had to retrace our “steps” (around 30 miles) to traffic-ridden Cortez before continuing our journey to Durango on US-160 East. But lunch now beckoned. My vegetarian past cruelly cast aside, I had harboured a craving for a Wendy’s hamburger ever since our flight had touched down in Las Vegas eleven days before, and, as luck would have it, an outlet cuddled up to us just as we were pulling out of town.

I’m not sure this is what Jimmy Buffett had in mind when he sang Cheeseburger in Paradise but my double was scrumptious. Janet also enjoyed her crispy chicken sandwich. Our unfamiliarity with fast food burger joints was exposed, however, when we ordered two vanilla iced frosties, thinking they were coffees (a la frappuccinos), only to discover, not unpleasantly, that they were in fact milk shakes. And all for less than ten bucks.

With only 46 miles to Durango we decided to call in at Mesa Verde National Park en route. When we revamped our original itinerary to include the loop through New Mexico (Santa Fe, Albuquerque and Gallup), we had been required to drop Canyon de Chelly and Mesa Verde.

But it was not until now that we fully realised just how close it was to the road we were taking, and even though time would not allow us to explore it as fully as it deserved, it would be crazy not to spend a couple of hours there.

Mesa Verde (“green table” in Spanish), the only U.S. national park exclusively devoted to archaeological remains, was home to the Ancestral Puebloan people between 550 and 1300AD, at which stage they mysteriously abandoned the cliff dwellings that had been their home. Formerly nomadic, they had turned to hunting and lived in pithouses clustered into small villages usually built on mesa tops but sometimes in cliff recesses.

We can only speculate why they lived in these secluded alcoves. Perhaps it was for defence or it may have been because they provided better protection from the elements, or even for religious or psychological reasons.

Whatever the purpose, they are astonishing buildings, some of them remarkably well preserved.

Unfortunately, we hadn’t sufficient time to join one of the ranger-led tours into the best preserved cliff dwellings, but we did take the self-guided Mesa Top Loop Drive which afforded us some excellent views of both the internal layout of the pithouses and overlooks of some of the villages.

Leaving Mesa Verde we drove through the Mancos Valley with the San Juan Mountains overhead. Mancos proclaimed itself as “Where the West Still Lives”, a not unreasonable boast as the scenery was taking on a distinctly more cowboy country feel.  But this was clearly under some threat as a large picture of a cow was accompanied by the words “I’d rather be a cow than a condo”.

After checking in at the Econolodge motel in Durango we took the free trolley to the historic downtown for dinner at Tequila’s Family Restaurant, a beautiful tex-mex establishment with dazzling, colorful furnishings. My seafood enchiladas were the best I had ever tasted and the margaritas were delicious. And it was also inexpensive. The experience was topped off by our server, Hector, dashing back to our table before we left to thank us for his tip.

As the next day’s journey would be much shorter, we resolved to spend the next morning exploring downtown Durango before setting off for our next stop in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

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Walking Among the Arches

The experience of staying in the Sleep Inn in Moab was enhanced still further with an excellent breakfast. We even managed to find the table with the TV remote control laid upon it, enabling me to swiftly change the channel from Fox News to CNN. Fortunately, nobody else noticed or, even with the presidential election a little over a month away, was interested.

Today we were making the last of our planned visits to national parks, namely Arches. The annual pass purchased at Zion had already proved a tremendous bargain. After the short drive from town we called in at the visitor center first to top up on water and seek advice on the trails.

The most recognisable of the park’s estimated 2,000 arches is the 45 by 33 feet  Delicate Arch (above), which features on many state products, including official vehicle license plates.

The walk is a three mile round trip with an overall elevation gain of 480 feet. After the first half-mile, a well-defined trail, it becomes increasingly strenuous with a steep section of exposed slickrock, which lives up to its name in damp weather (not a hazard we had to deal with). The hiker is dependent thereafter upon a series of rock cairns (several small rocks, sometimes precariously, placed on top of each other) and the advice of others returning from the summit to ensure they are on course.

The most precarious element of the trail, and the one that made me a little uneasy, is a 200 yard “narrow” ledge overlooking a sheer drop immediately before reaching the arch. Whilst I negotiated it comfortably enough, I felt it prudent that I should hand over photographic duties to Janet whilst we remained there. Unfortunately, it was a little hazy at this point, though by the time we had passed the end of the ledge on our descent, the sun had come out, causing Janet to bound back up the ledge to take more photos whilst I averted my eyes and settled my nerves with a peanut granola bar.

Having accomplished our first objective, we undertook a number of shorter and less demanding trails, principally the 300 foot Landscape Arch (1.6 miles) and the smaller Pine Tree Arch and Tunnel Arch.

Although Delicate Arch was indeed impressive, we were a little underwhelmed at this point. But the longer we spent in the park the more it grew on us. We began to understand why many people refer to its otherworldly atmosphere and liken it to a moonscape.

At every turn there were bizarre groups of rocks thrusting from the desert landscape. As with Bryce Canyon in particular, it was tempting and entertaining to compare them with other living and inanimate things.

Many bore an uncanny resemblance to a gigantic male protuberance, though that might just be in the eye of this particular beholder. You may, of course, see nothing in such a salacious suggestion.

We encountered what, for us, were the most beautiful arches on the short (one mile) Windows loop. This is a collection of three arches – North Window, South Window and Turret – that face each other across the dusty scrub-like terrain.

We must have spent an hour clambering among the rocks and, where possible, dipping in and out of the arches, taking innumerable photographs (many of which, inevitably, included strangers doing the same).

But patience and perseverance paid off as the following picture illustrates.

This was one of the highlights of the whole trip for me – these stunning structures dwarfed the more celebrated Delicate and Landscape Arches in their emotional and aesthetic impact.

After dragging ourselves away from this fabulous playground, we moved across to Balanced Rock before leaving the park. This is one of the weirdest rock formations of all – fragile, funny and picturesque.

I have my own thoughts on what these resemble. What are yours?

Such was our fascination with this extraordinary place that we were forced to postpone our proposed afternoon trip to Dead Horse Point State Park. Nor had we had any lunch (there are no refreshment facilities in the park) and it was nearly 4 o’clock in the afternoon!

We drove back into the centre of Moab and, after a brief exploration of the gift shops, parked ourselves outside the Peace Tree café, where our coffees were  supplemented by portions of pecan pie and chocolate brownie with ice cream that would hardly have looked out of place in the park we had just left (though I think the comparison ended there).

The day was rounded off  with a fine meal (shrimp pesto linguine for Janet and roast chicken with garlic red potatoes for me, accompanied by another white Zinfandel – oh yes, and two margaritas each) in the Moab Brewery. It had been our third visit in a little over 24 hours and we were sorry to leave it.

Once again, we had an excellent night’s sleep in The Sleep Inn. Must be something about the name or perhaps the exercise we had done – or more likely the margaritas.

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Western Diary Day 20: Yes, We Know the Way to San Jose

Well, by train from San Francisco we do.

Today we attended our first National Hockey League game, the pinnacle of the sport.  In the early nineties we had followed the Medway Bears, a team in the second/third tier of UK ice hockey who played in front of around 1,000 admittedly passionate fans in a small, tired ice rink.  This was a very different experience.

After yet another lazy morning we caught the no. 5 MUNI bus to Market and walked to the 4th and King Caltrain station for the 2.07pm train to San Jose.  We disembarked the double decker tin can at 3.38 on another hot afternoon and collected our tickets from the box office before wandering into what we thought was downtown to find something to eat.  I’m not sure that we found the real city centre, but we did stumble on what was a decent Mexican chain restaurant, La Pinata, where I had the biggest (shrimp) burrito I have ever seen in my life whilst Janet had shrimp fajitas.  This was washed down with a pitcher ($30) of Top Shelf Margarita.

The area in which we ate, though only a few minutes walk from the arena, struck us as a little seedy, not least because of the shady characters dotted around the streets aiming to buy and sell tickets.  There were also a surprising number of Los Angeles Kings fans around, not I hasten to add that they added to the seedy atmosphere (sic).

We entered the impressive HP Pavilion, which is reminiscent of the O2 Arena in London, around an hour before face off and explored the wonders of the Sharks Store.  Janet confined herself to a t-shirt and an SJ Sharkie (the mascot) soft toy.  We took our fabulous seats in the fifteenth row of the lower tier of the arena to the right of the goal.

 At 7pm the San Jose Sharks emerged from the giant, smoking shark’s mouth to tumultuous applause.  A win tonight would clinch their place in the end of season play offs, so expectation was high.  The LA Kings. who were also in play off contention, were roundly booed as they entered the ice around thirty seconds later.  Any tension was dispelled when the Sharks took a 2-0 lead in the first few minutes, a lead they held until the end of the first period, despite the Kings having the most shots.

The Kings pulled a goal back at the very end of a powerplay at the beginning of the second period, but this only inspired the Sharks to a four goal blast, several of them spectacular, in the remainder of the 20 minute spell.  Aside from a fight or two the final period was an anticlimax as Sharks consolidated their position without much trouble.  It was a very impressive performance by the Sharks, both offensively and defensively, although it should be noted that LA were missing two star players.

A number of things struck, but didn’t necessarily surprise, me about the experience:

1. Aside from the obligatory fights, the discipline of the players was so impressive, with far fewer offisdes, icings and penalties called than we have been used to in the UK. 

2. The number of fans who were wearing either replica shirts or t-shirts, sweatshirts or jackets with Sharks colours, at least three quarters and far more than you would see even at an English football game.

3.  The noise and fanaticism was intense.

4.  The regular interruptions to hold competitions and provide prizes for the fans is something that UK sport could do well to follow, though the latter’s historic antipathy to stoppages in play will probably prevent that happening – either way we could learn a lot about looking after the fans from US sport.          

All in all, a great experience – but I still prefer baseball!  A 45 wait for the return tin can to San Francisco at 10.30pm was made bearable by the balmy conditions and high spirits of other passengers.  I should add that although the train was basic and the journey not particularly comfortable, both outbound and inbound services were on time leaving and arriving at their destination.

In view of the fact that it was midnight when we came out of the Caltrain station we hailed a cab back to the apartment.  The driver spent the majority of the journey on the phone to Nigeria in his native language, but turned at one point to apologise in perfectly modulated English for his rudeness!  Despite his distraction he did return us to the apartment in very quick time.

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