This weekend has proven so far to be quite an adventure.
My brother, my father, our neighbor, his son, and I had a plan to go offroading in middle-of-nowhere Utah this weekend. It started out simple enough- before we went to our intended actual area where we were staying and offroading, we made a sidestop at some nearby hills where we hadn't really gone yet but meant to. My father beat us up there and the scene was indeed magical- mists were billowing over the ridges, as we were in a cloud, and yet could sometimes see the city and valley down below. It was a fun little pre-adventure. And then it came time to descend. Before we got down the road roughly 50 meters, my father got a flat on his suburban. Through some following antics, we ended up having to leave the vehicle on the top of that mountain overnight, as my father told us to go on and he would get the vehicle tomorrow and then come down to join us.
That would've worked half well, except when he attempted to retrieve the suburban, there was an active search-and-rescue going on all day that prevented him from doing so. Of course, all are glad that the individuals involved in the search were rescued and no major injuries were sustained to them. On the downside, snow finally hit that night (in the high mountains) and the suburban got buried under a foot of snow. By good grace, as our offroading adventures ended, I unfortunately had business in another direction, but my brother was able to help retrieve the vehicle, finally, and the stress of the situation was finally ended.
Meanwhile, between the offroading adventures we partook of, things were really fun, and we had a blast! And then came the end of a Saturday, in which we found ourselves Leaving Goblin Valley and heading a good ways back to our stay. Noticing that I was running at a quarter tank, I radioed the other half of our party and we decided it would be a good idea to gas up at the next stop we could find. It turns out that between Goblin Valley and Scipio, there are exceedingly few options in the way of fuel. And what's better, there is a continual climb uphill that keeps on going and going and never seems to end for quite some time. With these factors pressing down on me, as my brother and I rode up the continually inclining highway, I looked at our distance left to Scipio vs my gauge. It was looking dicey. We were still over 30 miles out of Scipio and still climbing uphill when the dreaded "low fuel" light came on. At this point, besides silent prayer, I began doing everything I could to, as you might say, "Lighten the load". I turned off the stereo. I unplugged all electronics I could I turned off the air and set it to hot in some attempt to increase the engine's efficiency (I don't know if that would actually have any kind of impact, but I did it, anyway). I turned off my amber fog lights. I even dimmed the dashboard to literally dark- and we had already now lowered our speed to somewhere around 60 MPH. On top of that, when we finally got to the summit and began descending, I shifted into neutral as often as possible, until I had to boost a little more and then put it in drive and repeated the cycle over and over- to be honest, I got it to a decent art. To my relief, like a thirsty traveler in a desert searching for an oasis, I saw a big sign with numbers a small ways off, and we continued to coast slowly towards it. I pulled into the first gas station I saw, fueled up, and was amazed, though not exactly surprised to see that, out of the 18 gallons in my tank, I had refilled 17.93 of it. Talk about close encounters. But to be frankly honest, I know it as a miracle. I don't think that even with all the measures I took, I should've been able to make the last 30-40 miles in that car with that little of fuel remaining.
The following day, I had to actually travel to another part of Utah for work-related business, and so my brother and our neighbors headed off to home while I went my own way. Having most of the day to do as I pleased, I decided to check out a few more offroading spots. I traveled to one spot not too far away from Moab that led to some most interesting sights and backroads, the likes of which were fun to explore and just made the world keep looking bigger and bigger somehow (I guess Disney was wrong?). After that, I took another trip to another remote part a little ways out of Moab and saw some awesome sights there, too. But then I pushed my luck a little and decided to check out a certain canyon nearby, as well. The "canyon" was more akin to a gulch, and the descent into it was a little treacherous, though not too terribly difficult with a high-clearance vehicle with 4WD. I followed this canyon for several miles- and while that would be a short distance in most circumstances, this road was BAD. Actually, it was only 20% road, I'd say- the rest was boulder faces and riverbeds. While it took some careful handling to get to the canyon's end, it was at, in fact, the canyon's end where things would get more interesting. *In narrative English voice* "Two roads diverged in a ... desert ... I took the one less traveled and it made too much difference". I took the left road at the end of this canyon, which quickly began leading down a steep rock slide-like climb. I began descending this um... road slowly, beginning to wonder if it was such a good idea. About halfway down I began to doubt the robustness of the plan and wanted very much to turn back, but I was in such a position, now, that turning would be nearly impossible, and reversing would be likely quite catastrophic. With no other option, I took the rest of the slide with less than dodo-like grace and made it to the bottom. Seeing the road ahead was little better, I decided to call it good enough and just turn back, already. I began climbing the wash; and to my delight, with the aid of 4WD, high clearance, and the lowest gear, I appeared to be climbing it half okay- in any case, I was getting up, and that was good. Then I got to the top of that nasty part of the wash I had stopped at previously and nearly made it over the edge, but slipped back a bit. It was a devastating moment, but, determined, I tried to go forward again. I then realized I needed to back up a tiny hair, and did so. I took the approach a second time, mustering more determination and careful handling to try getting over the large, obtuse rocks. Again, I slipped back. I backed up a hair again, but I stopped this time for a moment, putting on the parking break and letting go of things for a moment. I could feel shock starting to seize up my muscles, and natural stress and panic setting in at the back of my mind. I said a prayer in that moment, asking firstly, to give me calmness and clarity of mind. Not the first thing you'd expect to have, perched 3/4 of the way up a dangerous, very remote rock slide in the middle of nowhere; but indeed, I regained some gumption and calmness, and breathed for just a moment. And then, with only a prayer of faith and the best maneuvering a shock-rendered me could produce, I slowly ramped up the acceleration as I took off the parking brake, and tried once more. For half a moment, I expected the same result... but then, to my amazement and utmost delight, I realized I wasn't sliding back, and, in fact, had made it to relatively flat ground again. With both overwhelming relief and shock running through me, I parked the car, sat on the ground, and breathed again, for a moment, with some laughter of both anxiety and joy. After trying to get the muscles in my hands to respond properly again, I got back in the car and carried on my way back, slowly regaining my full gumption and bodily sensation.
Now, in sharing such a story, I share it as an intriguing example of a miracle. I'll be the first to admit, if I hadn't been able to climb out of that wash, I would have been pretty devastated. The chance of another vehicle coming by soon wasn't probable, there was no cell service, and all I had was a radio and a winch with no anchor point to mount it to. But I knew that by going down that slide, I had done a foolish thing. Even from the get-go, I thought to myself it looked like trouble- and halfway down, I knew things were only about to get worse, but that the only person to blame was really myself. Now, if I hadn't gotten out, would standing around and yelling at myself for my stupidity have helped resolve the issue? Obviously not (though that's very likely what I would've done, to be frankly honest...). Likewise, when we fall into dangerous slides in life, whether it was an undertaking of our own or someone else's, the last thing that will help us climb out is sitting on a rock and moping about the absurdity and hopelessness of the situation. Truly, that will only waste time and make things all the worse, however well we mean. Again, guilty as charged. My point is we need to keep trying. And when we are so close to solid ground and we slip, don't give up. Try again, and again, and again. More than likely, it will take a miracle to get out- but it just so happens I believe in miracles- and a good thing too, apparently. And I will be the first to admit, I've (metaphorically speaking) gotten to solid ground, gotten out , and breathed the fresh air- only to foolishly go right back down that same slide again, thinking the consequences weren't really all that dire. I'll reiterate the mantra from this same paragraph, don't give up. I know that sounds like the oldest cliche in the book, but say what you like, it's one of the most powerful and true. In any case, regarding my own personal slides, I'm not giving up.
And now begins another adventure this week, though likely far less physically endangering. Until next time, enjoy this random website.