Sitting in a cafe in Utah eating a huge slice of chocolate peanut butter cake with coffee. It’s good. Last I left you I was anxiously descending a narrow gravel road into a canyon, hoping for a place to camp before dark. I did make it to the bottom…

I stumbled into Dolores Canyon, a gem of a natural area. There’s an old campground here, used by locals, and teenagers with big trucks. It’s named box elder after North America’s most widespread tree. I woke to the most sublime scenery I found so far on my trip. We’re still among ponderosa pine and scrub oak. There’s box elder here, river birch, hackberry, a shrubby form of dogwood, and indian hemp. The sculpted red rock walls tower hundreds feet above the cold stream.

This morning I’m hiking down river from camp. One of the reviews of this trail complained that it uses an old access road through the canyon. I wouldn’t call it a road. It’s a bumpy two lane track unfit for cars. This is impenetrable terrain. I’m looking off the trail into a contorted thicket of oak. The woody trunks, 10 feet tall and 2 to 6 inches in diameter, are occasionally spaced wide enough for a body to pass. There’s poison ivy and spiny plants everywhere, as well as stiff thickets of pointy tangled unknown shrubs. Otherwise the terrain offers scrambling on rocks, boulders, cliff faces, stony ground, and steep unconsolidated rubble slopes. The river is gentle and inviting but stone cold. I believe the road is an asset.

Another night, another campsite, now I’m outside Canyonlands NP. Since I got to the Utah desert, ironically, the camping has been worse. The dust is so bad you’ve got to get away from the road or at least park upwind. There’s also a lot of people out here. I mean, tons of people, and campers everywhere you go, many of them on four-wheel, off-road vehicles. So I found this site and at first I was disappointed. It’s fairly open. I can see the travel trailer compound about a mile off in the distance. There’s some red cliffs in two directions, and mostly open scrub, juniper grassland. Occasionally a sun burnt ATV riders kick up a trail of dust all the way from my camp to the compound. The sun is about to set. I’m starting to miss the mountains with their tree cover and privacy. I’m also just feeling tired. I miss home a little bit, the comforts and the people.

Though this campsite is bare and minimalist, I pulled out my guitar, played some songs, and ended up taking a walk. I’m barefoot, So I’m staying on the rock and avoiding the desert soil with the sand burrs. I’m on a low outcrop of the slick rock formation. It reminds me of granite domes, the bare undulating sandstone have little depressions in it where water gathers after a rain. These dry pools are filled with sharp angular stones, hard and resistant. They draw my attention. Sharp, chipped, and polished, I suddenly realize they’re all shards from stone tool making. These are the leftover pieces that are chipped away when a napper makes arrowheads or spear points. I walk around, the high ground here is covered with shards everywhere. I’d estimate there are 10 dump trucks of flakes. I look for a nice arrowhead but just find the discards. Cray could probably find one, he always had a talent for spotting things, four leaf clovers, spare change and such. I’m learning to slow down and pay attention to appreciate this landscape and this larger experience.

Feeling good this morning, oops my coffee’s boiling over. I’m learning to push through my tired, disappointed, and angry moments. They do pass and then you get to move on and have another day. It’s before dawn. I’m making coffee by headlamp. The world is bigger than it looks. You can’t set policy or find the root of a problem from a distance, you have to be in the crux. The world is older than we can imagine. The processes that shape it are happening in every moment, be a part of it. Your potential for greatness does not peak. In a moment of kindness we are enlightened. The stars do not shine for us but we for them.

Out in the national park, I run into folks from all over the world, young couples, old retired people, and families. It’s bittersweet for me. I lost my traditional family when dad moved out. I was 6 years old. In some ways I spent life trying to recreate the illusion of what I call the perfect Coleman family. We had a Coleman tent and LL Bean sleeping bags. Camping together was my favorite memory before the separation. I admit I passed on my chances at making a perfect family more than once. I guess I wanted autonomy and hopefully some personal growth. We shall see.

I’m hiking in these amazing natural scenic areas and honestly I find the people just as interesting as the landscape. On the Island in the Sky trail there’s a father with his teenage daughter. They are leaning on each other enjoying the view, avoiding mom and the two younger boys. They seem to have an adventurous companionship. I love it. I absolutely cherish my son Jasper. My brother Peter is great. Occasionally I had that nuclear feeling with Katie and Jasper on road trips but that was fleeting. At my age, the urge and the tolerance for family is lower. Occasionally I run across a man my age on the trail dragging his old dad through this inhospitable landscape. I pray that Jasper has the love and the tolerance to do that with me in 20 years. I see lots of idyllic young couples here too. I would do that differently if I had another shot at youth. And then there’s dogs, God bless dogs. My students know I have to stop and talk to every one I meet.

I see a 30 something daughter with her two aging parents. She was so caring and patient helping them scramble over the rock outcrops. If I’m fortunate and good, I may have that help when I get old. Back in the car listening to Lake Street Dive cover Rich Girl. She sings, “you can rely on the old man’s money”. It makes me think of my dad. I wonder what he and I might have done together if he didn’t die when I was 17. He could be on this trip, me helping him scramble over those rocky slopes. I start crying thinking about those lost years. I didn’t get to see him become a better person.

Last night I went through an emotional trench but I seemed to manage it. I do not like searching for places to camp after dark. The rangers sent me up a side road outside the park. I didn’t go far enough and parked beside the road which ended up being a congested dust bowl with three or four cars a minute going back and forth. I got choked out, started feeling toxic. I thew my stuff in the car and drove further away from the park. There’s a climbers access lot with a toilet at Indian Creek. The moon and stars are lovely tonight. Headlamp lights danced on the canyon walls above. I wonder why they climb in the dark? It’s eerie yet inviting like a candle in the window. I pile gear on top of my car to make room for myself inside. I go to sleep but an hour later, three or four climbers return to the lot loading up their gear and talking loudly for 30 minutes before leaving. Rock climbers here have to repel back down from the top, after dark if need be.

Here I am before daybreak, the sun yet to cross the horizon. Sagebrush, happy junipers, and house size sculpted round boulders transitioning to spires in the distance. A warm pre dawn light compliments the earth tones in the sand around me. Trail buddies Barry and Trish told me I could get into Arches on a busy weekend without reservations if I go before 7:00 a.m. I pack up my uncomfortable bed and head out for that 6 AM coffee in Moab. Woohoo!

Here I am out in the desert again, among internationally renowned rock formations, headed on the primitive trail towards Dark Angel. When is sunrise? A question you cannot answer out of context. My sunrise this morning came after 20 minutes of down climbing, and backtracking through a narrow dead end chasm. Finally, I got back on track, clambered up over boulders into the sunlight. Then I see the lichen worn path on the rock face slope above indicating the trail I had missed.