Day 37 – Leaving Colorful Colorado for the Even More Colorful U-Know-Who-Tah

I was a bit sad to leave Dolores, CO – only because of that store and its offerings. And because of the ever-increasing angst due to tomorrow, Day 38, being the longest planned daily ride of the trip. Get away! I pushed the angst away and consumed the breakfast I bought from the Shopper’s Corner-esque store. Also I focused on the day’s stateline-crossing. Utah. I’d been to Utah before, two times actually. The first was during my and Ju’s two-month cross-country (car) trip during the summer of 1990. I was kind of living in LA at the time but was subletting my place there and canvassing door-to-door up in the Bay Area for the California League of Conservation Voters, really getting in people’s faces about environmental issues and frequently using self-righteously aggressive tactics that, looking back, I still, almost 20 years on, can muster a few pangs of shame aimed at the 21 year-old version of Daniel Getzoff. Ju and I left in my beat-up Toyota Tercel from LA and headed straight for Bryce Canyon, Utah, passing through Las Vegas but not stopping. The 21 year-old version of Daniel Getzoff would never take part in the capitalistic bacchanal that is Las Vegas! The other time I went to Utah it was a couple years later: a straight-up drive through on my way from waiting tables for the summer in P-Town to my stint in Santa Cruz. I marveled at Salt Lake City’s hidden quality. As you’re driving West on the interstate, you only really see the city retreating in your rear-view mirror. At least that’s my memory’s reflection.

Back to modern times: the early half of the day spent riding through Western CO was uneventful. Some wind, some hills – but the Rockies were behind me now. The mountains of Southern Utah now awaited me. I passed through towns with descriptive names, such as Dove Creek (where there was a homemade rendition of an anti-meth poster. A stickish-figured girl, seemingly naked, hugging her knees to her. Meth affects everyone. Don’t it, though.) and Yellow Jacket (which I blinked and missed. Luckily the town’s namesake missed me as well

Despite being at the comparatively low altitude of 7,000 feet above sea level, my new-found dark attitude, cloudy as day, was still skimming the gutter. Maybe not quite the gutter with all its muck (remember: state line approaching!) but certainly in a ditch on the side of the road following those rolling hills Southeastern Utah, which I entered, with even less fanfare than usual. I recognized the true but now trite “Welcome to Colorful Colorado” sign approaching from behind, but WhereTF was the Utah entry sign? Oh, there it was – in a ditch on the side of the road with my alititude-inflicted mood. The sign was a fancy one illustrating the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics – when was that? 2002? I stood on top of it trying to get a good picture to post on Facebook. I called Donny to celebrate being one step closer to California and him. Was this discarded sign some indication of what was to come my way in Utah? Nah, not really. Just like the weather, which was hard not to take personally (Why is it raining on me?? Why is the wind in my face?), the sign in the ditch was not about me.

The scenery soon changed from rambling ranches to stark stoney cliffs, gray and stern to match the weather. After passing through Monticello, Utah (the third and least appealing of the Monticellos I’d ridden through thus far. Could there be others in NV or CA?), I ended up in Blanding, Utah (suitably bland – the tiny town with its somewhat stranger-guarded and dentally challenged residents reminded me of Kentucky) for the night and continued to mentally and physically prepare for the next day which would be the longest of the trip. Did I mention that the next day would be the longest ride? Did I mention that I was obsessing about it? Did I? Well, in case you didn’t get the message, I was focused on the next day’s uncertain fate. Or my uncertain fate. I gathered scant supplies, including my signature 6-inch subway sub to stuff in my rear rack for lunch tomorrow. But without spinach. There’s no spinach in Blanding.