CANYCA: California to New York (and back) pg. 11
As we left Colorado and approached Green River, Utah, my little digital camera, which spent most of its time within easy reach in the ashtray, seldom was turned off, and many many shots were taken, some of which turned out pretty darn OK. The amazing cloudscapes in so many patterns and of types that I cannot even begin to classify provided a staggering sense of drama, and I felt a sort of obsessive frenzy of trying to be in as many places "at just the right moment" with one camera or another. It is true that I thoroughly enjoy both the frisson of immediacy of being there as well as the continuing endeavors to somehow express these experiences through descriptive and expressive words, the paralyzing reality-strobe effect of a still photograph, and video, with its expressive range of both scope and motion, coupled with the dimension of sound. I have always fallen short however, and some part of me hopes that I never attain my goal, as that would lessen the experience itself somehow...cheapening it, and making a mockery of the serenity and grace that is so eloquently expressed by the natural world.
At about 4:00 we left the truck and beetle parked at Tim's friend's property, jumped in the bus and headed off to Moab from Green River. I was torn between taking a nice hike with my cameras since the light and clouds were being so photogenic and getting back on the road to see things I had never seen before. After heading east over road already travelled in order to get to the road to Moab, I started to see hints of the amazing canyonlands so immortalized in the works of John Muir, Edward Abbey and Rick Bass (to name a few), and my desire to see all I could possibly see in the next few hours became an insatiable lust to be everywhere, so I just pushed the indefatigable Great Pumpkin up to 75-80 mph, and enjoyed the amazing and awe-inspiring desert under that bodacious sky as we hurtled south on Interstate 191.
Once in Moab, where every other car is a jeep or similar 4x4, I waved at (and received a wave in return) another baywesty, this one laden to the gills with various and sundry camping gear and related paraphernalia, and we got some coffee and nachos at a pretty hip little coffee shop/bistro, then went to visit the most groovy and bad-assed rock shop I've ever seen: Lin Ottinger's Rock Shop. (Read someone else's writing about L. Ottinger here! or view a virtual tour/gallery of Lin Ottinger's Rock Shop) What an amazing place! What an amazing place! (You can say that again) I did! That place was amazing! Where else can you get such an exquisite selection of trilobytes and fossilized feces for the little ones' stockings as well as a $39,000 dead fish head for the missus? Of course, the best exhibit is Lin Ottinger himself, who I believe I had the extreme pleasure of meeting, and he told me some stories about bus tours, goofy tourists, and the hardy VW buses that they toured in. I felt that meeting too short, so I aim to go back there and learn cool stuff from that guy! The main thing I heard him say about buses is that they always got him back to town ... as such, if you consider the area and the roads (aah, the roads!) they must use to access it, that is a great statement indeed!
