Martha finished washing her dishes in the tiny motel sink. At least there was hot water. She could smell the odor left from frying eggs and ham in the room. She couldn't camp because of the pouring rain, but that didn't mean she had to eat in the tourist food spots. Her choices here at Ruby's Camp were the cowboy show or the coffee shop. Her appetite had just returned following the two days of high fever and stuffed head, when nibbling on fruit and yogurt had been all that appealed to her. Drying her hands on the rough white towel she peered out the window. There was a bank of fog stretching across the parking lot, white and cold, just as there had been yesterday. Glancing at her watch, she realized the fog wasn't going to burn off by 11:00, as the weather report had promised. Time to change my plans. No problem, right? Martha pulled out the map and "The Hoodoo", a newspaper reporting on Bryce Canyon Park. Wouldn't do to ride the shuttle and hike, nothing to see. Yesterday she had suspected that if she drove further down the road there would be a different way to access the park. As she had watched hikers slip and slide down steep muddy trails into the canyon, she had known that she could not make it back up if she ventured down. The tall red hoodoos called for her to wander between them, she wanted to explore the narrow canyons. Last night her good knee had ached as much as her bad knee. No, a different adventure was called for today. Packing up a lunch of fruit and protein bars, she checked that she had rain gear and her camera equipment. Map in hand she drove off to explore a new area.
Five miles east on Highway 12 Martha pulled off the road. Amazed she gazed over the canyon at the strange red formations which poked up through the pinon pine trees. Two miles, thirty minutes and fifty pictures further down the road, she stopped at a marked trail. Mossy Cave 1.0m. She pulled out "The Hoodoo" to look up the trail information. It was listed as moderate, with some elevation change. Seemed perfect for her. She stood for a minute beside the car letting her skin judge the air temperature. Moderate, a few fluffy clouds here and there, so she left her sweatshirt and water bottle in the car.
The trail proved to be a popular one, with many photographers and hikers. Martha walked with her head on a swivel, stumbling once as her attention wandered from her feet. The hoodoos towered above her on the sides of the canyon, different then what she had observed yesterday from above. This hike did not take her into narrow canyons formed by the hoodoos. Martha realized if she wanted that view she would have no choice but to hike the steep trails leading from the top of the canyon.
Returning to her car after the hour hike, Martha felt good about her choice. No pain in either knee. Fifteen minutes later, when she drove around a curve on the mountain road and a huge expanse opened out before her Martha knew that this was what she had been meant to see. Pulling her car into a tiny shoulder area, she rolled down the window and grabbed her camera. The first layer was a brilliant green meadow, farmland. This was edged by a steep wall of rock, parfait like in appearance with layers of white, red, and striped patterns building into a crusty sage covered layer. Behind this mountain stood another, a tall looming pile of round red rocks. Beyond that even another, more grand than all the rest with huge red cliffs, topped with the voluptuous clouds, white and fluffy, darkened underlinings threatening more thunder showers.
Martha drove the gravel road to the first park listed. The road sign had boldly announced that there were three National Monuments and two state parks ahead, luring travelers further into the vast expanse of mountains. The sign said 8 miles, but that fact didn't help much when she hadn't noted the mileage on her odometer or the time. Sheep Gulch 9.3m. She passed many redwood signs with tiny arrows pointing right or left, muddy roads with culverts snaking down them toward the valley. The gravel road had several areas of thick red mud across it, highlighting the points where the river had washed over the road during yesterdays storms. As the road became a skinny snake winding over small mounds of rock, although still smooth gravel and not mud like the side roads, the terrain changed once again, no longer flat sage, but rolling red rock hills. The range cattle she spotted along the way had wide spreading horns, not as big as Texas long horns, but larger than the stubs of those happy California cattle she was used to.
After driving what seemed like more than 8 miles, Martha pulled over to the side of the road. No shoulders here, she picked a spot with good visibility, on the off chance that another car should come along. The map indicated that this road went all the way back to Hwy 89. She had passed a large RV going the other way, it must be a loop. Maybe she would drive the whole loop today, taking in the surrounding areas. Just over the next hump, Martha came to a change in the road. The gravel road took a sharp left, the sign read "Kodachrome State Park". Straight ahead was a washed out mud road, the familiar green numbered highway sign posted on the right. This was the main road? Beyond the sign was another - small faded white sign on a post leaning to the center of the road, impossible to read. Martha drove closer, venturing onto the mud, keeping her car in the middle in hopes she wouldn't get stuck.
"Not recommended for through travel. High clearance 4WD only."
Martha stared at the road. Once a thought was in her mind it was so hard for her to change. Another must, she realized. What would it take for her to stop these ultimatums which flooded her brain? The road didn't look too bad. Martha knew she was lying to herself. The road looked terrible, and the storms and flash floods of the past few days were not over.
Turning the car left, Martha headed toward Kodachrome State Park.
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