We checked in to the Inn at Escalante and met Tom, the proprietor. To say Tom loves Escalante is like saying puppies and kittens are just ok. He was over the moon about his little town and immediately drew us a map of all the places to go. You know when someone is giving you directions that make sense to them, and all you want is to grab the piece of paper and make your own notes? Yeah. That. We both asked clarifying questions, which annoyed him. “Don’t over think it!” So we sort of glazed over as he continued to scribble on his DiVinci Code map, making it even more illegible. (His 17 looked like the pi symbol.) What could go wrong?
He directed us to Devils Garden that was “just 5 minutes away” and a great place to eat dinner. So we grabbed a pizza and headed out for “Hole in the Rock Road.” Wait, was that a 5, as in minutes or miles? 15 or 20 miles later, having never seen the Hole in the Rock Road, we were about to put holes in our heads. Starving, cursing Tom and his map, (the map will be a theme) and facing a now cold pizza (but not the good kind of cold pizza) we pulled off at a vista. We caught an amazing sunset which we would not have seen otherwise.
As we approached the town of Escalante, there it was! “Hole in the Rock Road,” with a sign facing those coming into town but no sign for those going out of town. What is with the lack of proper signage?
Amazingly the next morning, after the rock and roll down the sand dune, I felt relatively fine. I did have to assist lifting my head by supporting my neck to sit up, I was able to unscrew things with my nearly normal hand, at least things not screwed on by Jenny because she has the strength of a Lumberjack in a logging competition. All things considered, it was another good to go day.
Tom had rearranged our itinerary and sent us to Calf Creek Falls first. Neither of us are morning people so the fact that we both still liked each other was a little amazing at this point. Getting there early wasn’t a problem since we were mostly trying to avoid the types of people who center you in the picture frame, right in front of whatever sight you’re at, even when you say “please make sure we are off to the side with waterfall just off center.” (Did that happen? Yes.)
We left at the last possible time (according to Tom) to experience a mostly people-free, peaceful visit. This time, Tom steered us right.
By the time we left, there were 30 people there, and the trail was a steady stream of more. It pays go early! It doesn’t pay to use your momentum coming down a hill with the sun in your eyes. On the hike back, I ran straight into a thick dead tree limb sticking out at just knee height. It must be what it feels like to have a jousting lance jammed into your leg. Great. 0 days without an injury. I needed a tote board.
Then we were off to some secret slot canyon Tom said we absolutely *had* to see. Back to the map! We were supposed to zero out Rhonda’s odometer for Tom’s very specific map. (The sexy mom van now had a name.) We had long ago decided we hated Rhonda and the fact she didn’t have the owners manual inside. This was the second time we needed it. No reset button on the dash and Rhonda’s computer mostly disabled, typical Rhonda, we decided to do the math, which we had already decided was hard.
At “about 9 miles” Tom had written “look!” At what? He refused to tell us when he drew the map. But by the look on his face, we figured it had to be Shangri-La. We got to “about 9 miles” and risked driving off the curve in the road to see a canyon. A canyon. We were in the land of canyons. Was it different than all the other canyons? A little. This one had a road through it. Cool.
Only slightly satisfied, we moved on “11.2” on Tom’s map to see his secret slot canyon. Better be worth it. He had drawn a turnout and said “it’s right there.” So roughly 11.2 miles later, we turned out and saw nothing. Nothing was “right there.” So we drove down a well-enough traveled rocky dirt road suited for a vehicle far superior to Rhonda. Once we got to a location with absolutely no high rock whatsoever, so no way of finding a slot canyon unless it was a hole in the ground, we pulled off hangry. Thanks Tom. We sat literally in the middle of nowhere, totally exposed, and ate another once warm meal.
Our quick pee break was worry free since no one was around anyway. Right as I stood up, I said in basically the same tone as Cameron trying to get Ferris’ attention in the cab, “Jenny. Come. Here.” About 30 feet behind us, somewhat hidden in the low profile desert bushes was a pop up canopy. Welp! Dinner and a show folks.
We must have driven past the 11.2 mark 7 or 8 times. “Is it this turnout?” No. This is a field. This turnout? No. There’s no “wash” to cross like Tom said.”
We chose one final turnout that looked promising, and as soon as we pulled in, I knew immediately that Rhonda had just sunk into sand. Well great. Now we’re Jeff and Susan who got their car stuck at Coral Pink. (Not a single photo!)
Stuff like this makes me laugh, which probably annoys other people. If for nothing else we had 6 gallons of water, two jars of peanut butter, 2 pounds of the best Gummie Bears you’ll ever have, a quarter bottle of gin, tonic, limes (no ice) and a variety of dry goods. We wouldn’t have to resort to eating each other for at least another couple days.
We rolled up our sleeves for the challenge. We’re industrious ladies! We can do this! We looked for leverage objects to put under the tires so they had something to grip. (THIS is why we wanted the Jeep.) Rhonda mocked us by giving just a sliver of hope, but mostly no movement like an old man on a Wednesday. Jenny said she’d try to push. It was worth a try. But Rhonda was really angry now and dug in even more.
Luckily, just in that moment, two guys in a Suburu came by. The driver clearly did not want to help. But his friend was all about the kindness of a stranger. The driver, we’ll call him Don, because there was 100% no way they would be friending us on Facebook, by some miracle, had a tow rope. The problem was, he did not at all want to pull out because he’d have to unpack the car. They checked our leverage rocks and opted to give it another push. Rhonda was laughing hysterically at this point. Don and Craig, (naming the friend Craig sounded about right), quickly surmised there was no other choice but the tow rope. Don stomped over to his car and started throwing things out of the hatch to get to the tow rope. His duffle was open so all his things came flying out. They were either coming from or going to a camp site because the water, the camp grill, the tent, everything was splayed on the side of the road. Don yanked the tow rope out of of the wheel well and tossed one end to his much more benevolent friend, Craig.
Craig told me to get in and throw it into neutral, and before I was even two feet from Rhonda, who was in park. Don starts pulling. “She’s not in neutral yet!” Craig screamed. Umm, not in neutral? I wasn’t even in the car yet! It took all of 2 seconds to pull Rhonda out. Rhonda was back on the road and Don had stopped his vehicle, or so I thought. I figured Don was finished pulling, so I turned the wheel. But Don wasn’t finished pulling. He ripped his car forward again and Rhonda was pulled sideways. “What are you doing? Stop pulling! She’s out!” Craig yelled. A punishing side scrape is always good on tires and I was sure that motion did wonders for Rhonda’s under workings. They’re going to have a great time wherever they’re going.
Jenny and I went over to help repack their car. I tried to pick up the water reservoir and I couldn’t even get it off the ground it was so heavy. (If they could lug that thing around, they should have been able to push us out. Just sayin’.) I wasn’t about to start packing up Don’s skivvies that were strewn all over the road. Jenny offered to pay, they refused payment and Don grumbled a bit for losing 10 minutes of his life to do a good deed. We said “thank you,” and as we went on our way, Jenny said “The good thing about us is that we don’t look capable so people are going to help us.” Not quite sure how I feel about that assessment.
Just as we had given up, it dawned on me. That’s not 11.2 miles from “look” it’s 2.2 miles from “look”. At about 9 miles ten at about 11.2 miles. Well slap me silly. Vacation totally makes us dumb. If Tom had let us make our own notes on his “map” this certainly would have never happened. I choose to believe that. Using our superior math skills, we drove to what seemed about 2.2 miles from “look” and sure enough. There it was. No wash to cross, but ok. It was a beautiful slot in the side of the rock, deep magenta in color, sort of like my butt at this point. We walked in probably 0.1 mile, if that, and it simply came to an end. So it was more of a tall hole than a slot canyon. Thanks Tom.
We got Jenny’s daily Ariel photo, enjoyed the magnificent fall leaves, and continued on.
Time to back to the in. Jenny very aptly said, “We saw a lot of cool things we wouldn’t have seen if Tom hadn’t sent us to things we couldn’t find.” True dat.
Completely exhausted from our first baller week, we decided that as beautiful as Zebra Canyon would be, our days of wading waist deep in water were over for this trip. Tomorrow would be an easy breezy day because Bryce was only 30 minutes away!
INJURY REPORT: Big knot over my left knee. It’s warm so it will be exciting if it’s infected! New bruises on my left wrist. Chaffed thighs because I was down to my last chance leggings that don’t stay up. There was a lot of friction on that 6.7 miles to see Calf Creek Falls.
BRUISE UPDATE: (Which one? That’d be the butt, Bob.) Deepening in color. Yes the thought crossed my mind that it’s my own personal slot canyon back there.
Roam Free 