Awestruck in Moab

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"Redrock 'n' Roll", Moab, Utah

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The sakura bloom here first. I wonder why Japanese donors chose this little town to bestow arguably the most beautiful rite of Spring: cherry blossom week. Washington D.C.'s National Cherry Blossom festival isn't for two weeks.

I feel so saturated here, surrounded by geologic miracles that adorn themselves in rich earthen hues, and then as I walk the streets of this charming city, the pinks of the cherry blossoms are nearly missed against the rusty dirt that covers the world down here. How lucky to see these perfect little specimens that are celebrated all over the world. And lucky again to enjoy them in a place that rivals the floral spectacle. These surroundings leave me struck in awe. Moab resides in a fault below the three neighboring Parks (two national, one state), which are the true jewels of the area. Breakfasting at dawn the cliffs around my inn appeared to glow from within, making the sedimentary layers of time most apparent in oranges, rusts, pinks and ecrus. This town is a little oasis, with the trees giving my first real green in weeks, and just outside the town are miles of red earth dunes. It's clearly too much to drink in in one day.

As I drove back to Moab from Canyonlands National Park, I couldn't get myself to pull over and take another photo- the haze of the afternoon was ruining my shots, and I wondered whether it's possible to overwhelm your canyon quota so quickly. Also, I must admit I was feeling rather disappointed that I had not been able to secure myself a campsite at any of the grounds open in the fifty mile radius that I searched this afternoon.

It was thus that I returned to Moab. But before that, I had supped here for lunch after my Americana exploration of Arches.

Let me first inject that due to a handful of very bad decisions last night- notably that I was not tired or particularly enthused at the prospect of stopping, and with that stubbornness I found myself at a boring chain hotel well into the evening- I did not eat dinner. I fed my shrunken and gurgling stomach some coffee and a granola bar this morning. Which meant, that after two short hikes, a few hours of exploration and small snacks, and a fine new tan, I was famished.

Curiously, I had noted from earlier research, most of the recommended restaurants in town do not offer lunch. I drove around the main block once, parked, and set out to explore the streets. I will now summarize exactly why I like this town so much. It is the convergence of the National Park tourists and the outdoor fanatics. I do have a bit in common with both parties to say the least, and so here I am where tacky tourist kitsch is settled prettily next to the juice joint that boasts Wheatgrass Juice on its window. Turquoise shops abound, as well as galleries that range from swanky to crappy, which I find agreeable. I also find agreeable the outdoor stores, used cd spots, ice cream parlors, brewpubs, and gourmet restaurants. The custom base for the town includes people of all ages and sizes, who like the outdoors, whether by biped or ATV or other, and that leaves no opportunity for pretention.

The city is laid out with route 191 serving as main street, and a few side streets are peppered with businesses interesting to a tourist. Architecture is not impressive in any way but doesn't strike one as ugly either, just perhaps somewhat temporary (the town has just recently past its century mark). I inquired at a few bed and breakfasts off the main drag and although the houses were new, they were all tasteful. The strip serves its purpose well- providing tourists necessities in a convivial fashion. Today the town was positively hopping with mountain bikers, and packed from the half-marathon accomplished by mid afternoon. That was why there was no vacancy at the campgrounds, or the midrange hotels. The tourist season has begun, and I must say I have been spoiled by my off-season prices and vacancy guarantees. And so the town was full of fit people and families.

I ate at the largest restaurant in town, one of five places open for lunch, one of two places that served salad, and the only restaurant with a frontage teeming with motorcycles. I nearly tipped a few over on my round through the parking lot. This was a good sign- the bikes- because I find that bikers choose relatively relaxed eateries, and that's what I was in the mood for. No wheatgrass with a side of judging my quads for me, thank you. And Eddie McStiff's proved very nice. Especially the people. The lady tending bar (it was either sit at the bar or wait thirty minutes for a table, duh) called everyone babe or love or darling with this great midwestern accent and that does a lot for an establishment. The resident taxi cabby asked me about my book and I got into a nice conversation with him and a server, who turned out to be the lead singer and guitarist for Stonefed, a very well received groove band (what can we call them now, they fuse so many genres?) who played at the Salt Lake City Olympics, and I was told I must go to Woody's tonight for their St Patrick's Day concert. (Can you guess I decided on the early evening away from the drunken rabble rousers? I know, sorry partyholic readers, I just don't have it in me anymore.) Overall it was a good experience. The food was pretty good too.

Then I walked around the main square, happened upon a sweet pathway that follows a stream then darts steadily away from town, and when I realized the visitor's center will be closing, headed off to settle at Canyonlands.

When I returned after discovering that even campsites need to be reserved during the warm months, I was in a funk, but immediately cheered with the Gonzo Inn (review explains why). I decided that if I can't make pasta and sauce in the Canyonlands, I have no excuse not to visit the restaurant rated number 1 in south Utah. The Center Cafe lived up to that honor. In a nifty twist of fate (she is so rarely on my side), I have now experienced a number of comestibles that appropriately call for me to use the word medley, which I am currently  somewhat obsessed with. My salad at the Cafe was a quiet medley of freshness that I very much enjoyed. And I shed practically all of my sour mood.

It must be said that most of the people who have settled down here appear to have done it for Slickrock, as this is a hot spot for mountain biking. The arms on my waitress were most impressive, the lean musculature of a biker who rock climbs. Other tourist industries that clean up here are anything four wheel drive oriented and river rafting- the confluence of the Green and Colorado rivers is just a few miles away. If you are still searching for a good image of the town, rewatch Thelma and Louise (where they met their doom), or the third Indiana Jones movie, and about half a dozen John Ford pictures featuring wagon or coach in the titles. While I'm on the trivia portion of this entry, Moab's claim to fame at one time was as the uranium ore capital of the entire world.

Now that I'm sure you want to visit, as it is a such a friendly, safe walker's town, with imaginative lodgings and eateries, be sure to add to that little picture in your head that you can find marvelous Canyonlands National Park (which I imagine looks something like what you'd get if you gutted a valley near the Continental Divide and implanted the Grand Canyon into the gaping hole), above and below the town, with the sunset-bright Arches National Park hugging the other side.