Right Place at the Wrong Time

So I screwed up. A little. But every mistake you can walk away from is a potential lesson. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. It wouldn’t be the first time I was at the wrong place at the right time. Or the right place at the wrong time.

I had been camped outside of St. George, UT for several days and feeling that pull that takes me to other places. It would have been a crime for me to have missed Zion National Park, so I planned my exit from St. George to end there, taking me further north with the changing seasons. I found myself driving up through a canyon, having paid $15 to pass through the tunnel I had seen so many times on social media, where the music swells and the valley opens up. 

It was mid-March, and shuttle buses had just started running the week before for the main canyon. It had started to rain hard and as I led the convoy of other cars straddling both lanes, off to the side, I could see places where the tunnel opened to the cliff face and canyon walls. In little alcoves, I could see hikers clustered together, shivering in the rain. The tunnel ended and ahead of me was a steep canyon wall of striations, cut through by the Virgin river over eons. But no gradiose drumroll into the majestic scenery. I guess that was coming back down the canyon.

I had avoided the shuttle bus, not knowing that it was in fact the main event. Every load of people it took up the fork in the road six miles back had filled those shuttles to capacity with sniffling miserable wet people, who would all be pushing for a spot at the window. I guess I’m still a little raw from the Covid years to jam myself into a bus to take that spin on the wheel as which one will be the one with the lady with the rough breaking cough who refused to cover her mouth. 

It continued to rain and the higher in altitude I climbed it became a heavy, slushy rain. By the time I exited the park from the east side, heading towards Bryce Canyon, it was already snowing. My stop between Zion and Bryce Canyon was at a little diner called the Thunderbird Cafe, home of the “Ho-Made Pies.” An old sign without enough room for the whole word had lead to the spelling, and by the time “Ho” was in the vernacular, the Thunderbird leaned into it, complete with a pinup cheesecake girl as part of their logo. I looked at my maps as I ate a slice of strawberry and rhubarb pie, washing it down with around four cups of coffee and later a cup of chili that reminded me of my mom’s growing up. I always hated her chili as a kid—it was always too hot—but today, the taste of it took me back to blustery days in the mountains and wet March snowstorms.

When I got to Bryce Canyon, National Park, I was surprised the roads were still opened. As I handed my parks pass to the ranger at the gate, she informed me the road was closed a few miles up. I had driven over a hundred miles only to have to turn around and leave again, I thought. I drove up to the end of the road and followed the signs to the observation area. The trails were the consitency of smooth glass, and I wiped out just walking up the hill. I could feel my elbow dripping blood inside my jacket as I skate-shuffled up the trail. The clouds hung low and the snow continued to fall, until I reached the viewing area and the sky lifted. What I saw below me made the drive worth all of that. Spires and hoodoos of rosey-stone capped and glazed with recent snowfall. The combination of red and white, with endless spires of rock below, stretched out for miles. Had I come during peak season, I would have only seen the rocks, and no doubt plenty of crowds.

I have had other legs of my journey where my timing couldn’t have been better. I watched the annular ecclipse from the top of the mesa overlooking Chaco Canyon Culture ruins. I found myself in Santa Fe, NM during the Dia de los Muertos festival and even got to see a traditional Mexican wedding leaving the cathedral. 

Being off-season in both places also meant that Chaco Canyon’s roads were under dispute as to who would maintain them, the local Tribal Nation or the US Government. Their stalemate meant 22 miles of washboarded roads from any direction to enter the park.  Off season in Santa Fe meant fewer crowds and free parking at the visitor center, but the nights at that altitude were already getting cold and my last morning camping outside Santa Fe, I awoke to an ice storm.

My visit to Carlsbad Caverns had been incredible. Off season meant fewer people, no crowds deep inside the caverns, and you could take your time on the winding path of switchbacks down to the nearly 1000 ft to the main caverns. Unfortunately the restaurant was out of everything except for $6 hotdogs. Even worse, the population of Brazilian bats that live in the cave had already migrated for the winter. Out of the hundreds of thousands that live there, only about 50 came out of the cave that night. Hardly the plume of smoke that had been described in our history books.

As I have crossed the American Southwest, I have had plenty of hits and misses. I’ve gotten to smell the desert after it rains, and that warm, rich smell is like nothing else you will experience. I spent Christmas Eve walking along the Bridgewater at the foot of London Bridge in Lake Havasu City. The entire bridge is illuminated with Christmas lights that change patterns all throughout the evening. It was a good place to be traveling alone on the road and far from family for the holidays.

Most recently, I crossed Nevada along the Extraterrestrial Highway. Storms along the coast brought high winds into the Nevada desert, and the remoteness meant I would find myself low on supplies. Though early in the year, I decided to drive nearly three hundred miles in one day and found myself in Bishop, CA. My plans to check out Yosemite hit a snag when I discovered the eastern entrance is closed until June. The next best route is to drive another 350 miles south and then west to Fresno. 

These kinds of hiccups make you take some time to re-evaluate your plans on your road trip. What is crucial that you see? What are some other routes to take? What can you see along those routes? Traveling on the road is a continuous learning curve. You stop and ask for directions a lot, and in the process, you meet new people and learn about what they are about. While in Bishop, a stop at a bookstore allowed me to visit with a local. We talked about bird watching culture, and how climate change has affected the seasons. Tropical birds being found in the deserts, and migratory patterns going back thousands of years being altered because of habitat destruction.

In spite of the snow-capped crags of the High Sierras just outside of town, he told me winter missed Bishop this year. Travel is so much more than just checking places off your bucket list. It is going from place to place deliberately. Sometimes these little snags in the plan are reminders you need to allow you to refocus what is really important. Anybody can put a sticker on the back of their car, but did you really see a place? Did you get the whole experience? A better understanding of what it means to be present in the moment?

I have been so many places at the “wrong time” but have learned to appreciate the differences. You might not get the Instagram perfect moment, but you get something else. Today, in Bishop I indulged in the world famous sheepherder’s bread from Erick Schat’s Bakkery. For around $5, I got a loaf of sliced wheat bread that I can’t stop eating. It’s incredible. Blowing through a place means you’ll miss little details like these. Traveling is all about details and enriching your life through experiences. Sometimes it’s hard to keep that in mind.

Yosemite will be there, it will just take a little longer to get there, and taking your time is what it’s all about.

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