Snow Canyon State Park

 

A place so delightful it earns its own post.  But first I have to get here…

It was a very short drive day, leaving from Quail Creek State Park; a mere twenty-nine miles.  It is amazing how much can go awry in such a short time.

The day started off weird anyway as Opus did not want to go on his morning walk and then became frantic to find grass to eat when we returned.  All grass-like growth around here is some form of foxtail so I could not indulge him.  His strange behavior continued in the car where normally he would jump into his kennel and I wouldn’t see him until I dragged him out.  But not yesterday; at every stop he would jump to the front with a wild look in his eye.  I stopped at two parks and walked him around but nothing changed.

Having lots of time between check-out and check-in, I decided to go to a self-service car wash and give both Liebchen and Beagle a nice wash.  I turned on the high-power spray nozzle to remove all the dirt and bugs then switched to the foaming brush.  And man was it foaming!  Gallons of hot pink (and I mean Hot Pink) suds frothed out of the brush faster than I could make use of them.  Going up the side of Beagle, brush high in the air, foam thrusting itself out of the brush, and Whoosh!  A gust of wind blew it all back into my face.  I had hot pink foam all over:  Head, shirt, shorts, legs.  Lovely.  But I thought, “Whatever, it’s just foam.” Not bothering to attempt to wash it off (what with, the high-powered rinse sprayer?), I rinsed Beagle and Liebchen and continued on my way.

I had also planned on stopping for some groceries but by mid-day it was too hot (again above 80) so I just continued into Snow Canyon, making my early arrival even earlier.  The very pleasant park attendant assured me no one was in my site the previous night so I was welcome to go park. 

It seems no one would be in it again that night:  In a maneuver very alien to me, I had booked a site that was not big enough for Beagle.  Making mistakes like that used to be easy to do as you never had any indication of the spot you were reserving (which is why, years ago, we would all just show up and drive around to pick out a spot, that does not work anymore; most parks are reservation only.) Now that everything is booked online, most parks do a great job showing you the campground layout and the width and depth of the pitch.  Snow Canyon is no exception. 

I was the exception this time; I guess I was just so thrilled to find a spot (having camped here at least twice before, it remains a favorite), I didn’t bother to look at the size; usually Beagle has no trouble fitting anywhere.

So I drove right by my spot and back to the registration office.  Same nice attendant, he actually apologized for the spot being so small wherein I assured him it was entirely my fault.  Folding my hands in front of me at the desk I saw that they were splattered in Hot Pink.  At first I thought they were oddly sunburned but then realized it was the car wash foam and, oh my god, it must be all over me.  This is what happens when you live alone; you can go a long time looking ridiculous.  I am sure Opus would have said something but, you know, he is color blind.

The only option they had was a spot in the group area which was currently vacant but ran the risk of having really close neighbors.  I could not wait to get back into Liebchen and find a mirror so I took the offer. 

Yep, Hot Pink splotches all over my face.  What is it with me and car washes?

Turns out this pitch is ideal; only one small camper joined me in the large area last night and they parked at the far end. 

The view out my front door this morning:

There was a huge rain storm last night which dropped the temperature into the 60’s this morning.  Opus and I could not wait to get out and hike!  (And he was back to his normal bouncy self.)

There is an asphalt hike/bike path than runs through the entire park and many dirt trails stem from it.   The rain had packed the deep sand down so walking was very pleasant on the trails and we happily headed into the canyon.

It’s not often you get to find your own path over giant rocks; most of the trail markers looked like this:

We climbed up a rock formation to sit still in the early morning sunshine and it dawned on me that tomorrow is my 61^st birthday; the brevity of our time on Earth hit me so suddenly tears fell down my cheeks.  It all goes so fast; this planet is so gorgeous.

Not long after returning from the hike, a heard, “Hello!  Anyone home?”  and stepped outside to see a lady approaching me with an odd smile on her face and her right hand held out, fist down, as she was holding something in it.  I could hear her dogs in the car so I assumed it was a treat for Opus.  Smiling, I held out my hand and in dropped a small plastic flamingo. 

“Consider yourself Flamingo’ed”, she said.

And I thought, “Fuck, is this some kind of a Mormon greeting ritual?”  But managed to say out loud, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”  Yep, from street gang to Queen Elizabeth in 1.5 seconds.

“It’s an Airstream thing!”, she replied, “’Streamers leave flamingos on other Airstreams, often without anyone seeing.”

I have had Beagle for nine years and have never been Flamingo’ed.  Didn’t even know it was a thing. 

Happy Birthday to Me.  I am, thankfully, just where I want to be.

-K