We took off through the hillside, cutting our way down to Bryce Canyon. It was so strange to see fir trees dotting the red and white hills—the ground color was so brilliant it looked mismatched. We drove through the Big Rock Candy Mountain, and to our dismay (and Grandpas if he were here), the place was a dump.  We noticed this trend with each little town we passed through; boarded up houses and sorry looking livestock, heads slumped towards the ground.  Still, we were revved up to be GOing, excited to see the next new thing. I played Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’s “A Posh, Posh traveling life, the traveling life for me,” and sang loudly to Bubba, complete with animated gestures. Mikey occasionally would dart his eyes at me, expressionless.  I kept on, singing, “P-O-S-H posh, posh posh!” as the little murder-y towns disappeared in our dust.

We arrived at Bryce Canyon just as the sun was setting with no concrete plans, Jayme and Mikey Rey style. Who knew that the park’s campgrounds would be closed so early in the season, especially when it was still a balmy 65 out every day? We ended up at a hookup campground that night, next to some monster campers that never stopped humming.

The next morning we found the best campsite we’ve had so far (at $8 a night!). It had elements we could relate to—unlike the other-worldy aspects of the canyons and desert—a soft, pine needle forest, little trails with rabbits and deer poop, and an endless supply of wood. We stayed there two nights, and each night (because of the elevation) it dipped below freezing. Mikey would heat up a big rock in the fire, wrap it in a towel and place it at our feet. We slept like kings. Emmylou would curl up like a cinnamon bun on my pillow, head resting on my neck.

We met some Canadian friends and invited them to our fire. After a long talk, I realized that all of us campers are like kindred strangers. We eat food out of the pan, pee outside under the stars and watch the landscape change through our car windows, hot coffee in hand. This makes us love one another even though we have never met. It makes is capable of speaking the truth and sharing the most intimate moments with each other. I’ve listened while parents share their disappointments in their kids, how one man left the pop-up sleeping tent of their camper van open as they drove down the freeway (he said he would never speak of it to any of his family), all because they know we can trust each other and most likely will never see each other again.

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The first morning, after our fire and coffee, we headed for the park, stopping first at the visitor’s center.

It was there we learned of the Indian legend that described what we were about to see. Once there lived animal-like creatures that changed themselves into people. But they were bad, so Coyote turned them into rocks of various configurations. The spellbound creatures still huddle together here with faces painted just as they were before being turned to stone.

I think that is the best way to describe the phantom-like rock spires, or hoodoos, that make up the park.

At Sunset Point.

Natural Bridge.

We hiked part of the Briggs Spring Loop off of Rainbow Point, probably four miles or so through steep terrain, heavy woods and then wide open trails like this one:

 

We met a friend.

Aqua Canyon.

Our camp.

We would have stayed here for weeks if the weather hadn’t turned, so next stop—Zion!