May 3, 2014.  Our campsite in Moab (one of the few relatively highly populated towns in southern Utah) was in a commercial campground nestled in deep red, dry canyons.  (It was serviceable and clean, but not my favorite — too many RVs lined up together with people hanging their moo-moos and tank tops out to dry.)

This morning we drove the two miles to Arches National Park.  Expecting more of the same arid canyons of the last day or so, we both laughed out loud when we started up the mountain and were struck with yet a new example of gargantuan rocks wrestled into impossible formations.  How does God think these things up?  The part we really appreciated were sheer glass-smooth walls of red rock rising 150 feet straight up.  The gently carved tops gave them the look of insanely big government buildings.  Further on in the park, we came to the arches that give the park its name and you have seen on many map covers.  We were not as wowed by them somehow — perhaps we are jaded at this point or knew generally what to expect.  The third feature of the park was a strange vast floor consisting of petrified undulating dunes stretching out for miles, with snow-covered mountains in the distance.  Amid these dunes here and there arose gargantuan (in some cases, suggestive) pillars and globs of red stalagmites which for some unknown reason they refer to as the Garden of Eden.  That is not what would have sprung to my mind, were I on the naming committee.   We got our National Park Passport stamped for Arches and headed out at noon.

We nipped up to I-70 and stayed on it all the way to Vail CO (about 200 miles).  As we entered Colorado, we bade goodbye to the canyonlands (we thought) and welcomed expansive professional cattle ranches (some with their own personal Interstate exit) and greening cottonwood trees along the banks of the then-placid Colorado River.  Now and then we encountered more strange mountain ranges — of the sandy white, cumbly-top variety.  However when we entered the town of Glenwood Springs (the exit for Aspen) we were treated with the most beautiful stretch of Interstate Highway I have ever seen.  The road winds through the sheer cliffs of the Rocky Mountains along the very edge of the now-frisky Colorado River on which joyful people were white-water kayaking and beside which a coal train ran in and out of tunnels carved in the rock walls of the canyon.   What a fun ride!

At Vail, we headed down scenic highway 24 to the festive little town of Minturn, full of shops, restaurants and bars catering to the ski crowd.  About three miles later we came to a complete standstill — some kind of accident and fire had just occurred and there were three fire engines, an ambulance and at least ten police cars.  We were about third in line in the traffic jam and cars began to back up behind us for miles.  There was no way to turn around in a 28-foot Airstream on that little two-lane road.  We sat there for 45 minutes eating Oreos and drinking tepid coffee from our thermos.  Finally Brad got to talk to a policeman and he said it would be several hours before the road would clear, so he let us drive forward and do a big loop around a clump of police cars so we could turn around.  He directed traffic as we did the turn and said “you all have a nice day!”  We got back on I-70 and detoured through Copper Mountain ski resort and got back on highway 24 past the accident.  This gorgeous detour took us up to 10,000 feet and through snow-covered mountains peppered with dark green firs.  It looked as if Copper Mt. could still be open for business as there was so much snow on the slopes and everywhere else — but it too has closed for the season.

To end this National Geographic day of travel, we drove along the Arkansas River (I think it was) through softly undulating grassy hills and bare aspen trees to the little hamlet of Buena Vista and our family-owned campground aptly named Snowy Peaks.  We ate great leftovers for dinner (beef rib stew and a nice Malbec) and watched the Braves lose their 5th game in a row.  Tomorrow we head for Kansas.