Utah Beat Every Other State on This Maine Couple’s Trip

Day 22, Utah.

There is nothing else like it. No other state we have passed through on this Maine to California and back trip has matched the visual beauty, the wonderful roads, and the awe-inspiring natural wonders of Utah. Nothing.

We achieved our Route 66 goal of making it to Santa Monica, dipping our toes in the Pacific Ocean, a few days ago. It was relief tainted by the whole California experience. LA County—the most densely populated valley in America, over 30 million people—has crowded roads, smog, and an immense homeless problem that could not be masked at Santa Monica. Beyond that, California’s small communities showed little of the celebration we had witnessed of Route 66’s 100th birthday in the other seven states. Our “accomplishment” felt hollow.

And then Las Vegas, with temperatures averaging 100 for three days, did little to revive our spirits. “Sin City” can be fun, it sure is entertaining, but for the Raider fans surrounding us at the 800-site Oasis RV resort—a very nice park—they were looking to drown their laments with us.

And then our Brinkley’s refrigerator decided, no mas in the heat. Unlike our Ford Super Duty, which continued to haul us around to Hoover Dam and other attractions, the camper took a time-out when it was needed most. On a Saturday. In Las Vegas. In 101 degrees.

So, we resorted to the camping that we used to do well—another big cooler from the largest Bass Pro shop we’d ever visited, plus plenty of ice. Lots of ice. Let’s get going to Utah.

The drive north up I-15 from Las Vegas is pretty boring—until you reach Mesquite and the Virgin River Canyon that signals passing through a small corner of Arizona before Utah. From the flat plains, you are quickly entering walled canyons, twisting back and forth to follow the river’s path, below. The speed limit drops from 80 mph to 55 mph, as the grade steepens rapidly.

In a few minutes, it ends as you crest onto the high plains and arrive in St. George, Utah. Fuel prices drop immediately.

We make a stop at a Brinkley camper dealer. They are great folks, with service advisor Steve Loster and his head technician Josh stopping their Monday to inspect our faulty refrigerator. After confirming the Vegas RV Tech’s prognosis—she’s toast—they helped us more than both the camper-maker and the refrigerator manufacturer, once again instilling negative thoughts about the whole RV industry.

Yes, mechanical things break. It’s how you handle the paying customers’ issues that separates the wheat from the chaff. We didn’t get the wheat treatment other than from Steve and the team at Blue Compass RV.

But Utah’s wonderment lay ahead, which we quickly discovered on Route 14 East from Cedar City. This became the first of several stellar secondary roads in Utah, awing us at every turn with colorful buttes, mountain canyons, cascading streams, and colorful arches, all on 180-degree twist and turning routes. We crossed mountain ranges at 9,900 feet—several times. The Ford loved it. And we loved having the Ford haul us through every turn, up every grade.

At Oasis in Vegas, we did several bike tours through the whole RV park, counting the pickups. Hands down, Ford Super Duty pickups outnumbered all other towing trucks by 2-1, easily.

In Utah, in Nevada, in California, and many other states, the DOT trucks were predominantly Ford Super Dutys. A pattern is emerging.

For us, the Ford’s virtues continue to pay dividends making our travels easier, more convenient. The power tailgate improves access when carrying more ice for the cooler, blocks for the wheels, plus the garage-load of accessories strewn about the pickup bed—all, thankfully, covered by the rolling rigid tonneau. The power running boards ease ingress and egress. The cooled seats—ah, the cooled seats; what a definite traveling aid when the mercury kissed triple digits. Yes, it’s a dry heat out west, but 100 degrees is still darned hot.

The Super Duty’s console is a catch-all. There are paper maps for each day, a notebook for both myself and the navigator, plus two guidebooks for both Route 66 and our planned Utah adventures. And, I have brought several of DeLorme’s State Gazetteers—essential for any impromptu routes or backroad choices. Yes, we use Google Maps, however a DeLorme Gazetteer has never led me astray in any state.

Add water and Powerade bottles (you just can’t get dehydrated in this heat), various snacks, plus phone cords and Ford couldn’t have provided any more useful space.

After two nights at spiritual Bryce Canyon National Park (road and trail restrictions forced us to skip Zion, lamentably) we savored more beautiful roads in Tropic, Torrey, and Fruita, following infamous Route 12—known as Utah’s best scenic byway—onto Route 24 in Torrey. A mid-day hike up the Escalante River—six river crossings—took us to one of the highest, and amazing natural arches of the dozens we would see in Utah.

Just when you think Utah couldn’t wow you anymore, we climb a high-mountain esker at over 8,000 feet. At the top, we have a mind-numbing 360-degree view that iPhones just can’t capture the beauty. The vertical red cliffs, the deep canyons, and the Black Angus cows roaming everywhere create scenarios that soothe the soul.

Add the numerous mountains and shaped buttes that just don’t stop anywhere you look. It is intoxicating, yet sometimes bewildering how so much of nature’s amazing work is located here.

By Moab, Canyonlands National Park beckons first. And then a day renting side-by-side UTVs to explore the canyons high above the Colorado River. Up close and personal to 1,000-foot-plus drop-offs (guardrails are rare on any of Utah’s scenic roads), we hug craggy cliffs with barely enough room for just one of these 4×4 dirt-eaters to pass. Kathy just takes photos and doesn’t look down.

We drive only 50 miles, but see more of Utah that becomes etched in our brains forever. Plus, we eat a lot of dust.

But, as we have experienced all trip—so far—the people are amazing. At Bryce we meet a couple from NH, the wife from New Sweden, Maine, her uncle just having moved from Ellsworth. At Hoover Dam, a couple from Ellsworth, Maine, greets us. At the rim of Canyonlands, a couple talks us up after driving from backwoods camping for three days in the dirt on the vast trails in this huge National Park.

And, on our UTV ride, we are stopped by a man with his keys, his cell phone, and his dog locked in his BMW. We have no tools, but Brad tries to hot-wire the hatch entry switch, to no avail. Along comes a pack of eight Jeep Wranglers, each a different color. They are all from Brazil, their T-shirts and sweatshirts logo-ed with their once-in-a-lifetime journey: Brazil, to Vegas, to Moab, to the Grand Canyon, and back to Vegas.

Speaking broken English, the leader says they will try to help. They pry one rear window down a half-inch. One of the wives ‘borrows’ a piece of wire from a nearby fence, and within a couple of minutes, Presto, the dog is free and the car owner is spared a smashed window before the hot sun rises over the cliffs above.

Utah. It is beautiful. Everyone is outside, playing hard, especially in Moab. We must stay longer, as our wonderment never ceases. Day 27 starts in the morning.