"We have to turn back," he said.
Asa was right. We pulled off at a rest stop, the only speck of human development for at least twenty miles. But this wasn't like any rest stop I had ever stopped at before. This one overlooked a magnificent valley, and a highway--the one we'd been on-- that zig-zagged gracefully through an impossibly small opening between two peaks.
A woman sold jewelry laid out on a Navajo blanket behind an F-150, and we walked past her, out onto a narrow rock outcropping that gave us a closer view of the ridge in front of us.
We were looking at Spotted Wolf Canyon, a small part of the San Rafael Reef, a geographical feature that stretched 45 miles across the horizon. But what we were also seeing was an engineering marvel; what one engineer called "one of the most significant highway feats of its time." We had blasted through this fascinating reason without so much as a cruise control dip, and we needed to explore.
The San Rafael Reef is part of the San Rafael Valley, which sprawls out over most of Eastern-central Utah. It's one of the most sparsely-populated regions in the state and before construction of I-70, which began in 1957, the few residents who lived in the area were very nearly landlocked, with only rudimentary roads connecting them to larger cities outside the valley. Much of the land, which is now kept under the watchful eye of the Bureau of Land Management, contains some of the oldest rocks on earth--some dating back as far as 2.2 billion years.
Connecting this desolate region to the rest of the United States was far from a new idea, even in 1957. The earliest plans were for a transcontinental railroad, which would link southern California to the east coast. Portions of the railroad were built in other states, but no ground was ever broken in the San Rafael Swell, due to the difficulty of the terrain. These railroad plans would later prove vital in the construction of I-70, one of the only interstates in the country to be built where no roads had been before.
Exploration. Adventure. These were the reasons we'd set out on this trip ten days earlier with minimal camping equipment, a few changes of clothes each, and two seventy-count boxes of Nature Valley Sweet and Salty Nut bars. We'd been through no fewer than five state parks and geographic regions ranging from the Mississippi River Delta to the high desert. Charging through this picturesque landscape felt like an undeniable wrong, but a wrong that we would soon make right.
The San Rafael Reef is part of the San Rafael Valley, which sprawls out over most of Eastern-central Utah. It's one of the most sparsely-populated regions in the state and before construction of I-70, which began in 1957, the few residents who lived in the area were very nearly landlocked, with only rudimentary roads connecting them to larger cities outside the valley. Much of the land, which is now kept under the watchful eye of the Bureau of Land Management, contains some of the oldest rocks on earth--some dating back as far as 2.2 billion years.
Connecting this desolate region to the rest of the United States was far from a new idea, even in 1957. The earliest plans were for a transcontinental railroad, which would link southern California to the east coast. Portions of the railroad were built in other states, but no ground was ever broken in the San Rafael Swell, due to the difficulty of the terrain. These railroad plans would later prove vital in the construction of I-70, one of the only interstates in the country to be built where no roads had been before.
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Exploration. Adventure. These were the reasons we'd set out on this trip ten days earlier with minimal camping equipment, a few changes of clothes each, and two seventy-count boxes of Nature Valley Sweet and Salty Nut bars. We'd been through no fewer than five state parks and geographic regions ranging from the Mississippi River Delta to the high desert. Charging through this picturesque landscape felt like an undeniable wrong, but a wrong that we would soon make right.
After snapping some photos which would easily look at home on a $9.99 calendar, we headed back the way we came, towards a geological formation that bears shocking resemblance to a human breast. The Wickiup, named for a one-room Native American dwelling found in the southwest, should not be confused with the more deliberately-named Mary's Nipple, an 11,000-foot peak in central Utah, though. Wickiup, a much smaller peak, stands out dramatically against the backdrop of the valley--its bright red summit composed of Moenkopi Shale, possible evidence of past volcanic activity.
Soon, we reached the exit. A dirt-road paralleling the interstate and a mound of gravel are the only signs human civilization has ever been through here. Then we see the trail. It's an unpaved, rocky tract that looks more suitable for four-wheelers than for cars, and dips down and snakes into the valley below. To the west, the sky starts to darken, and we have another decision to make.
The car that accompanied us on our Pick Your Own Adventure trip wasn't exactly the most suited for the job. Our KIA Sorento was produced close to home in West Point, Georgia, but far from the sandstone fields of rural Utah. The Lambda II V6, a 276-horsepower unit mated to a brilliantly-ratioed 6-speed gearbox, wheezed as it tried to keep up with the 90-mph cruise control settings we demanded through much of the southwest. If we wanted to take this trail, we'd have to make due with the KIA's front-wheel drive and an engine that produced massive amounts of torque steer.
Lightning struck far in the distance, but we decided to press on. I could see where a slight trail wound its way through outcrops of craggy rocks and spindly trees. It took quite a bit of back and forth to snake the SUV through, but soon we approached the heavily-rutted trail head. The first obstacle was a steep downhill dogleg scattered with sharp rocks. Asa jumped out to clear a path, and I eyed a strange button on the KIA's dashboard.
Next to the traction control button, an illustration of a car on a 45-degree slope. I knew what it meant. It was some sort of hill descent mode, a computerized system that uses the brakes and low gears to gently guide the family-hauler down steep embankments. Of course, I'd never had to use it before, and this seemed like the perfect time to try it out.
Asa stood at the bottom of the hill ready to guide me through, making sure I dodged some of the bigger, sharper rocks that wouldn't budge. With hill descent engaged, I let go of the brakes, and instantly realized I had made a big mistake. The Sorento lunged down the hill in a freefall until the brakes finally grabbed, jerking the car to a halt. But by that time, I had already reached the bottom of the hill in a cloud of dust. KIA's off-road division, if there is such a thing, has some wrinkles to iron out.
We were slowly but steadily leaving the interstate behind, blazing our way through landscape that looked, at times, more Mars than wild west. And our only markers were the rutted paths from those who came before us. Once you pass through Richfield and Salina, I-70 climbs to the top of Wassatch plateau. At 7,923 feet, it marks the highest point in Utah's interstate highway system.
With a population of 2,393, Salina is the last town before Fruita, Colorado--195 miles to the east-- with a population of more than a few hundred people. On the opposite side of Wassatch plateau sit the town of Emery and the unincorporated community, Moore. Green River, the next closest town, is 70 miles away. From Green River to Fruita, there are a handful of unincorporated communities, census designated places, and ghost towns--the highest populations among these couldn't fill a city bus.
The Utah Department of Transportation estimates that the I-70 project, totaling 231 miles, cost $183.5 million to complete. It's one of the longest portions of highway constructed at one time, and 3.5 million cubic yards of rock had to be excavated just to carve through Spotted Wolf Canyon. The final portion of I-70 in Utah follows the Book Cliffs, and is included as part of the Dinosaur Diamond Historic Byway, which follows the Old Spanish Trail, a trading route used from Native American times up through the late 19th century. This route, made up of several Utah highways the run north to south, encompasses six national parks, which include Arches National Park and Flaming Gorge National park; it also passes through several national forests. The entire interstate, not just the Utah portion, runs 2160 miles in total, finding its end on the western edge of Baltimore, Maryland.
But we were still plundering away in the back country of Emery County, where the population density hovers around two people per square mile. Asa stood on the passenger's side running board, taking turns Snapchatting our adventure and hopping off to clear jagged rock piles. To avoid beaching the KIA, with its modest 7.5-inch ground clearance (a Subaru Outback has 8.7), required some delicate maneuvering. The thunder rumbled closer, and the sky was getting darker, but we kept moving. Soon, we reached a gate.
We expected to see a sign that read along the lines of: "You've already come too far, turn around to avoid certain execution. No one will find you out here. No one will even know you're gone. We're the only ones who hear what happens in the valley."
Instead, the sign read more to the tine of: "Be sure to close the gate behind you. Four-wheel-drive or all-wheel-drive is recommended beyond this point."It was downright egging us on. But the encroaching storm was worrisome. Whatever off-road disadvantages the KIA had made up with torque and my aggressive approach would be lost if the rain started to come down. I pictured the Sorento wallowing around like a pig in the mud, front wheels spinning angrily, hopelessly, the engine wailing into the abyss and no one would even hear it.
We decided to turn back, but the trip back up, as is usually the case, would be tougher. The washboard, level sections were fine, but soon, I reached the first hill. I'd need to use a different strategy for going uphill; I feared what would happen if the KIA's thin summer tires gave too much slip halfway up. My solution was to charge the hill. It's like ripping off a band-aid, right?
The KIA bounced and thrashed around, but somehow made it up the steep hill without much slip. It was a cake walk from there, and soon we were back where we started, ready to rejoin I-70 once again and head back toward the Reef.
Asa and I paused at the gas station to take another look at our KIA. It had a new layer of dust caked on. And we had added another adventure to our list.
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| The Sorento hides in a different desert, this one's north of Phoenix. |
Lightning struck far in the distance, but we decided to press on. I could see where a slight trail wound its way through outcrops of craggy rocks and spindly trees. It took quite a bit of back and forth to snake the SUV through, but soon we approached the heavily-rutted trail head. The first obstacle was a steep downhill dogleg scattered with sharp rocks. Asa jumped out to clear a path, and I eyed a strange button on the KIA's dashboard.
Next to the traction control button, an illustration of a car on a 45-degree slope. I knew what it meant. It was some sort of hill descent mode, a computerized system that uses the brakes and low gears to gently guide the family-hauler down steep embankments. Of course, I'd never had to use it before, and this seemed like the perfect time to try it out.
 |
| This photo, taken inside a fancier KIA with parking sensors, shows the hill descent button. |
Asa stood at the bottom of the hill ready to guide me through, making sure I dodged some of the bigger, sharper rocks that wouldn't budge. With hill descent engaged, I let go of the brakes, and instantly realized I had made a big mistake. The Sorento lunged down the hill in a freefall until the brakes finally grabbed, jerking the car to a halt. But by that time, I had already reached the bottom of the hill in a cloud of dust. KIA's off-road division, if there is such a thing, has some wrinkles to iron out.
-
We were slowly but steadily leaving the interstate behind, blazing our way through landscape that looked, at times, more Mars than wild west. And our only markers were the rutted paths from those who came before us. Once you pass through Richfield and Salina, I-70 climbs to the top of Wassatch plateau. At 7,923 feet, it marks the highest point in Utah's interstate highway system.
With a population of 2,393, Salina is the last town before Fruita, Colorado--195 miles to the east-- with a population of more than a few hundred people. On the opposite side of Wassatch plateau sit the town of Emery and the unincorporated community, Moore. Green River, the next closest town, is 70 miles away. From Green River to Fruita, there are a handful of unincorporated communities, census designated places, and ghost towns--the highest populations among these couldn't fill a city bus.
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| Remnants of Cisco, Utah, a ghost town 25 miles from the Colorado border which was once a water-refilling stop for steam locomotives. |
The Utah Department of Transportation estimates that the I-70 project, totaling 231 miles, cost $183.5 million to complete. It's one of the longest portions of highway constructed at one time, and 3.5 million cubic yards of rock had to be excavated just to carve through Spotted Wolf Canyon. The final portion of I-70 in Utah follows the Book Cliffs, and is included as part of the Dinosaur Diamond Historic Byway, which follows the Old Spanish Trail, a trading route used from Native American times up through the late 19th century. This route, made up of several Utah highways the run north to south, encompasses six national parks, which include Arches National Park and Flaming Gorge National park; it also passes through several national forests. The entire interstate, not just the Utah portion, runs 2160 miles in total, finding its end on the western edge of Baltimore, Maryland.
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| Delicate Arch, the most recognized in Arches National Park outside of Moab, has become a symbol of Utah. It's been featured on the state's license plates since 1992. |
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But we were still plundering away in the back country of Emery County, where the population density hovers around two people per square mile. Asa stood on the passenger's side running board, taking turns Snapchatting our adventure and hopping off to clear jagged rock piles. To avoid beaching the KIA, with its modest 7.5-inch ground clearance (a Subaru Outback has 8.7), required some delicate maneuvering. The thunder rumbled closer, and the sky was getting darker, but we kept moving. Soon, we reached a gate.
We expected to see a sign that read along the lines of: "You've already come too far, turn around to avoid certain execution. No one will find you out here. No one will even know you're gone. We're the only ones who hear what happens in the valley."
Instead, the sign read more to the tine of: "Be sure to close the gate behind you. Four-wheel-drive or all-wheel-drive is recommended beyond this point."It was downright egging us on. But the encroaching storm was worrisome. Whatever off-road disadvantages the KIA had made up with torque and my aggressive approach would be lost if the rain started to come down. I pictured the Sorento wallowing around like a pig in the mud, front wheels spinning angrily, hopelessly, the engine wailing into the abyss and no one would even hear it.
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| An ominous view to our southwest, as dark clouds encroach on a nearby peak. |
The KIA bounced and thrashed around, but somehow made it up the steep hill without much slip. It was a cake walk from there, and soon we were back where we started, ready to rejoin I-70 once again and head back toward the Reef.
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In 2002, government officials from Emery County, along with Utah's then-governor Mike Leavitt, joined in hopes of creating a national park in the San Rafael Valley. Area residents hated the idea, referencing the 1996 dedication of Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument in southern Utah. President Bill Clinton was then campaigning for re-election, and dedicated the park at a ceremony held at Grand Canyon National Park in Arizona. Clinton had used the Antiquities Act, a 1906 Congressional act giving the president the right to create national monuments from areas of public land. Boundaries for the new park were drawn without knowledge or consent of local residents, and memory of the incident was still fresh in the minds of rural Utah residents in 2002.
San Rafael Swell National Monument would have been authorized by the Antiquities Act under then-president George W. Bush. Predictably, the effort made little momentum, and a referendum proposed by the governor to Emery County residents did not pass.
And so the San Rafael Valley remains largely unchanged, the same as it's been for hundreds, even thousands of years. I-70 and Emery County's handful of residents are the only things occupying the wild landscape.
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Late in the afternoon we reached Green River, the first sign of civilization for the past hundred miles. The dark clouds had moved out, leaving only a clear, jonquil sky.
Asa and I paused at the gas station to take another look at our KIA. It had a new layer of dust caked on. And we had added another adventure to our list.
