White Rim Trail Day 1: "Hold Strong Little Tent!"

Hello friends! This blog will be from Mike's point of view, and the tale requires some backstory.

As all of you know, I like wheelin'. Its a lot of fun, and I've enjoyed it ever since my dad and I bought my first blue Toyota pickup when I was 17. In all the magazines that I've read, Moab has been this legendary place that only shows up in 3-page spreads with hard-core rigs driving amazing obstacles. Because the Tacoma wasn't up for that, the White Rim Trail in the Island in Sky District of Canyonlands National Park (map available upon request) was the one trail I felt comfortable doing.

I am dumb.

The White Rim Trail is 110 mile backcountry road originally used by the Pueblo Indians and later used by mining trucks to take Uranium Ore out of the desert. What the hell were they thinking?

This picture shows the Shaffer Trail, which leads down 1500 feet into the White Rim Trail, and if you can't tell, its a whole shit ton of switchbacks over hundred plus foot drops.

Don't worry, Mom, we're going 2 miles an hour.

However, this did not stop Beth (who has a horrible fear of ledges) from wanting to barf the whole way. Her white-knuckle-ness is the reason for the absence of pictures. Use your imagination.

So once you arrive at the bottom, which really isn't the bottom, because you're still 1,000 feet above the Colorado River, the road winds itself around the Colorado into the southernmost part of the Island in the Sky District.

The road varies in width. Sometimes its a quarter of a mile wide. Sometimes its 10 feet wide. All overlooking -- no, right on the friggin' edge -- of a horrifyingly deep and beautiful canyon that stretches seemingly forever.

If you look in the picture (which is bad ass, by the way -- go me) you can see the White Rim Trail -- its literally the white rock that surrounds the canyon. Yeah, we drove that close.

Along the way, you can stop and see some pretty cool stuff. Including the Mussleman Arch, which you can walk over.

Beth was so paranoid, that after we walked over she wouldn't let me back across to take a really cool picture, so we have to settle for this one:

It's as scary as it looks, Mom.

Okay, not really. Its like the width of a city sidewalk. We held hands across it, side-by-side (awwww). But by this time, it was getting late, and we needed to get to our campsite.

But first, we decided to go skinny dipping in the Colorado.

We chickened out. The River was moving pretty quick and we weren't trying to end up in Lake Powell. However, the truck looks very impressive next to the water.

So back up Lathrop Canyon we went --which, actually turned out to be some good wheelin' -
onto our campsite, called Airport because of the rock formation behind it named Airport Tower (no actual airport at campsite).

There is nothing at the campsite. It took us three tries just to find ground that was soft enough to put stakes in, and even then we bent one up all to hell.

But it was beautiful and desolate and we were the only people around for miles. Us and rattlesnakes, and lizards, and scorpians and bugs. Lots of bugs.

You can see Airport Tower behind Little Tent.

You can also see the storm brewing behind Little Tent and Airport Tower. This storm gave Little Tent its name, because it damn near took Little Tent out.

But before Little Tent takes a bit of a hammering, it was a ridiculously beautiful night. I mean, look at this view we had as we drank beers, ate sausages and watched the sun go down. Which it does, by the way, very sloooooowly. At 10:30pm it was still bright enought that you didn't need a lantern to get to the port-o-potty (if you're Beth -- Mike's a man and men can pee anywhere -- insert Tim Allen Home Improvement grunt).

For perspective, you can see our camp chair at the bottom of the picture. That's where we sat, so this is our view, dead on. Bummer, huh?

Also, outhouse on far left is the only sign of civilization. Everything else, you bring it in and you bring it out.

As the sun started disappearing, the wind started kicking up and our tent was like a beach umbrella on a windy day -- you know those idiots who don't know how to put them in all the way? Then a breeze kicks up and the thing rolls along the beach, threatening to stab someone in the chest? (Meg, I know you know what I'm saying here.)

Okay, that was our tent. We're sitting in front of the truck, admiring the insane view, and I'm looking over at the tent, which is barely staked into the ground, and billowing with every gust, and I keep saying (because I'm tired and I've had a few) "Hold strong, Little Tent!"

And Little Tent did. Sort of. That storm raged all night. We slept in the rain (and stayed dry -- thank you Steve and Colleen for this kick ass wedding gift). We slept in the wind. Beth got knocked in the head by the plastic poles.

That's when I decided to do what we were too lazy to do earlier, and moved the truck behind the tent to block the wind.

Yes, in the pitch black dark. Amongst the lizards, rattlesnakes, lizards, and other scary animals (which probably weren't there, but, dude, it was dark). I moved the truck.

And after hours of howling wind whipping through Little Tent, we could finally sleep.

Until the sun came up. Then it got real hot. And Beth needed coffee.

And then, if you can believe this -- the real adventure began.