Day 13

Sunday 13th May 2007<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

 

Things are really hotting up now: 92F outside, in fact.  That’s because we have careered past Salt Lake City, which was experienced as a mass of freeway exits mysteriously signed “10600 No” etc, roadworks and frenetic traffic, and Provo, where we left the southbound I-15 for the quieter reaches of the East-bound US Highway 6, heading South East for Monument Valley and other spectacular sights and sites before we swing back West to the Grand Canyon.   We’re in yet another Super 8 Motel, this time at Green River, Utah, where they apparently have a grand Melon Festival every September.  Seems odd in the middle of a desert but then this is somewhat of an oasis, with the muddy Green River flowing through.  To get here, we have driven down the spectacular Price River Canyon and along a busy single lane highway across serious desert landscape, flanked by classic stripy buttes that, in Westerns, always feature the silhouettes of some hostile Apaches.  We’ve seen no hostiles on this trip but a few bloated road-kills, probably white-tailed deer, that haven’t been cleaned up by the vultures, ravens or coyotes.  The only live animal we spotted was one lonely cow grazing away. For musical accompaniment, we have mostly been featuring Mr Bill’s Wildest Rides, those ones that came on imitation vinyl CDs, which included Roy’s Zaney Janey as we climbed up out of Bear Lake Valley towards Logan Canyon.   A compilation of women’s names, beginning with Joni Mitchell’s Amelia nearly got played all the way through twice.  When radio reception allowed, we had an interlude of Mary’s iPod, with some good long Van Morrison tracks, two David Gilmour tracks, some classical music, a Solid Air and an Over the Hill from John Martyn and a Green Man from Roy. We completed out journey here with a Playlist CD from one of the music mags, so a good variety.  But I run ahead of myself …

 

Yesterday’s report ended abruptly without any description of our musical adventures: forgive me – I ran out of steam and it was about 1:00am.  Anyway, Junior Mack’s Live Adventures was the last CD played yesterday and we finished it off this morning, following our breakfast in the company of an aged Swiss couple, the man working hard at expanding his international vocabulary.  He was confounded by the American pronunciation of Montpelier (Mont-peel-ee-er) rather than the French version that we know and love.  The desk clerk explained that the town, a stopping off point on the Oregon Trail, used to be named after the creek on which it stood but an investor insisted on naming it after his own home town, Montpelier in Vermont.  That too is pronounced the American way, though I bet it was named after the town in France (or if not, perhaps the district in Cheltenham?).  This led to a general discussion of such matters, including the Tetons (American pronunciation Tee-tons), whereas they were named by French trappers with a short e: meaning “breasts”.  In New York, a colleague pronounced Pret a Manger “manger” as in “dog in a manger”.  She was surprised when I told her it was French, and what it meant and how it should be pronounced.  There must be hundreds of similar examples I have noted on my travels but I’ve got(ten!) so used to them I can’t remember them.

 

We set off south on US 89, skirting the beautiful turquoise blue Bear Lake and entering Utah as we did so.  We stopped at a garage there to clean the windscreen and stock up on provisions and then headed on, eventually leaving the valley to climb the hills into the Cache National Forest (God knows how they pronounce that!) and stop at a viewpoint overlooking the lake and the fertile valley around it.  Then onwards and upwards, over 7,000 feet, before descending with the Logan River down its canyon towards Logan City.  This was another breathtaking drive (especially for Mary, whose asthma has started reacting to something, be it thinner air, pine forests or sulphorous hot springs – we don’t know for sure), descending in sweeps and curves beneath craggy cliffs, alongside the tumbling river, amid cottonwoods, pines, birch and willows.  It must have gone on for 30 miles before delivering us into another broad valley that is flanked by snow-capped mountains.  In Logan, I was pleased to spot signs to the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge at the head of the Great Salt Lake.  Imagine my disappointment to find it closed because it was Sunday… Grrr.  Nevertheless we got splendid views of White Faced Ibis (like Glossy Ibis but with paler faces and bills) and Yellow-headed Blackbirds.  Mary also saw some meadowlarks, with their bright yellow bellies.

 

After this disappointment, we joined the southbound I-15 and headed pell-mell past the Salt Lake conglomeration.  It was not possible to tell where one city ended and another started, particularly with the obscure signage, but again, it went on and on for mile after mile of undistinguished architecture, outof town malls and roadworks.  Any temptation I had previously experienced that Salt Lake City might be interesting evaporated.  As Mary had drifted off to sleep, I of course resisted the urge to wake her up as I just wanted to keep driving, even though I had said we might stop there for a look around. I carried on past it all until I spotted the exit for the east-bound US Highway 6.  We then followed this down another huge canyon, alongside the Union Pacific Railroad (I think), down the Price River, to a small rest area at the bottom of the canyon, where we had a late lunch of yesterday’s leftover chicken and crisps, followed by a muffin and an apple.  The restrooms had disconcertingly low cubicle walls, so anyone so inclined could lean over and see what you were up to.  I don’t think anyone did though…

 

As we ate our lunch we were entertained by a flock of about 20 starling-like birds that we diagnosed as Brown-headed Cowbirds and possibly a couple of Bronze Cowbirds, although our new American bird book was not explicit about whether or not we would find these in this area. We also spotted a small squirrel like creature that looked and posed like a prairie-dog, chirruping and wagging its little tail at the same time.  We thought it probably wasn’t a prairie dog though, as it was all alone.  We did take a picture of it, but as it was in shadow it may still be impossible to diagnose it.  This part of our drive was also in the Valley of the Dinosaurs and apparently there are lots of archeological digs around where they have found plenty of evidence of them.

 

The road led us past some mine-workings and through a small town that began with H and then through Price itself, where we refueled and re-cleaned the windscreen, before heading across the desert, past the buttes previously described, and spilling us onto the I-70 East.  Here we spotted the sign to the Green River Super 8 and made our earlier than usual stop for the night, thinking we might go out and explore the nature reserve/recreation area we had spotted coming in, but I got embroiled in my chess games and this blog and by the time I came up for air it was getting dark and supper time.

 

When we went out to the car just before 8.00 pm it was telling us it was 104 degrees, some big difference from this morning as we left the snow covered mountain areas in just about 60 degrees.  All we can say is thank you who ever inventing air conditioning. This place does not offer much in the way of food outlets, so we ended up in a café/Mexican restaurant that looked a little ropey, but appeared to be about our only choice.  And, as they say, do not be deceived by appearances.  They served us with an excellent Tilapia plate (some sort of meaty white fish) for me and a pair of Chicken Tostadas for Bob, along with some refried beans, salad, rice, tortillas and so on.  Because it is Sunday we could not get any wine (the restaurant was another that did not serve anything other than beers), so we have just popped to the local garage shop and are contenting ourselves with a Busch Beer which tastes vaguely like lage