8 Mile

Apparently 8 Mile is not just an Eminem song.  It’s also the length of the dirt road to the REI Zion Signature camp, perched high upon a ridge overlooking Zion National Park off in the distance.

(Editor's Note: Now you are lyric-checking Eminem? Blogger: Well, don't expect any more -- that's the only Eminem reference I know.)

But, I’m getting ahead of myself.  After the Fairyland Loop Trail hike, we piled into the van/bus/whatever you want to call it and headed into town, aptly named Bryce Canyon City, to have a picnic lunch.

We were dropped off and pointed in the direction of a souvenir shop named Ruby’s, and told to come back in fifteen minutes. Ruby’s was a revelation – something out of the Old West, primarily because it IS something out of the Old West.  Founded in 1916 by a Mormon pioneer family who owns most of the land in Bryce Canyon City (thus unlikely to have any connection to the infamous Dallas nightclub owner, Jack Ruby), it’s a combination hotel, souvenir shop, grocery store, camping supply store, seller of Bryce Canyon art and photos, and Native American goods.

We all went our separate ways for a bit, wandering around in a daze after not having been anywhere commercial since our last stops at a store – the REI in Henderson, Nevada before departure.  (The group: “Glen, speak for yourself.  We were not in a daze.”)

Walking out of the store, I called Carol and watched the heavy downpour.  It was the second time I was able to make a call since we entered the parks.  A number of us gathered on the sidewalk, watching the rain turn to hail, and rooting for the motorcyclists crazy enough to ride through it.  Eventually the rain stopped, and we went across to the little roadside picnic area.

Amanda and Chance resourcefully set up our lunch under the overhang of an abandoned store.  As the sun came out, we were able dine creekside, as the grass park created its own water run-off.  I’m pretty sure people drove past, envying our group for its impromptu picnic spot in the sun.  During our last run to the bathroom before heading out, I picked up a twelve pack sampler of Uinta beer, brewed in Utah (3.2 alcohol, so it’s essentially water with hops).  My favorite of the three options is the Hoo Doo beer, mostly because we had just spent two hikes walking amongst the Hoo Doos.

We piled into the shuttle bus (that happens a lot on the trip) and headed for the Zion camp.  There was a stop at the Bryce Visitor’s Center so people could get their National Park Passport stamps.  My brother Rick has hundreds of passport stamps from all across the nation, and tried to get me into it, but we opted for foreign stamps in our US passports most of the last 14 years.  I feel like I’m now trying to rewind and hit a bunch of the great US parks that I’ve never been to (or at least not since I was a single-digit midget) – been to Yellowstone, Acadia, Bryce, and Zion in just over a year.  But, I’m passing on the passport; for me it is passe.

Amanda drove on. We passed impressive scenery and hoped for 3Gs on our phone.  The scenery was more reliable than our connectivity.  We were oohing and ahhing at buttes, mountains and cliffs, but if we hadn’t just come from Bryce, it would have been mind-blowing.  Instead it was just way cool.

We turned up a pleasant road, past farms and ranches and houses.  Eventually the paved road came to an end, and got the massage that a dirt road can give – for eight miles.  Chase, our camp guide, was cruising on a Ranger ATV, saw us, and booked back to camp so quickly his hat fell off and he left it, unawares, in the road.

(Editor’s Note: the hat was unaware, or he was unaware?  Blogger: Gimme a break, most of my intelligent readers will understand the context clue!  Well, actually, I suppose the answer is both!  Editor: You have intelligent readers?  Blogger: Anyone savvy enough to read this is intelligent!  And thus ends my suck-up to my faithful readers.)

The driveway to camp was in worse shape than the road, and our guides had to unhook the trailer of luggage and bring that up with the ATV.  Camp is more than a quarter mile off the dirt road, so it’s pretty remote.  We came into camp to a different scene than Bryce.  Instead of the tents being close to each other, they were spread far apart, each in its own little section.  As one of the ladies noted, “we’re not in Ziplandia anymore.”  (Sorry, I don’t recall whose quip it was, just that I liked it.)

Ziplandia was her name for Bryce, because you heard the roar of zippers every time someone was getting out of their tent.  (Editor’s Note: “Roar?” Blogger: At three a.m. when someone is getting out to go to the bathroom, trust me, it’s a roar!)  With six tents worth of people (the guide tents were far away), that’s a lot of in and out.  Everytime I unzipped my tent at Bryce, I felt guilty.  At Zion, I was free to do as much tent unzipping and zipping as my heart desired (it’s the little things!).

From spots in the camp, there dramatic views around the trees of red rock and sandstone bluffs, as well as a mountain.  Up the hill behind us is a dramatic sandstone bluff, as well as several small mountain peaks.  With no service, we were truly off the grid. . .which is a modestly nerve-wracking experience given everything going on at home (kitchen remodel; Carol’s got this) and the office.