Friday 5th May – Chasing Phallus, Finding Rambo

We woke, half off the bed, but otherwise happy. We fixed the bed and didn’t even get out of bed before playing a round of cards. The competition was heating up so we were keen to get as many games in as possible. As we packed the cards up (we both won one round each) and started contemplating breakfast, we had visitors in the form of two women in a blue truck. We were both relieved it wasn’t a ranger and they quickly turned around to find the trailhead they were looking for. We saw them again as we were walking around camp, they were ascending a trail we’d both noticed as we drove in. It drew a diagonal line across the sandy mountain behind us.

We celebrated Cinco De Mayo (a Mexican holiday) by listening to the matching Spotify playlist to get us in the mood. More pancakes, bacon and eggs for breakfast and since it was too hot to hide our nappy hair with beanies, it was a day for bandanas. Dan donned red around his forehead and I wore blue. After packing a couple of day packs with some water and snacks, we head off to where the girls had gone. We’d seen them come back down not long after they’d reached the top so we weren’t sure if there was much up there, but only one way to find out. We talked about maybe climbing up to the base of the phallus, but that seemed like too much effort without a known trail, but we kept an eye out for people climbing on the huge column. We walked with Cinco De Mayo still playing out of my backpack and decided we’d try to pass as Mexicans by greeting a couple at the base of the trail with “Ola!”. It all fell over when they asked about Cleo in a Swiss accent so we abandoned that plan. The couple was older so decided not to attempt the steep climb, but we weren’t swayed.

Cleo led the way, hunting for lizards the whole way and panting heavily in the sun. It didn’t take us long with labouring lungs to get over the rise where we got a sweet view into the valley we were camped in (illegally). We carried on following the faint trail away from the phallus, at some points walking near a ledge that probably wasn’t structurally sound. We stopped for a doggy water stop out of Dan’s fold up bowl and carried on. The ground beneath our feet became crumblier as we continued and the path ahead was deteriorating. Mostly for Cleo’s sake we sought shade by a rock, though it was a pitiful amount, it was just enough for us to all seek refuge from the sun and water up. We paused the Cinco De Mayo party to enjoy the isolation for a while and we both swore we could see people on the top of the phallus, bobbing their heads or bodies to bring their climbing partners up the wall.

Having seen most of what we could see already and Cleo thoroughly over the sun, we started down the hill, stumbling and half-skiing some of the way. Dan got right into rolling different rocks down the hill as fast as he could, both of us shouting like kids as the rocks broke up on their descent, groaning in dismay when they didn’t go very far. We passed some modern-ish petro glyphs that we missed on the way up, some not much to look at, but there was a cool etching of a mountain dude that was pretty cool.

The whole hike down was pretty short, especially with Cleo leading the way, obviously keen for rest and relaxation. She pounced off the trail to find a lizard at one point and once we were back on ground level she was prancing all over the place, completely useless at catching a single thing

Cleo sought shade as soon as we were back to the cars and wasn’t too excited about getting into the overheating Presidential Lounge. After some coaxing, she was in and we were off to find somethwere to go swimming. Having driven by the Colorado yesterday, we knew it wasn’t far to sweet, cold relief. We drove south towards Moab and before long, Dan overtook me, after I’d had a few failed attempts at finding a swimming spot and he lead us to. This was a place he’d visited before and taken tubes down the river. It was a beautiful spot to dunk ourselves into the freezing cold water. Cleo got a dip too. If it wasn’t for the highway right next door and the heavily populated carpark, we’d have been skinny dipping. After hanging out on the beach a while, talking to a kayaker that had just finished her four hour journey from upstream, we were properly cooled down and ready to get into Moab.

The town of Moab was only a while down the road and it was obvious when we got to the outskirts because mountain bikers were out in force. We drove at the base of a huge cliff, the Colorado raging on one side of it with riders packing out the bike path. I got straight onto my maps and discovered that one of the most famous trails of Moab was right above us. Driving into town, it was bigger than I expected, a town that has capitalised on being a place of adventure. Every other car had mountain bikes attached to it so I felt like I fit in. Dan took charge again, searching for a shady spot to park up for the afternoon. He parked us right by a creek at the end of the street with plenty of shade and a place to hang out. First thing on the agenda was making lunch which was a packed Caesar salad with grilled chicken. With a couple of beers to wash it down, we almost died and went to heaven.

We chatted to a lady parked up next to us for a while, she was a keen geochacher and was enthusiastic to share her passion for the sport until she left us alone to eat our lunch. With nothing much planned for the afternoon and a couple of solid trees nearby, it was the perfect time for Dan to refine his tree rapelling skills. He used a couple of pieces of my climbing gear to add to his setup with the aim of making it a seamless process. I sat in my director’s chair blogging while he figured it all out. The first attempt didn’t really work, but after a few climbs and rapels, he had it down. Cleo and I lazed in the shade. With no shirt and his red bandana, I couldn’t figure out who he looked like, but Dan immediately knew – he was Rambo. He proved himself by swinging from the tree and shooting the enemy with his finger guns, copping a graze from a bullet in the process.

Just as he was about finished, I remembered that I had a dropper post to fix. We switched positions and I got my semi-workshop out and set about replacing the cable sheath that had snapped. After a bit of fiddling around I had it fixed, satisfied that it would hold up for riding in Moab. A few more runs up the tree and the sun started going down. We were both keen to hit the town for the night and find ourselves a dive bar where we could drink and play pool. I donned a dress just for something different and after a short walk with Cleo around the creek, she was safely couped up inside the Presidential Lounge and we dawdled off.

The night air was perfect, giving me my favourite warm night conditions. At Woody’s Tavern just around the corner from our cars, there were only a few patrons and it suited us perfectly. The pool tables looked worn, the beer was cheap and the food crappy. We took a seat outside to people watch until the sun went down and we soon realised that the age of the Moab crowd was well beyond our limit. There were a lot of dudes in their 40s and 50s and not many fit young people like we’d expected. When a group of about thirty middle-aged men entered the Tavern and occupied all the pool tables, we figured we’d bail and look for a better offer.

We walked the main strip, on the lookout for another cool bar and I remembered that I’d seen a divey-looking bar on the way in. It was one block back from the main strip so we walked past it and did a loop, soaking up the warm night air. On the dark street behind main, we approached and RV-size Ford. As we walked past, Dan said through the open door to the guys inside that he liked their setup and they jauntered back, saying “Where’s the weed at?” Before we knew it, we were walking back to buy a gram of weed since the opportunity had presented itself. Forest introduced himself and happily measured out a gram in exchange for $5, putting the small bundle right into Dan’s hand. Forest was an eccentric hippy, dreds just past his shoulders, loose dark clothes, a few necklaces with gems at his chest and a wide-brimmed Aussie looking leather hat. When he found out where I was from, he walked to the back of his car and returned with no less than a full-sized didgeridoo! Not only that, he started playing it! I was surprised how much it made me feel at home, it was a sound I hadn’t heard in years and he played the instrument so well. It was Dan’s first time too, he was stoked.

When Forest showed us one of the necklaces around his neck, explaining that he was a miner always on the hunt for rare opals and gems, he invited us into his car so we could see his necklace in the light. This was one of those “probably shouldn’t get in the car moments”, but we both went in and soon enough, Forest was showing us his entire gem collection and telling a bit of a life story about a parking ticket he’d gotten and refused to pay. Dan and I slowly edged our way out of the van, eventually escaping the endless rant, entertaining though it was. We bid goodnight to Forest and his two mates and carried on our search for a choice bar.

The dive bar I’d seen on the way in was lit up full of opportunity. We walked through the front doors and the place was pumping with live music. Again, the place was full of older people and had a cover charge of $3. As a matter of principle, we declined to pay and walked on out, resolving to find a place to buy beer and party it up back at the vans since we were both pretty knackered anyway. On our way, we ducked in to an open art gallery like the fine art connoisseurs we are, perusing the photo prints of some of the most beautiful spots in America, most of which we’d been to.

Utah being a Mormon state, all beer is 3.2% alcohol, unless an establisment has a special license. And no, this doesn’t mean the beer is cheaper. We didn’t care so much when we collected a case from the 7-Eleven up the street and carried it back happily to our camp. We didn’t feel the need to move our cars from our afternoon hangout spot since there was no parking signs and it was the perfect location!

Cleo was happy to see us (well, Dan anyway) as we climbed into the Presidential Lounge. We only managed one round of beer and a game of cards before we retired into my van, deciding that it would be the most comfortable option after the slide-fest we’d had the night before.