Well, that was unexpected. The Hyundai is not under warranty because the problem is a cross-threaded oil pan plug. But since all the work has been by our local Hyundai dealer, they have agreed to pay for it. Thirty-six hours later than we planned, we are on our way again (worried about the weather). Bob and Kay gave us a ride down to St. George – literaly “down” we drop amost exactly three thousand feet in about 45 miles – to get the car but, first, we went to a very late lunch with Kay, Robert, and a great view.
Our first stint was St. George to Page – Arizona – and the second Page to Albuquerque (New Mexico). The first stint sort threaded the needle between Zion National Park, to the north, and Grand Canyon National Park in the south. The route took us past Hildale and Colorado City, on the border between Utah and Arizona, the home of several groups of polygamists, made famous by Jon Krakauer in his book, Under the Banner of Heaven.
As an aside, many, if not all, of the polygamists have developed an ingenious scam. The first couple gets married both in their church and by the State of Utah. Then the guy marries a second wife in the church, but it isn’t recognized by the state. That means, when they have a child, the State of Utah considers the woman a single mother and she is eligible for welfare. So a family of one man, five wives, and twelve children, has four single mothers supported by the state. End aside.
We drove east for a while, under blue skies but with storm clouds building to our west that blocked the sun, then, just as we got to the Hildale Colorado City area, the sun dropped below the cloud cover and lit up the plateau behind the cities. The color was supersaturated as if God were shining a special light on the polygamists (BTW, the pictures are not tweaked, this was the color).
We got to Page in the dark, had a very mediocre Chinese dinner, and woke up the next morning in a new world. Cedar City is a typical Utah – read Morman – town; clean, neat, and orderly with a subtle feeling of solidity. The town of Page is spread out, messy if not dirty, and chaotic with a transitory feeling. The town started as a company town for building the Lake Powell damn and is now supported by tourists and it feels like everybody is only here for the job and would move on if necessary. It is a shock after Utah. The fastest way to Albuquerque is through the Navajo Nation (or if you prefer the Navajo Reservation). The Navajo Nation is bigger than many states and while the land is beautiful, the living is hardscrabble. The first thing we pass is the now-defunct Navajo Generating Station which was the largest coal-fired power plant in the West and one of the worst polluters in the country. But its triple plumes of toxicity are now gone.
Every once in a while, I wonder why an oil company would go to all the trouble to drill in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge when there is so much crude still left in the Permian Basin which is much more accessible. Then I see something like the infrastructure for the Navajo Power Plant which has an 800-mile electric railroad to bring it coal or a 30-mile road near Death Valley built to service a mine that never panned out.
All-day, we’ve had one eye on the road and one eye on the darkening sky, thinking of the massive storm coming our way. When we get to Paula’s in Albuquerque, a few flakes of snow are falling but nothing is sticking. When we turn the engine off and open the doors, it starts to snow. Perfect timing.
