(As you may have surmised by now, dear readers, this blog is not quite real-time. In fact, it is lagging behind by about 3 weeks at this point. That said, we will just continue on with our fearless protagonists with the spirit of the open road: It's the journey as much as the destination....)

So, with regrets, we pulled outta Moab. It was just such a pretty little campsite, the night at the brewery hanging out with Chris and Moki was heaps of fun, and the sheer bravado of the natural world there is humbling.

But, we did have quite a carrot at the end of our drive. At long last.... The Starlite Classic Campground was on the horizon.

But before the Starlite came the dastardly mountains. Now, I have detailed our run in with Cabbage Hill, Oregon. Now Cabbage Hill is 3,573 feet at it's summit. You lose 2,000 of those feet in a mere six miles, which is why it is so deadly. But... today we faced the real deal: The Rocky Mountains. Yup. Monarch Crest, with a, gulp, elevation of, hang on to yer seats, folks: 11, 312 feet. Just to be sure you got that: 11,312.

Ohhhhhh CRAP!!!!!!!!!!

Now, had we not been so damn determined to see the Starlite we woulda probably bailed. I mean, look at the map: you can head straight down to Albuquerque with far fewer challanges. And, as I mentioned, our top speeds on Cabbage Hill- even post-repair, were about 35 mph. But, we all just kinda silently agreed to not over think it- meaning stfu and just drive.

So, up we went. Up. Up. More Up.

More UP.

Crap, will we never get outta here? UPPPPPPPPPPP.

Finally, we wheezed, and I do mean wheezed into the family owned gift shop/ restaurant/ sky tram atop the Crest, which, incidentally, also straddles the Continental Divide. Normally one to shun crappy tourist trinkets we practically skipped into the gift shop to buy proof of our heroic climb. I promptly bought a bumper sticker for Big Blue and a fleecy blanket for the trailer, both emblazed with "Monarch Pass, elevation 11,312, Colorado." No one on top of Everest or Kilimanjaro, or whatever other high place you can tempt the Death Gods from, was ever prouder.

We also, ahem, got to meet most of the people who had also traveled up the hill at 35 mph, while looking at our trailer's rear end. Oh well. Lead Dog and all that.

And we got a baffled, and not very polite, imho, "WOW! My daughter and I did NOT think you were gonna make it!" Uhhh... gee, thanks? Eff off? I mean, what, precisely, is the right response to that kinda "encouragement"? My laser-eyes-of- death feature was temporarily offline, on account of my giddiness at being alive. So, I just mumbled something along the lines of "Don't underestimate the sheer will of three chicks and their vintage trailer mission, lady" and left it at that.

So, at this point, we had souvineer crap in hand- as if we'd ever forget- and we took one look at the sky tram and said, "Hell, yeah". Up, up, up some more, only without our beautiful albatross.

Now, I'm told the whole pass is one of the most beautiful drives in Colorado. I have no idea about that personally. I spent most of it clutching the wheel or praying for the person who was clutching the wheel. So, finally on the sky tram I took a look at the enormous, majestic, huge mountains, wide open skies and 50 surrounding miles... and almost peed in my pants when I realized we still had to go DOWN the other side.

AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII........

Shortly after we got in the car to start our decent Sylvia from the Starlite called, which was delightful. After brightly chatting for a few minutes, I told her we were, in fact,  terrified and needed stiff drinks upon arrival. To which she replied "Margaritas or Pina Coladas?" which assurred me it was all gonna be worth it.

 

Yup. All thoughts of chilly Pacific Northwest rain are behind us. We are warm, dry and hot in a good way. 

So... the thing with Moab. Have you ever known anyone who went there? They gush and gush and, frankly, won't shut up. Why? Because this place is truly FANTASTIC. 

There are about 5,000 things to do here, and all of them involve the stunning beauty of the land. Now, as I have often confessed, I am not a terribly athletic person. I'm more of a gentle hike than a vigorous mountain scaling type. That said, Moab is so inspiring even the most timid of sorts would just have to get out in it. 

The scale of the place alone is humbling. The vivid colors. You just can't laze about when there is so much to see. As one of our native guides put it, "There are lots of crazy ways for tourists to get themselves killed here." Which normally would register horror with me. But, somehow, I get it. Ummm...not the getting killed part. But the thing that locals forget or can't see- people who are here for a short time just have to get as much of this intensity as they can in their terribly abbreviated visit. 

Perhaps if you are weaned on these majestic vistas, and have all the time in the world to amble about in them, you can calm yourself. But if you are merely visiting, the urge to throw, to toss, yourself up the bluffs, via rope, jeep, mountain bike, or on foot or whatever is so compelling... that you just go do it. 

I'm sure the few surviving old moths tell the young moths the same thing about the flame. 

Here are my exhilarated mountain bikers. Being the bio-nerds they are they geeked out all the way up on the cool plants. It seems we hit Moab at a wonderful time- still lots of green from the spring cool. It made the whole place resemble a red-headed green-eyed movie star. 

The wildflowers were also amazing. Our friend Chris told us the locals said they were seeing wildflowers they had never seen before this year- in 20+ years of living here in one case. 

Desert beauty is particularly compelling, I think, because it does not come effortlessly for the plant.


As you know by now, I like a fighter. 

I promised to tell ya'll all about the sweethearts over at Starlite Classic Campground over in Canon City, CO. The Starlite is a fab-u-lous RV park- AND- drummmm rolll.... they have an assortment of restored vintage campers you can book to stay in.  To picture this, think wonderful little cabins-- made out of vintage jewelry. Or just go look already. If you are too lazy to click, check out this 
sa-weet picture of "Joise", a 1958 Alio, that I blatantly copied off of their website. Sigh. So dreamy. I mean, how amazing is that? No elbow, sewing machine or axel grease involved and you get to live the vintage trailer life with the turn of a key. 

Starlight is the great-idea-made-reality of a gal named Sylvia and her beau, Larry. Their darling place, just opened, like, 2 weeks ago. Ok, ok, I know I exaggerate all the time, but really, the real two weeks ago- like April 16th. These people are just wicked cool. When I grow up, I'm going to be these people. I want to keep making hot links to their place so that you will go look. I promise to seek help for this annoying habit right after you go freakin' look. They have half a dozen or so cuties ready to go, and a dozen or so in the works. How lovely will that be when they are all tricked out in their Sunday best? 

In addition to being a trailer enthusiast, and openly cavorting with a known trailer enthusiast, Sylvia is just plain ole NICE.  Hot off of my freakish phone call with the RV resort (unnamed and unlinked; I was raised right, thankyouverymuch) that only welcomes rigs made after 1998, I called up in what can only be described as a panic. Sylvia calmed me right down. Did I tell you how NICE she is? She tutted with me about Trailerism, made purring noises about my trailer, and gave cheerful support for my quest to get it back to Texas safely, while having as much damn fun on the way as possible. 

Go! Go! Go! Go look at the link and make plans to go stay there soon. My spot is secured. But you don't even need yer own trailer- remember? It could not be any easier. 

Or, you can bring your own trailer. But, confidentially, I must say I counseled Sylvia and if you drive some new, showy-type white box, made after, say, 1998, she just might turn you down. I mean, a place has gotta have standards.