Uluru to Utah

It was sunset, and we were somewhere in the desert; standing on a low sand hill, sipping excellent wine from expensive glass.

Way out in the distance sat Uluru, the giant icon of Central Australia. As we watched, ‘The Rock’ (as Aussies love to call it) faded from its bright, daytime orangey-red to a dark, smoky grey. Just as if an unseen caretaker was slowly turning down a dimmer switch.

From behind us came aromas of the much-anticipated barbeque. Kangaroo, crocodile, emu and several styles of beef were on the menu tonight. No, this wasn’t your average 4WD-getaway campsite. We had joined a tour group from nearby Yalara Village to experience the famous ‘Sound of Silence’ dinner. A nightly event held under a canopy of a zillion stars.

Helen and I are always cautious about ‘tours’. They can be great if you manage to join a happy, easy-going group. They can be a real pain if you are unlucky enough to find yourself among a bunch of wowsers, or people whose attitude makes you wonder why they even left home.

In a shallow valley of sand were seven tables, each set out for ten people. As usual, my brain started to run some calculations – a sad legacy from my accounting days. $139 a head x 70 people x 7 nights a week x 52 weeks a year equals (believe it or not) around 3.5 million bucks. That’s (seemingly) a lot of loot for providing two buses, a handful of staff and enough food and wine for the dinner. So you can imagine my surprise when I was told that, in the peak tourist period, the Sound of Silence people often run these dinners in up to four different desert locations. Every night!

We were lucky. By chance, we sat next to a couple from the USA. He had been a senior executive with Kentucky Fried Chicken, and in their retirement they were keen to see as much of the world as possible. Like most Americans we have met, they were friendly and unassuming. And the conversation flowed easily when we found they owned a Jeep Cherokee; ’for getting out in the woods’.

The couple told us that they had been on a tour to Uluru and out to Kata Tjuta (The Olgas), but had yet to see the town. We explained to them that their hotel was in ‘the town’ and that, apart from the (mostly) grab-it-n-go shops around a fairly dismal mall, the main shopping centre was in Alice Springs - at least four hours drive away.

They were too polite to say so, but we eventually realized that the Americans were a little disappointed with what they had seen. We could understand how they felt. They had flown halfway around the world, had not been booked into the best hotel, and had been shown a large rock that, due to an unusually rainy season, appeared to be surrounded by hundreds of square miles of lush, green vegetation.

For many Aussies - particularly the indigenous - Uluru is the spiritual heart of Australia. Even people who spend their whole lives on the continent’s coast, and would never travel to the centre, often have some sort of romantic deference to the place. Some tourists from the USA find the attachment hard to understand. For, by comparison to some of the rock-vistas in North America, Uluru is almost a pebble.

We realized this about twenty years ago, when we took a helicopter ride through the Grand Canyon. After the heart in mouth bit - when the chopper passes over the rim and the air currents coming up the mile-high canyon wall buffet it around - it is hard to not be completely gob-smacked by the immensity of the canyon. And that’s just for the small section you can see at any one time.

For the non-believers, here are some basic measurements of Uluru and the Grand Canyon.

Back home, we realized that the conversation with the Kentucky couple had inspired us to think about making America’s desert country the destination for our next trip. We got on the internet and within a few weeks had organized the flights, accommodation. The rental firm we chose didn't have Cherokees so we had to settle for a Chevy Blazer to get us around the lesser-used mountain roads.

Log on to any of the big US car rental firms, and you get the impression that the rental rates are reasonable. However, once you add on all the insurance packages (and, for peace of mind, you need to have them all) the daily rental ends up being quite expensive. Once the other charges were added, our two-week contract added up to almost USD1300.

When we arrived in Los Angeles, and caught the rental company’s courtesy bus out to the pick-up office, we were confident things would run smoothly. Especially when the rental clerk told me, “That’s fine Mr. Barker, just go through that door and you’ll see the SUVs. You just take anyone you want.”

Wow! I thought. We can have our choice of vehicle, and pick the brightest color for the photos.

Outside, there wasn’t a Blazer in sight; just a few Nissan twin-cab pickups and a whole bunch of soft-top Wranglers. Back at the desk, I told the lady that I couldn’t see a Blazer in the yard. “Ooo noo” she replied, “We don’t have any Chevy Blazers. They’ve all been rented.”

I kept calm. Explained that I had booked a Blazer three months ago, and showed her a copy of the confirmation in my folder. “You’ll just have to go and talk to the manager then.” she said. We found him outside, and explained the situation again. According to the manager, the rental company doesn’t guarantee a specific make or model. Then he made some suggestions: a Wrangler soft-top (Sorry, we have one of those back home and know it doesn't offer much security for our luggage), a Mustang convertible (No way), a Suzuki Grand Vitara (Too squeezy. And we’re not going to pay the premium SUV rate for something that size!). “OK,” he said “I can let you have a brand new Dodge Ram 4x4 V10 Extra-Cab. It has just come in and you’d be the first to rent it.” Hell, it was tempting. But we knew that it was just too big for city parking and it could be a real liability if we wanted to turn it around on a back-country road. In the end, we opted for the Suzuki, with the manager’s assurance that, once we got to Las Vegas, we could swap it for a Blazer. “They’ll have lots of them up there.’ he said.

We soon realized we should have flown to Las Vegas. The last time we drove this road there was a lot of traffic, and it was boring. This time there was a lot more traffic, and it was even more boring. We were shoe-horned into a USD100 a day econo-box, and we were wasting a fourteenth of our trip.

It felt like ground hog day when we got to the Las Vegas car rental desk. “I’m terribly sorry. We don’t have any Blazers available, but you’re welcome to have a look outside to see if there’s anything you’d like.” Out in the yard were the familiar faces: Nissan pickups and more of those soft-top Wranglers.

Keeping a lid on the anger, we explained to the clerk that we had just flown in from Australia, and we needed to get the type of vehicle we were paying for. She decided to call the wash-bay and see what they had. “If you could wait about fifteen minutes, we can give you a Mitsubishi Montero.” (That’s a Pajero in Aussie-speak). Hey, we’d be happy to wait an hour!

Las Vegas is a great place for people who don’t gamble. The food and accommodation is relatively cheap, and there are hundreds of things to keep you entertained. Even people-watching on the main drag can be absorbing.

We worked out why everyone on the slot machines, and at the gambling tables, looked unhappy. (1) They were doing their dough. (2) They knew that the money they were losing was helping us to get a good deal. (3) They would eventually have to go home and pretend they had a fantastic time.

If you’re a car enthusiast, head for the Imperial Palace Hotel. They have an auto collection that will blow your mind. Every week thousands of people visit this display of around 250 unbelievable machines – and most are for sale. Got a spare million? That much money might get you one of the cheaper Duesenbergs. At the bottom end, you could shell out sixty grand for a better-than-new ’55 Chevy! But don’t try to steal one. There’s a security guard watching from an office up in the roof!

It is only a short drive from Ruby’s to Bryce Canyon. What a sight. With countless streaks of snow draped over the glowing pink canyon walls, it looked like a gigantic birthday cake. Fantastic! From the canyon we headed northward along Highway 12. Some people had told us this road would be a surprise, and we weren’t disappointed. It proved to be one of the best roads we have ever driven. They don’t call it ‘America’s prettiest byway’ for nothing. If you’re ever in this vicinity; find any excuse to spend some time on this road.

Right at Torrey, left at Hanksville, up to Highway 70 and straight into a snow storm that was traveling almost horizontally . The car in front seemed to know where the road was, so we followed it at about 10mph. As soon as we turned south toward Moab, the storm disappeared. Must be just a Highway 70 thing!

It was dark and freezing when we pulled up at the Best Western Canyonlands Inn. We had made a good choice for our base in Moab; the owners were friendly, the motel was spotless, and our room warm and incredibly spacious.

The next morning we walked around the town centre. Many of the tourist places, shops and restaurants were closed. The clerk at the post office told us that January, being the quietest month, was when many business people headed south to Arizona’s warmer regions. We didn’t mind; there were still plenty of places to eat and things to see and do. Plus, the weather was perfect – crisp air and absolutely cloudless skies.

Moab is home to about 5000 people and, from driving the around the streets, we reckon almost every household has a 4WD. Or three! And why wouldn’t they? Within easy driving distance are hundreds of the most scenic vistas in the world and what must be the best variety of 4WD, mountain bike and walking trails anywhere. At Easter, Moab is the base for the Jeep Safari. This event attracts around 2000 vehicles carrying thousands of jeepers hot to try out the hardest trails. Sounds like a good time to be in Moab. But we had picked January so we could get away from the madding crowds.

In one of the back streets, we saw a sign that made us pull into the curb: ‘World Famous 4 Wheeling Museum’. Although I have read almost every 4WD magazine printed since 1969, I couldn’t remember any mention of this ‘world famous’ place. The museum building was the size of a very small house, or a large home garage. Displayed outside, was an old and weathered Jeep truck. Sadly the museum was closed, so we can’t tell you whether the contents justified the name. Even their website, 4wm.org, seems to be closed.

Just north of Moab is the entrance to Arches National Park, an area containing thousands of stone arches and rock formations of every size and shape you could imagine. The most popular sights are reachable by sealed roads, and there are many walking trails ranging from easy to difficult. For the more adventurous, backcountry overnight hikes are allowed, subject to first obtaining a permit from the visitor centre. Even if you just do some of the easy walks, you will need at least a couple of days to have a good look at this amazing national park.

Walking some of these high desert trails in winter can be eerie. There are hardly any people, only the occasional bird, and (thankfully) no obvious flies or other insects. Along one of Arches trails we spotted our first lone wolf. It looked to be a bit skinny, and we wondered what on earth it could possibly find to eat at this time of year. Perhaps the hands of tourists?

As we headed back into town we noticed a custom-built, 4-door Jeep Wrangler parked at Farabee’s Jeep Rentals. It looked great, so we pulled up to have a closer inspection. Farabee’s seemed to be the only 4WD rental place open at this time of year. In the warmer months there is an incredible range of vehicles, bikes, canoes and camping equipment for hire from the specialist businesses in Moab. You can also join tag-along tours, or just go as a passenger in everything from a 1970s Landcruiser, the 4-door Wrangler, Chevy Suburbans, or even massive H1 Hummers.

Renting a Wrangler from Farrabee’s was tempting. It would be good to get out on some of the better-known trails. The rental agreement on the Montero didn’t allow us to take it off paved roads. Although, when I questioned this at the time of booking, I was assured that we could travel on un-paved roads - provided they were roads used by normal cars.

At Farrabee’s you can rent a stock TJ, or one modified by them to handle the tougher off-road trails. We were prepared to pay the day’s rental of USD145, but insurance was a problem. A US resident, with their own vehicle, is usually covered while they are using a rental. In our case, we would have to bear the first USD2000 of any damage incurred out of our own pocket. For us, that was too risky. Knowing our luck, we would probably get side-swiped by a bus on the way out of town. But the main deterrent was the fact that, if we got stuck on a very remote trail, it could be days before another vehicle came along.

On the way back from a scenic drive in the Canyonlands, we spotted a sign that said ‘Gemini Bridges Road’. From reading American off-road magazines, I knew Gemini Bridges was a popular destination for 4-wheelers.

Best of all though, the sign said it was a 'Road'. So, technically and legally, my biased mind told me we must be able to get there in the rented Mitsubishi.

From the highway, we crossed a railway line and headed only a stony road. Up in the hills, the road transformed into a slippery, icy mush. However, we were soon down into a wide, open valley and the occasional marker beside the trail told us we were headed in the right direction. On the other side of the valley, things got more difficult. The trail that wound it way up into hills definitely wasn’t a ‘road’. But we were getting close. And if I drove very cautiously, we should make it to Gemini Bridges without any major drama.

Driving over rough ground in your own 4WD can be fun. Doing it in a rented (uninsured?) vehicle can cause you to sweat from pores you didn't know existed..

We were in low-range now, and driving ultra-carefully to avoid trees scraping the paint and rocks tearing at the down-under bits. Even so, the screeches from the panels, the shuddering from the molded splashguards, and the occasional thud from underneath reminded us that we were a long way outside the conditions of the contract. Our Jeep Wrangler, or our modified Cherokee - both parked safely on the other side of the world - would have handled this track easily. But, of course, our vehicles wouldn’t have had to carry a full load of guilt.

Finally, we were there; the famous Gemini Bridges, consisting of two massive sandstone arches spanning a narrow canyon. Keen 4-wheelers drive across one of the arches to get to a camping spot on the other side. It’s not for the faint-hearted. In recent years a Jeep went over the side and the driver was killed. On another occasion, a teenager tried to jump the ten foot space between the arches and fell to his death.

At the bridges, we got talking to three guys on holiday from New Mexico. They had had rented a Wrangler from Farabee’s and were really enjoying their drive. So much so, they decided to take a longer trail back to Moab, and asked us if we wanted to tag along. It sounded great, but we couldn’t risk it. The Montero had coped with the trail to this point, but what lay beyond was unknown to any of us.

We turned around and headed back. At least we knew what to expect, and going downhill should be a lot easier. However, a few miles after leaving Gemini Bridges I had an uneasy feeling that we were on the wrong trail. This fear was confirmed when we came to a rock ledge across the trail that was topped with an unbroken band of frost. Damn!

A tight six-point turn and we were headed back. But we when we came to a huge area of flat sandstone, I had my first ‘senior moment’. None of the sandy tracks running away from the top of the rock area displayed any recent tire marks; let alone ones with a mild pattern like the Montero was wearing. This was crazy. I had been concentrating so much on studying the ground (to prevent scratches and damage from rocks), I had forgotten an important back-country rule: always keep ‘reading’ the territory.

There was another problem. It was now late afternoon, and out here the winter night temperatures can fall to around 14F (-10C). Being unsure of the way out was now very serious. I had a mental flash of a news headline back home, “Aussie couple freezes to death in Utah desert. No supplies. No equipment. No map. No brains”

Then, after twenty minutes, I found our tracks. Instead of coming down from the high part of the rock area, we had actually driven in from behind a huge boulder at the side. Our tire marks were the proof, but I still cannot remember doing it. That night in Moab, we went to a restaurant and celebrated our return to the living with a great four-course meal.

Even after our short stay, leaving Moab was a bit like leaving home. Like most Aussies, the people at Moab were laid-back and friendly and we sensed a true ‘community spirit’. And, because it was far enough from anywhere else, the town seemed to have its own, unique, personality. We will be back. There are still dozens of things we haven’t seen, and we know we will enjoy thoroughly ourselves again.

Next stop was Kayenta; the closest town to Monument Valley.

Mistake No.1 was booking into the Best Western motel. Only stay there if you are desperate, like the rumble of heavy trucks to help put you to sleep, and don’t like the idea of being able to get a feed within walking distance.

Mistake No.2 was made after we drove around looking for somewhere (other than a fast food joint) to have dinner. We chose a restaurant that was at the front of a decent-looking motel. A woman, dressed like a character from a Victorian storybook, showed us to a table, and then, with an exaggerated flourish, introduced us to the waiter.

While he was taking our order, and explaining that the ‘wines’ listed were non-alcoholic (and, we “wouldn’t know the difference”) the waiter must have sniffed twenty times. Then, as he left our table, he let out a great sneeze into the air in front of him. “Let’s get out here”, Helen said. Then I made my third mistake: I explained that there was nowhere else to go, so we might as well wait for the meal. Needless to say, the ‘chardonnay’ tasted like flat lemonade, and the food wouldn’t have been accepted in an army canteen.

Almost mistake No 4. At Monument Valley we were collared by a local Navajo Indian who gave us a big spiel about the tours his business was offering. He claimed (almost in a threatening manner) that if we didn’t sign up for one of his half-day tours, we wouldn’t get to see the best parts of Monument Valley. I forget the price he quoted, but it seemed like a hell of a lot of money. Then, after pounding our eardrums, he made a huge mistake, by revealing that we would have the privilege of seeing Monument Valley in true American style - from the back seat of a soft-top Wrangler!

Despite these minor hiccups, Monument Valley was fabulous. Sitting there, majestic against the vast desert sky, are what could be million-ton direction markers for some ancient, alien race. We were told that the best time to visit is just before sunset. That didn’t fit with our plans, but even in the middle of the day the sights were stupendous; made even more so by recent snow that helped highlight the dramatic shapes.

It was time to hit the road again. To revive old memories, we had booked a night’s stay at Grand Canyon, and then, with an early morning start, we could make it back to LA in a day.

That night, an unexpected six inches of snow put paid to our early start, as we had to wait for the snowplows to clear the road south to Williams. Then it was pedal-to-the-metal. It’s amazing how fast Americans drive. I guess it’s the excellent condition of the highways, and the fact you rarely see a police car outside the town limits. At one stage we were traveling at 80mph when a GMC dual-cab pickup, with four bikes in the back, blew past like we were standing still!

On a last day we decided that, before we returned the Montero, we should do something to spruce up the vehicle's appearance. The tree branches at Gemini Bridges hadn’t scratched the paint, but the marks in the surface wax sure made it look like they had - and I didn't want to explain to the rental company how they got there. So, we bought a tin of polish, plus some cloths, and went looking for somewhere quiet along the LA coast, to ‘work’ on the panels.

That’s easier said than done. It seemed that every square inch of LA was occupied, designated ‘No Parking’or 'Private Property', or required some sort of permit. By midday, we had run out of options. Then, when we called into McDonalds at Malibu, I had an idea. Why not do it right here, in the carpark?

Helen said, “You’ve got to kidding!” I said, “It’s our only chance.” So while Helen sat in the Mitsubishi, pretending to read a magazine, I gave that wagon the polish of its life. As I worked, I could feel a hundred eyes peering at me from inside the restaurant. Don’t worry, I told myself. This is a first from them as well.