After checking out of Virgin River Casino's hotel, as I turned onto the main street, there was a middle-aged lady waving for help, I barely turned and noticed her. Reading her lips, she was pleading for assistance. As I drove up the road and about to turn onto the highway, my conscience overwhelmed me and I turned back. When I returned to the position she had been, she was already across the street at the McDonald's restaurant. I parked in the Virgin River Casino parking lot for a few minutes thinking about the situation.
I had assumed she needed a hitch somewhere, and I was heading north on interstate 15 towards St. George, Utah; it wouldn't be an inconvenience to give her a lift that far. If she needed to head south on I15 towards Las Vegas, then I wouldn't be able to help, but my conscience...that fearful conscience...would be satisfied. Conscience...is but a heavy thought, but how it learns to control us, weighs us down like an anchor; however, having a deep conscience is something to be proud of.
I drove over to the McDonald's and got out of the car, but she was already talking to 2 guys in a work truck, the kind with ladders and coolers and other tools in the bed. A young guy got out while she entered, and the driver and lady drove across the street. I walked up to the young guy and asked if the lady had needed help, and he replied, "Her van is dead and needed a boost."
As I made my way back to the highway, I could see the driver of the truck come back without the woman. It seems odd...that was fast. Either they got the van started very quickly or there was nothing the driver could do for her.
I drove north into St. George and had lunch at the Diary Queen- the usual foot long chili-cheese hot dog meal. If you are what you eat, I definitely would be a weiner by now. As I sat there and wondered about how many times I've dined at Diary Queen on this road trip, I thought, "Maybe I should have easten across the street at the Pier 51 sourdough pizza restaurant."
For some reason, I assumed the road at exit 6 off insterstate 15 would lead into another town, but it extended onto a dirt road crossing the Arizona state line. It was a road which supposedly ended at the northern side of the Grand Canyon according to the 1998 Rand McNally Atlas. I hadn't intended to visit the Grand Canyon, but this was an opportunity to experience it from the more sacred side, the side which doesn't feel millions of feet each year, and I wouldn't be just one of the millions of tourists who see it from the southern end. I could flagrantly shoot the bird at those conforming visitors, and they would never know they've been flicked off.
Out of nowhere, an abandoned farm divided the dirt road from the rocky road. The road has been desolate up to now and would probably be desolate to the end. A sign warning of the hanta virus plaguing this area explains why there seems to be no signs of life nearby. I rested for a while from the long drive. Hanging around this area for too long would not be smart or healthy.
After 100 miles of dirt road driving, I turned back shortly after Mt. Dellenbaugh (7072 ft) because the roads were too harsh- soft soil with huge chunks of boulders, like rocky road ice-cream. It seems as though life out here was so pure, so far away from civilization. The end of road was near, maybe another 30 miles to the Colorado River. But I couldn't get stuck out here without water and little hope of anyone driving out this far. And if anyone did drive out here, it may be drunks with trigger happy riffles. Many people will agree on the majestic view of the Grand Canyon, but I wonder how it would compare against the drive through Keystone Canyon heading towards Valdez, Alaska- the misty mountains and overcast skies made that drive a magnificient trip in 1998.
After deciding to turn around, I had to backtrack another 100 miles of dirt road except I would detour the last 40 miles into Colorado City, Arizona instead of St. George. It took 10 hours to drive 200 miles, but only netted 25 miles, the distance between St. George and Colorado City.
At one point the heater's blower did not work and I was able to determine it was the relay which was bad by replacing the bad relay with a working one. The Rodeo has been good to me during the 7 years which I've owned it. Never letting me down, and never having an expensive breakdown. I hope I didn't knock on wood just then.
Through all this nearly endless land, a lone house stood under the early moon. It was the only sign of human life for the past 100 miles. There was also a ranger station/park about 5 miles from the abandoned farm, but it was closed for the season.
The cold night came, but I continued on. Driving through the Kaibab National Forest, the full moonlight unveiled a dim lit beauty of the landscape- the lively green trees blanketed with snow. Like a beautiful voice in the night, the face cannot be seen, but the voice...that voice could only be part of a beautiful face. The snow covered land- the trees never complaining, season after season, of bitter hotness or chilling cold. I had almost wished I could have driven through thse windy mountain roads during the day.
I parked at a dirt pullout outside of Hotevilla, Arizona and tried to go to bed in the front seat. Vehicles seldom passed during the lonely night; however, about 4:00 a.m., an officer in an SUV stopped and beamed his lights. I waved and he left. He freightened me at first because he was going up the road, but then made a quick u-turn. Fearing the possible worst, I was ready to start the engine as he approached the pullout. When he used the high beam search light on top of his vehicle, I knew instinctively it was a policeman, and then I made out the sirens on the top of the vehicle. Whenever, I park along the side of the road alone, I always position the Rodeo where a single car cannot block it in.
Around 5:30 am, I jumped into the backseat rationalizing late night crimes were probably done for the evening as the sun would soon reveal itself.
