No snow overnight—the weather was actually quite pleasant. Sometimes it’s a bit nippy in the car when I wake up, but this morning I felt fully refreshed and energized. I took off to cross the Rockies for what may be the last time. About an hour after I left, the snow finally showed up. It came in lightly but dramatically, and the world around me slowly turned grayscale as white and shadow took over. 

Traffic slowed to half speed on US-160, and the eighteen-wheelers stopped on the side of the road to put chains on their tires. The winding mountain route brought me over ten thousand feet up, into the worst of the storm, but I never felt unsafe or out of control. It helped that Coloradans are quite good at driving. After summiting, the snow predictably fell off as I drove into the rain shadow and the valley below.

I spent some time in the neighboring cities of Monte Vista and Alamosa, then planned to finish my descent into warmer weather. Alas! The highway had closed for fear of more inclement weather. Since the temperature is forecasted to fall to 17 degrees tonight, I booked a motel. It’s perfect for me—clean, friendly, and affordable. I spent tonight listening to the Bruins shellack the Red Wings and eating broccoli. Picture that for a minute. What a strange life I am living.

I woke up to my alarm, the sky still dark, and forced myself into a semblance of functionality. Today was Car Repair Day. I expected that the Corolla needed new front struts and rear brakes, so I soldiered through a maze of tough traffic and one-way turns to get to the auto shop in Durango. I dropped off the keys, grabbed my backpack, and set out for a day on the town.

Durango is a mid-sized town; I’d guess around 15,000 people. It holds a special place in my heart as the setting of Durango Kids, a truly terrible straight-to-TV movie that Zack and I used to watch constantly. I was unable to find it online and watch it today, which was a true bummer. Instead, I walked down to the Durango Diner, which was mentioned in the Food Bible. My breakfast was fine—maybe even pretty good. But the atmosphere was the best I’ve experienced in a diner. The employees clearly liked their jobs, each other, and their customers. I felt unbothered but welcome, free to participate as much as I want. I appreciate that in a public space: the choice to engage.

I paid the bill and walked through the gorgeous autumn morning to the library. I set up shop and worked on my smattering of projects, including lyric-writing, puzzle-solving, and book-reading. When I needed a change, I switched to a nearby coffee shop. There was a piano, but the room was filled with customers. I didn’t want to intrude. I did, however, realize that this is the longest I’ve gone without touching a piano since sixth grade. Just like riding a bike, I hope.

I killed the last hour or so by walking some of Durango’s surprisingly scenic park trails. A middle school group passed by, presumably on a field trip. I missed my old job in that moment. I was also thoroughly confident that I made the right decision to challenge myself this year. 

It turned out that my car was in much better shape than I thought. The struts weren’t leaking, and my brakes will likely last me until the end of the trip. I planned to drive out of town today, but we may get snow overnight, so I’m staying at the Durango Home Depot parking lot. Don’t worry, it’s legal.

And on the sixty-sixth day, it happened—or, rather, didn’t happen. Today was completely forgettable. I suppose I’ve been doing well for myself if this is the first day where I am truly at a loss for words. Anyways, here’s to a more interesting tomorrow.

The word of the day is impossible. We silly English-speakers use this word to mean all sorts of things. Let’s explore:

It is impossible that people would still desire red chili after tasting Rocky Mountain green chili. This chili has so much character, so much bite, so much depth. It’s most frequently used as a topping or sauce, but would more than stand up as a solo dish. Here, impossible means “unthinkable”. 

I wanted to drop my car off today for an oil change, and possibly new brakes. The Moab mechanic is first-come, first serve, and the receptionist suggested that I get in right when they open at 8, so I pulled in five minutes early at 7:55. A sign on the door read, “We are already booked up for the day”. As the receptionist said they did not take reservations, I found this an impossible situation; impossible, of course, meaning “someone lied to me.” I called ahead to Colorado and made an appointment for Wednesday.

I took a hike through Devil’s Garden up in Arches; it was a bit too crowded to tackle the narrower areas as I would want, so I stuck to the main path. The best arch was Landscape Arch, which is gossamer thin and dainty as sandstone can be. Unfortunately it was impossible to take a picture that captured it well (translation: “possible, but really, really hard for a plebeian like me”). I settled for a shot of Pine Tree Arch instead, which ironically gives a better sense of the landscape as a whole.

Monday is my phone call day, so I returned to town early and did some shopping. Per doctor’s orders, I am searching for that elusive 4,700mg of potassium every day. This is what everyone should be consuming, and it is impossible. One banana is under 10% of the recommended daily value. An entire box of spinach is 15%. And lots of foods don’t have any potassium at all. The vitamins in the pharmacy only have 50mg each of Vitamin K. In this case, impossible reads as “possible, but I desperately don’t want to eat two bunches of bananas every day.” 

Lastly, due to congestion and questionable city planning, it is impossible to take a left turn in Moab. No further clarification needed.

The rain kicked in today. It’s been dry for over three weeks, since I was in Washington State, but today it poured. I stayed in “bed” for an extra hour, the raindrops especially loud against the roof. Definitely no outdoor activities today, but there’s still more I want to do in the parks, so I stuck around Moab and the hordes of tourists doing the same thing.

Lines stretched far beyond the meager awnings that restaurants provided. I figured that I would get wet no matter what and was the only customer at the food truck. I ate my Italian breakfast panini in the car. The rest of the day was about puzzles and potassium. 

Puzzles: Zack and I are putting together a team for the MIT Mystery Hunt this January, which is a festival centered around obscenely hard puzzles. I’m slowly but surely dragging my brain back into competition mode. 

Potassium: At urgent care, the RN suggested I up my potassium intake. I think she suggested 4700 milligrams. After looking at nutrition charts, that seems quite literally impossible. I think my best bet, besides bananas, are spinach and raisins. Oh, joyous day.

It’s started to hail in the desert. Nothing to serious, but I’ve parked early to avoid the worst of it. Lots of appointments tomorrow—hopefully I can squeeze in something fun.

P.S.—thank you, everyone, for the support. The weather today was gloomy, but I felt in much finer spirits!

I really wanted to do something active today. I drove to Canyonlands a half hour away, stopped at the visitor center, and arrived at the first overlook to eat breakfast. But I could not get over the hump that had developed since I woke up. I’m not entirely sure what it was—residual exhaustion from a long and strenuous yesterday; my body resettling after a couple of days with only half my normal medication; stress from the worrisome thunk of a rock hitting my undercarriage last night. For whatever reason, today became a Bad Day. I could have powered through it. Instead, I finished my orange, turned around, and retreated to Moab.

Things that I usually found joyous now set my nerves on edge. The little kids running around and giggling? Tension. A delicious meal? Worry for my health. I tried pulling out my puzzle book, but couldn’t concentrate. I hold myself to a high standard with my puzzling. My temporary terrible-ness was the most frustrating of them all. I should have gone for a walk, even though I would have worried about sunburn. My substitute was to pace through drugstores and supermarkets. This will pass, and tomorrow will be better. I know myself well enough to know that. And I’m fortunate that I could keep to myself today and not affect others. These are the silver linings of today.

I spent a lot of today thinking. Appealing to logic is usually my best defense against overwhelming emotion. My most pressing question was: why am I out here? I didn’t ask it judgmentally, but honestly. This is not how normal people take vacations. I’ve met others doing what I’m doing, but the motivations don’t line up. Most are outdoor enthusiasts, and I’m no dedicated hiker, photographer, or stargazer. Some are with partners or small groups. I met one woman in Kentucky who was finishing up her own four-month trip after the death of her fiancé. I wasn’t running from trauma; even if I found my day-to-day routine staid, there were other ways to shake things up. 

The best hypothesis I can come up with is that I’m tapped into the collective unconscious and carrying out my personal monomyth: the protagonist that leaves home, overcomes a crisis, and returns changed. This is the Odyssey, returning the ring to Mordor, the Wizard of Oz. I have become Simba. This would simultaneously comfort me in its rationality, worry me about my lack of agency, and label me as a narcissist—I get to be the “protagonist”. I suppose that’s only human as well.

Feeling wiped out. No post today, which is unfortunate because I had some killer material. In the meantime, enjoy some pictures from Arches.

I drove through the Waterpocket Fold and forged east. I stopped at two gas stations along the way—the first for a drink, and the second for fuel. Out here in the boonies, gas stations are the true centers of the community. They’re giant and well-kept, with restaurants, spacious seating areas, clothing departments, tchotchkes, bait for fishermen, glorious restrooms, and laundry/shower complexes that summon customers over an in-store public address system. I frowned at the gun counter but celebrated the rest.

My bemusement turned to panic when I saw the hot dogs and taquitos rolling slowly on the grill. There were so many options, so many flavors to try. My heart quickened. I deeply, desperately wanted a gas station hot dog. This was the Last Temptation of Jake. I summoned all my mental strength and spiritual fortitude and backed slowly away. I made it back to the car and torpedoed out of the station before I could fold.

Another hour and I was in Moab, filled with signs of civilization such as stoplights and chain restaurants. I had arrived just in time; a prescription had run out, and my psychiatrist was unresponsive, so I turned to urgent care at Mom’s suggestion. The nurse asked some standard questions, then dropped the bomb on me: I have high blood pressure. Not enough to be a clinical issue, but enough that I should try a moderate lifestyle change. In a way, I was relieved to have the burden of physical perfection lifted from my sculpted shoulders. Followers of the Diet Coke Log, you may see fewer listings in the coming weeks as I try to relieve my arteries. I’m glad I didn’t eat the hot dog.

I spent the evening listening to the Bruins and eating carrots. I’m also in a wonderful place to watch the Orionid meteor shower, which should show up beautifully in the dark sky. I may have to rouse myself before dawn to see them at their best.

I, the accomplished naturalist, have noted a curious behavior among the restaurant-goers in Torrey. I arrived at a café for breakfast around 8:30, and spent my entire meal as the only customer. At 9, I used the restroom. At 9:05, as I returned to the dining room, I was astonished to see no fewer than seven parties freshly seated. The same pattern happened at dinner. In Torrey, diners move in droves.

We are firmly out of the Mountain/Lake part of the trip and well entrenched in the Geology Era. More big rock-gazing was in store today. Capitol Reef National Park is centered around a 100-mile monocline (think a hill on one side and a cliff on the other) caused by an uplifted tectonic plate seventy million years ago. The monocline is named the Waterpocket Fold after the myriad spongelike holes in the rock, the remnants of (you guessed it) water pockets. The scenic drive hugs the cliffs; I’ll drive over the hills tomorrow. 

The other star attraction of Capitol Reef is the Fruita District, a preserved Mormon pioneer town in the shadow of the Waterpocket Fold. The area is surprisingly green, with some fairly well-preserved buildings and a gift shop masquerading as a museum. In the summer, you can pick your own fruit in the orchards. I went hungry and climbed into the Fold to hike Cohab Canyon. A fellow visitor, on her twenty-fifth trip to the park, told me this was the most beautiful location in Capitol Reef. After walking through the dry riverbed, clambering over the occasional boulder, and attuning myself to the complete solitude, I was inclined to agree. 

I could have hiked more, but I felt like watching a movie instead. This is my trip and I can bring it to a screeching halt whenever I want, so I downloaded Point Break and watched the first half. Pure Doritos. I will finish my monthly Swayze allotment later. For now, I sleep.

Bryce Canyon isn’t actually a canyon—instead of being carved by a river, it’s a series of naturally occurring amphitheater-shaped formations. No rivers were to be found as I began my descent into the hoodoos. Their shape is a result of geologic layering: hard rock on top protects the softer rock underneath from the elements. After millions and millions of years, all that’s left are the hoodoos, each different than the next. 

The Queen’s Garden loop is on the short list of the best hikes I’ve taken so far. It bent at strange angles, passed above and through hoodoo groves, and showed off the various bridges and arches in the amphitheater. Although the path was clearly marked, I felt pleasantly lost, wandering a subtly guided path and admiring the subtle color variance in the rock.

I considered staying another night, but remembered the truly depressing restaurants in Bryce and decided I would get to Torrey by nightfall. I treated myself to a pair of scenic drives along the way. The first was UT-12, which took me right past the Aquarius Plateau and above dozens of instances of geology writ large. I appreciate the Grand Staircase even more because I’ve seen it from so many perspectives (and thanks to a knowledgeable guide). My other sidebar was down Bull Trail Road, where I got a sneak peek at the waterfold (more on that tomorrow). I’ll have to return with a high-clearance car to access the more remote regions. The Corolla is a fragile thing, and my nerves on washboard roads are even more fragile. 

I’m in Torrey for the night, with the sun drawing every last shred of color out of the red cliffs nearby. The skies now are among the clearest of my trip. The Milky Way is ethereal. Tomorrow I will have a civilized breakfast.