Just lump 'em all together. To the casual observer, the drive from Moab along Hwy 6 would seem like a wasteland. As I drove north, the colors that coated and striped the raw rock near Canyonlands were slowly replaced by endless miles of grey. The ground is much drier and little life seems to stir inside a maze of wind and water-carved sandstone-bluffed masterpieces and dune. Miles' trumpet talked me through these incredibly desolate landscapes. Don't take them for granted, for you may travel the earth and never find an equivalent.
Shhh, Peaceful. Provo was just an interlude and resting point between Moab and Park City. It's not like I was going to find some rump-shakin' action here in the heartland of the LDS.
In A Silent Way, I dipped into Provo and darted up the gravel roads of Uintah National Forest and Diamond Fork Canyon. This is an important watershed for Utah and excellent efforts have been undertaken to restore the river's vegetation after a major water project a few years ago. The fish and game are abundant. After admiring the scene for a while and watching a silky buck drink elegantly from the river, I found the perfect campsite along a small feeder creek. Perfect except for the piles of trash left recently by a group of partiers. More LNT, please. They were definitely young because the beer cans strewn indicated that they were in the Keystone Light phase of their drinking career. The horror of all horrors was the dookie dropped right in the middle of the best tent spot. I've been pretty hammered before while camping but I've never pinched a loaf next to my bed. Fallen in the fire maybe, but......
It's About That Time. The next day I hit the Motel 6 in Provo to clean up a little (after the sand of Moab, taking a shower is a re-creation of the Psycho drain shot), write some journals, and, of course, watch Sportscenter. I relish the rare opportunities I get to watch this, the finest of all TV programs. Stuart and Rich drop mad knowledge that is cooler than the other side of the pillow.
While in Provo, I also stopped into the barber shop to crop my shaggy mane. The "stylist", a large grizzled fellow, talked endlessly about the fantastic fishing in Utah as he chopped. I got more rhymes than I got grey hairs, and that's a lot because I got my share. Now I understand why they call native trout "cutthroat".
Finally, on the afternoon of the tenth, I reached Park City. Park City is somewhat special to me because this is where, in 1981, I first learned to ski. My experiences on the slopes and the beauty found in the mountains in winter have done much to shape my love for the outdoors and my desire to protect that which I love. I'd not been back to Park City in fifteen years and, sadly to say, I did not remember a bit of this town except for the 7-Eleven where I'd spent my allowance playing this awesome (at the time) cartoon/video game called Cliffhanger. C'mon, I was 10 years old.
In Park City I stayed with some old friends of my parents from the
Navy. Ed and Myra were the greatest hosts. They live on beautiful property behind the ski resort that borders a large expanse of open space, much of it is owned by a mining company in town. Moose, deer, porcupines, etc, are always cruising down for their viewing pleasure. Plus, they've got a dog named Mogul, a parrot named Cadillac, and two cats. Animals were in full effect. Between the squawkings of Myra and Caddie, I rarely got a word in edgewise. Cadillac is a vocal, tough old bird who will bite a stranger, should the opportunity arise. Myra had to distract her with a peanut to get a photo out of the cage. Note my apprehension.
The activities in Park city were simple and good. For three days, I slept, ate and rode my mountain bike in the vert near town. The most unique trail that I found is called the Sweeney Switchbacks and gets wild in a dense Aspen grove. Tight singletrack meanders crazily amid the trees which threatened to
grab my handlebars at every twist. Wet roots also criss-cross the trail at odd angles. I took a nice digger in the sod because of one of the aforementioned roots.
Ed and Myra took me out to dinner one night in town to a joint called Chimayos. The trendy food combinations that are offered there would put a Cali restaurant to shame. Phrases like "pumpkin seed encrusted" were not uncommon. I passed up the $23 burrito to enjoy the caribou fajitas. Despite the weird enhancements, the food was outstanding.
Ed is an airline pilot and he and Myra have been rebuilding an old Navy biplane called a Stearman. They have replaced and stitched the entire body and wing fabric by hand. The goal is to have it restored by August to fly to the airshow in Oshkosh, Wis. Unfortunately,
the Stearman work was too time consuming and Ed couldn't take me for a ride in his other plane. Ed, you missed your chance to showboat to a national audience!
Park City is suffering from the same problems that plague other rapidly growing towns in the west. The overdevelopment of the land with residential units and vacation houses is not being offset with the appropriate and corresponding preservation of larger tracts of open space surrounding the developments. Homes are not clustered to efficiently use area and services. Without lots of open space co-mingling with development, the concept of "smart growth", is completely unachieved. Habitat is lost, recreation opportunities are lost, wildlife disappears, cities take on huge infrastructure costs, and streets become choked with traffic. The quality of the water and the land begins to sour and people lose the visual components of an open landscape. That is the cycle of unplanned human expansion and the saga of the loss of everyone's quality of life. We say that we can't afford to control the permanent removal of open space. How can we afford not to? The value of a natural and healthy environment and co-existence with that environment has no dollar value (well, sometimes we try). In fact, I consider the quality of life that is gained by the maintenance of a natural environment to be an entitlement.
Hmmmm....I don't know where that burst came from. Does anyone out there have any intelligent comments on this issue? Can you add to it or other information I've placed in the Issues section? Can you rebut my ideas and writings? Am I talking out my ass? I want to add a new page dedicated to viewer comments that add to the website's effectiveness in developing ideas and solutions to the problems affecting open space loss and preservation. If you want to, send me an email.
And yet I fight, yet I fight, this battle all alone. No one to cry to, and no place to call home. Thank you, Ed and Myra for a great time in PC! With a last glare from the bird, I was off to Idaho and the Grand Tetons.
Shhh, Peaceful. Provo was just an interlude and resting point between Moab and Park City. It's not like I was going to find some rump-shakin' action here in the heartland of the LDS.
In A Silent Way, I dipped into Provo and darted up the gravel roads of Uintah National Forest and Diamond Fork Canyon. This is an important watershed for Utah and excellent efforts have been undertaken to restore the river's vegetation after a major water project a few years ago. The fish and game are abundant. After admiring the scene for a while and watching a silky buck drink elegantly from the river, I found the perfect campsite along a small feeder creek. Perfect except for the piles of trash left recently by a group of partiers. More LNT, please. They were definitely young because the beer cans strewn indicated that they were in the Keystone Light phase of their drinking career. The horror of all horrors was the dookie dropped right in the middle of the best tent spot. I've been pretty hammered before while camping but I've never pinched a loaf next to my bed. Fallen in the fire maybe, but......
It's About That Time. The next day I hit the Motel 6 in Provo to clean up a little (after the sand of Moab, taking a shower is a re-creation of the Psycho drain shot), write some journals, and, of course, watch Sportscenter. I relish the rare opportunities I get to watch this, the finest of all TV programs. Stuart and Rich drop mad knowledge that is cooler than the other side of the pillow.
While in Provo, I also stopped into the barber shop to crop my shaggy mane. The "stylist", a large grizzled fellow, talked endlessly about the fantastic fishing in Utah as he chopped. I got more rhymes than I got grey hairs, and that's a lot because I got my share. Now I understand why they call native trout "cutthroat".
Finally, on the afternoon of the tenth, I reached Park City. Park City is somewhat special to me because this is where, in 1981, I first learned to ski. My experiences on the slopes and the beauty found in the mountains in winter have done much to shape my love for the outdoors and my desire to protect that which I love. I'd not been back to Park City in fifteen years and, sadly to say, I did not remember a bit of this town except for the 7-Eleven where I'd spent my allowance playing this awesome (at the time) cartoon/video game called Cliffhanger. C'mon, I was 10 years old.
In Park City I stayed with some old friends of my parents from the
Navy. Ed and Myra were the greatest hosts. They live on beautiful property behind the ski resort that borders a large expanse of open space, much of it is owned by a mining company in town. Moose, deer, porcupines, etc, are always cruising down for their viewing pleasure. Plus, they've got a dog named Mogul, a parrot named Cadillac, and two cats. Animals were in full effect. Between the squawkings of Myra and Caddie, I rarely got a word in edgewise. Cadillac is a vocal, tough old bird who will bite a stranger, should the opportunity arise. Myra had to distract her with a peanut to get a photo out of the cage. Note my apprehension.The activities in Park city were simple and good. For three days, I slept, ate and rode my mountain bike in the vert near town. The most unique trail that I found is called the Sweeney Switchbacks and gets wild in a dense Aspen grove. Tight singletrack meanders crazily amid the trees which threatened to
grab my handlebars at every twist. Wet roots also criss-cross the trail at odd angles. I took a nice digger in the sod because of one of the aforementioned roots.Ed and Myra took me out to dinner one night in town to a joint called Chimayos. The trendy food combinations that are offered there would put a Cali restaurant to shame. Phrases like "pumpkin seed encrusted" were not uncommon. I passed up the $23 burrito to enjoy the caribou fajitas. Despite the weird enhancements, the food was outstanding.
Ed is an airline pilot and he and Myra have been rebuilding an old Navy biplane called a Stearman. They have replaced and stitched the entire body and wing fabric by hand. The goal is to have it restored by August to fly to the airshow in Oshkosh, Wis. Unfortunately,
the Stearman work was too time consuming and Ed couldn't take me for a ride in his other plane. Ed, you missed your chance to showboat to a national audience!Park City is suffering from the same problems that plague other rapidly growing towns in the west. The overdevelopment of the land with residential units and vacation houses is not being offset with the appropriate and corresponding preservation of larger tracts of open space surrounding the developments. Homes are not clustered to efficiently use area and services. Without lots of open space co-mingling with development, the concept of "smart growth", is completely unachieved. Habitat is lost, recreation opportunities are lost, wildlife disappears, cities take on huge infrastructure costs, and streets become choked with traffic. The quality of the water and the land begins to sour and people lose the visual components of an open landscape. That is the cycle of unplanned human expansion and the saga of the loss of everyone's quality of life. We say that we can't afford to control the permanent removal of open space. How can we afford not to? The value of a natural and healthy environment and co-existence with that environment has no dollar value (well, sometimes we try). In fact, I consider the quality of life that is gained by the maintenance of a natural environment to be an entitlement.
Hmmmm....I don't know where that burst came from. Does anyone out there have any intelligent comments on this issue? Can you add to it or other information I've placed in the Issues section? Can you rebut my ideas and writings? Am I talking out my ass? I want to add a new page dedicated to viewer comments that add to the website's effectiveness in developing ideas and solutions to the problems affecting open space loss and preservation. If you want to, send me an email.
And yet I fight, yet I fight, this battle all alone. No one to cry to, and no place to call home. Thank you, Ed and Myra for a great time in PC! With a last glare from the bird, I was off to Idaho and the Grand Tetons.
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