In honor of my 10-year Utah anniversary today I decided to share this piece I wrote a while back as part of an assignment for Matador U.

My hands, weary from the 24-hour drive, fumbled with the keys as I tried to unlock the door to my new home. The AmeriCorps director hooked me up with some roommates and one of them had found this apartment and mailed me a set of keys. Not a single one opened the deadbolt.

I didn’t yet have a cell phone so I pounded frantically on every door until someone opened.

“It’s been condemned,” said my future neighbor a little too cheerily.

My sleep-deprived mind tried to comprehend. “But what, how, what happened – what I am suppose to do?  Why didn’t they tell me?”

“Raw sewage everywhere.  You’re gong to have to find a different place to live.”

It was 9 o’clock at night.  I didn’t even care I just wanted to sleep.  Just a few days post 9/11, our chances of finding a hotel for the night had to be next to none.

“Ya know we can turn around this car anytime, you don’t have to do this.  Just come back home and wait until this all settles over,” my mother said tearfully once an hour during the 1500-mile drive.  I was trying so hard to be strong but I wanted so badly to go home.

We get back in the car.  For the first time I notice the twinkling lights of the city that extend as far as you can see.  The apartment is in a neighborhood perched high in the foothills and as we drove back downtown it felt more like we were preparing for landing than traveling by car.  Coming from the flatlands of the Midwest the view was hard to grasp.  We pass by what must be the Mormon Temple, but it looks more like the Magic Kingdom than a holy place.

The stars must have finally aligned because the first hotel we tried had a room just open up.  The occupants had scored a rental car and we just needed to wait for the room to be cleaned.  I called my landlord from the lobby, but got her babysitter, “It’s her birthday – I don’t expect them back until midnight.”

I fell asleep with my shoes on and woke to the phone, “Oh that blond lady, the flight attendant – yeah she’s a real nut job and doesn’t like when people rent out their units.  Yeah, one of the sinks backed up but we had the carpets cleaned.  I will meet you there in the morning.”

I woke early and ventured out to the hotel lobby, which resembled more of a newsroom with newspapers scattered about and CNN blaring.  I tried to find the coffee – oh how little I knew about Salt Lake City.  I settled for a hot chocolate and took a seat out on the crowded patio where I got my first glimpse of the Wasatch Mountains that completely border the east side of the city.

“It’s the lake,” the man seated next to me said noticing my upturned nose.

“Ughhh does it always smell like this?  I thought maybe it was all that talk about raw sewage…” as I enter into a narrative about the last night’s events to a complete stranger.  I pause mid sentence as I remember why all these people are here – like pulling oneself groggily out of a bad dream.  I pardoned myself, got up, and resolved to make this new city my home.

A few weeks ago I was on a 10-day road trip through the Southern Utah desert and on the sixth day I headed to a coffee shop to catch up on some work. To my horror, I couldn’t find my laptop charger anywhere. After frantically tearing apart my car I called home to hear, “You mean the charger sitting on the kitchen table?”

What followed next was a series of expletives and toddler tantrum type behaviors as I got into the car and drove the four hours home to pick up my charger. The next day I drove all the way back down to the desert and vowed to never forget anything ever again ever.

Out with my horribly disorganized travel habits and in with the new incredibly organized self!

This wasn’t the first time I forgot some seriously important item during my travels. This summer I forgot to pack my camera charger on our trip to Kauai. And then there was the time I forgot to pack an extra pair of contacts and my glasses on a trip home to Wisconsin and then tore a contact and spent the week blind in one eye. And then there are the countless times I’ve forgotten my climbing shoes and insoles for my running shoes. Maps – I usually forget those and my National Parks Pass never seems to be in my car when I need it. And I can NEVER remember to pack a headlamp – oh and that time in the Wind River Range without bug spray – ughh!

I used to think my forgetfulness and overall spazziness was endearing – made me loveable and darn right unique. I used to love the rush of starting to pack for a trip at noon when my plane leaves at 2. And now I am sooooo over it.

After starting a full-time job last week and returning to weekend warrior status, I just can’t afford to f-up my travels anymore. I am thinking pre-packing for a trip will improve my overall quality of life. So I am going to try it out this weekend in preparation for my Thanksgiving trip to Red Rock Canyon. I made this nifty little packing list that I can save, make changes to, and print out for all my future trips. Just making the list makes me feel a little more at ease – now hopefully I will actually use it.

When packing for a trip, how do you make sure you don’t forget anything important?

I love natural hot springs. I love their obscure locations, the peculiar geological formations they create, and the eccentric characters they attract. There’s something about hot effervescent water bubbling up from somewhere deep within the Earth’s core that fosters a sense of wonder and respect towards our natural world.

My search for strange and wonderful hot springs has sent me bushwhacking outside of Bozeman, exploring near the oil refineries in Salt Lake City, and scouring the banks of Idaho’s Salmon River. But one of the strangest hot springs I’ve seen takes very little effort to find and flows right alongside a major highway in the middle of Nevada.

Warm Springs Nevada combines two of my favorite things: hot springs and abandoned buildings. Located at the junction of US 6 and Nevada 375 (aka the Extraterrestrial Highway), Warm Springs is an abandoned hot springs resort and ghost town. All that remains of the town is a few abandoned shacks, an old bar with a pool table and random furniture still inside, and an old pool, that until recently still had free flowing hot mineral water running through it.

When I visited last spring, someone had diverted the flow of the springs so it no longer runs through the pool. There was also a new barbed wire fence to keep the cattle in (or hippies out) and more keep out signs, which of course I adhered to. Someone had already bent the fence so you could carefully squeeze through without getting caught in the wire.

The source of the springs is high up on the hillside above the old bathhouse. The hot water runs down from the hillside carving out a ditch that looks just like a bobsled track. It is the most eerie place, like the perfect setting for some Stephen King novel. You’re lucky to see a single car pass on the highway while you’re exploring the old spa grounds and you’re going to be more worried about aliens breaking out from Area 51, a zombie rising from the depths of the old pool, or the effects of nuclear fallout than seeing a soul and getting reprimanded for disregarding a few “keep out” signs.

I doubt Warm Springs was ever a destination resort, probably more of a stopping point on the way to the Sierra Nevadas, just like it still is today.

See more reasons to love rural Nevada.

Setting up the tent at Haena Beach Park

On our first morning in Hanalei, we awoke to the sound of someone not so pleasantly knocking on our tent at 6am. I covered myself with a blanket and stuck my head out of the tent still cloudy from too many Longboard Lagers the night before, “Say huh?” The man dressed in park ranger garb stated firmly, “Permits please.” I rifled through my pack to find the permit I had purchased months before and showed it to the park ranger before passing back out.

We showed up at Hanalei Beach Park late in the afternoon the day before and there were no signs telling us where to camp or what to do so we just put up our tent and hoped for the best. We had a permit to camp at the Hanalei Beach Park for two nights before heading off on the Kalalau Trail.

Beautiful Hanalei Bay

This was the first trip I have ever been on where I made accommodation plans ahead of time. Maybe I am finally growing up and getting organized or maybe I had heard too many horror stories about the camping police in Kauai.

The permit process was a pain. We had to send photocopies of our IDs and mail a money order (no personal checks accepted) to Hawaii Parks and Recreation months before our visit and then we weren’t even granted our preferred campgrounds – not Mahalo.

Aside from the annoying permit process, the camping was spectacular. As of summer 2010, camping in Kauai only costs $3/person per night in the state and county beach parks. That means for only $21/ week, you can pretty much roll out of your tent and right into the ocean.

The camp areas have flush toilets, sinks for brushing your teeth (but don’t even thinking about washing anything else in them), and open outdoor showers (the kind that are for rinsing your feet off, not getting naked in). Don’t expect a whole lot of privacy though; campers can plop down anywhere since there are no designated camping spots. For $3 a night and with these kinds of views, I wouldn’t care if we were sitting tent to tent.

Enjoying some vino at sunset

Getting Camping Permits in Kauai

1) Purchase your permits by mail well ahead of time through the Hawaii Parks Peeps.

2) Don’t have a permit, no problem. Have your cash ready and be super apologetic when the park ranger comes a knocking. If you’re nice and have some cash on you, the odds of the ranger slapping a huge fine on you are pretty low. You can always pack up your tent before 6am and avoid the fees all together. But without a permit, there’s always going to a bit of risk and the fines are steep.

3) If for some reason you don’t get your permits in time for your trip, call their office at 808-241-4463 to check on their status. Some people camping next to us had a full on battle with the park ranger since they had sent in a money order and received no permits. Accusing the park system of scamming them is probably not the best way to avoid a fine.

More Tips for Camping in Kauai

1) Bring along some string and a plastic bag to rig your permit up on the outside of the tent to avoid getting woken up by the park ranger every morning at 6am.

2) Get to your campground early in the day so you can score a spot under a tree.

3) Beware of maintenance days. Each park is closed for at least one day during the week for “maintenance.” Campers need to be out of the park by 10am on those days.

4) I highly recommend bringing along some rope or a travel clothesline to put up next to your tent. It is the quickest way to meet your neighbors who might offer up some fresh mangoes for some clothesline space.

]]> http://hooptrektravel.com/2010/11/01/tips-for-camping-in-kauai/feed/ 1 http://hooptrektravel.com/2010/10/05/the-best-of-moab-a-photo-essay/ http://hooptrektravel.com/2010/10/05/the-best-of-moab-a-photo-essay/#comments Tue, 05 Oct 2010 05:41:16 +0000 http://hooptrektravel.com/?p=462

In honor of my Moab, Arches & Canyonlands iPhone app released on iTunes last week, I wanted to share some of my favorite spots in Moab. To quote Ed Abbey, “This is the most beautiful place on Earth.” These lands have captured my soul like no other place on Earth and I hope you can see why.

Best Place to Watch the Sunrise in Moab

The Sun Rising Through Mesa Arch, Canyonlands National Park

Best Place to Catch the Moon Rise

The Moon Rising Near Fisher Towers, Utah

Best Canyonlands National Park Hike

The Joint Trail, Needles District of Canyonlands National Park

Best Arches National Park Hike

The Secluded Tower Arch Trail in Arches National Park

Best Primitive Camping Area

The Cottonwoods in Indian Creek, Utah

Most Amazing Petroglyph Panel

Birthing Rock in Kane Creek Canyon

Most Solitude

Canyonlands' Chesler Park in Winter

Best Chill Spot

On the Banks of the Mighty Colorado River

Most-Awe Inspiring and Death-Defying Vista

Dead Horse Point State Park

Best Moab Pit Toilet

The Open Air Pit Toilets at the Gold Bar Recreation Area

This video has haunted my thoughts ever since viewing it yesterday.  I am anxiously awaiting the appearance of my Moab iPhone App on iTunes and now I am wondering what Ed would have thought…

I’ve devoured all of Edward Abbey’s books, but never once heard his voice until now.  Funny, his voice sounds exactly like it had sounded in my head while reading Desert Solitaire over and over again.

I long to experience the desert southwest as Abbey did and fear that Ed’s beloved desert no longer exists.  Now I worry that by creating an electronic guide, I may have contributed to its demise…

This video flooded me with simultaneous feelings of both joy and sadness.  I was happy to see Ed Abbey talking and moving about, but sad to see the changes he describes.

Abbey on NBC from Eric Temple on Vimeo.

I am a total defensive pessimist meaning I spend a lot of time worrying about all the things that can go wrong in any given situation.  This may sounds like a pretty crappy way to live (unless you too have a defensive pessimist qualities), but it is actually quite adaptive.

In most cases, imagining the worst case scenario acts as motivation, which in turn helps people prepare to do their absolute best.  In college, I would study for a test assuming I would fail it, which motivated me to over study and ace nearly every test I have ever taken.

So why all the psychobabble?  When planning a hike a Kauai’s Kalalau Trail, I became totally fixated on the “scary part” of the trail.  Backpacker Magazine rated the Kalalau Trail as one of America’s Top 10 Most Dangerous Hikes with a 10 out of 10 for terrain with a 10 meaning “deadly.”  A section of the trail hugs dangerously to the edge of a terribly eroded cliff that sits 300 feet above the rocky surf and well since I have a bit of a height sensitivity my brain instantly spiraled into all the things that could go wrong.

I gathered all the information I could about that section of the trail, I talked to people that had hiked it, and watched youtube videos of the “scary section” of trail.  I imagined what it would be like to plummet 300 feet to the ocean floor and visualized ways I could use my trekking poles to stop myself from plunging off the cliff.

What all this exhausting mental preparation was for was when I actually got to the section of the trail, it wouldn’t be as frightening as I had built up in my head and I would sail through with very little difficulty.  Problem was the trail was way worse than I had imagined.

I will never forget the sick, horrifying feeling I got deep in my gut as I rounded a bend and caught the first glimpse of the horribly eroded section of trail.  How could it be worse than I had imagined?  I had not prepared for this!

It was 2 in the afternoon and we had been on our feet since 5am.  The wind was blowing, the heat was searing, the air smelled like rotting goat, I had sand in my contacts, and my anxiety was dizzying.  I cried.  I didn’t trust myself to make it though the section of trail without slipping.  I was weary.  I really didn’t want to die, but even more so, I really didn’t want to turn around.

I told Chris through my tears, “Tell everyone I love them,” and headed out to face my fears.

See that faint line? That's not even the worst of it!

Chris out scouting the trail and experiencing no fear whatsoever

I'm not happy but I am doing it!

Don't look down!

The return trip was only half as bad

I have felt a little out of sorts lately.  The leaves are changing and early bird ski passes are available and I feel like I never had a summer.

I didn’t grow basil on my windowsill, I didn’t get to see the series of wildflowers bloom on the running trails behind my house, and I didn’t experience the breakdown that inevitably follows a week of 100 plus days.  I missed numerous barbecues and birthday parties, I didn’t catch a single show at my beloved Red Butte Gardens, my friends don’t invited me to things anymore because they assume I am out of town, and all my houseplants died.

To gain something must you always lose something?

These last few months were the stuff of dreams.  I spent more nights under the stars than under a roof.  I got to spend a good chunk of time with my family in Wisconsin, sampled many a microbrew in Portland, hiked and camped around Kauai and the Big Island of Hawaii, climbed for weeks in Wyoming’s Wind River Range, soaked in more Idaho hot springs than I can remember, rafted down Lodore Canyon in the Green River, and rang in the anniversary of my freedom in the Canyonlands of Southern Utah.

What a summer, you are probably thinking, and I totally agree.  I wouldn’t trade these last few months for anything, but I feel a bit disconnected from my community and that makes me sad.  This is funny because I’ve been trying to get myself out of Salt Lake for a couple of years now.

I wonder how people travel for years at a time.  I like watching the seasons change, being involved in a physical community, and growing things.  I wonder how to reconcile this constant wanderlust with my need for community and a sense of belonging.  Any ideas?

What do you miss when you travel?

[Photo courtesy of a4gpa]

Being the petroglyph aficionado that I am, a brochure for the Legend Rock State Petroglyph Area caught my eye outside the Thermopolis State Bath House.  I asked the bathhouse attendant how far away the petroglyph site was and he blatantly ignored me and just kept going about his business.

I browsed the brochure a little while longer before I sighed and said annoyingly, “Gee I wish I knew where this site was,” to which the oh so friendly park worker finally replied, “Yer going to need a permit.”  “Say huh?” I wondered out loud as he slapped a permit complete with 4 or 5 carbon copies onto the desk.

After filling out my name, address, driver’s license number, and license plate number I was handed a key and detailed directions to the site.  I guess vandals have destroyed several of the ancient writings so the state of Wyoming was trying to keep the site secret and difficult to access.

We headed out of Thermopolis on Highway 120 as I navigated the cryptic hand drawn map and painfully detailed directions that constantly warned of easily missed turns.  Funny, since the map and directions were totally unnecessary since “this way” to Legend Rock signs marked all the turns.

We arrived at the gate and I tried the key.  It fit! I hopped on the gate, kicked off the ground, and rode the gate as it opened.  As Chris drove through I promptly locked the gate and jumped in the car.  I was overly psyched.  I still thought that this site must be phenomenal with the locked gate, dirt roads and all.  Before I could get out of my mouth, “I wonder how far we go now,” we were already at the parking area.

So why did we need a key?  We could have just hopped the fence or hurdled the electric fence and walked the half-mile to the petroglyph site.  I guess vandals only vandalize what they can drive right up to or so the State of Wyoming believes.

From the parking lot we headed out in opposite directions since our treasure map ended in the parking area and we had no idea where the petroglyphs were actually located.  I found a sign pointing the way to the petroglyphs on the ground, but the arrow was aimed at a distant oil derrick located across a flat, barren field.

I found a trail and followed it along a rock wall until I spied the first of many petroglyphs.  The carvings were unlike any other I had seen before – blob people all intertwined with abnormal numbers of fingers and toes.

Maybe it was the hundred plus degree heat, the swarms of mosquitoes, or the low humming of the nearby oil derricks, but I was totally unimpressed.  I gladly returned the key in the drop box on the way out and said see ya later Legend Rock.

Many travel bloggers have been reviewing boutique hotels and luxurious lodges on their blogs lately so I thought it would be fun if I started reviewing um some of the fabulous “eco-lodges” that I have been staying in.  Welcome to my new series… um fabulous nature lodges.

Resting alongside the Popo Aggie River in a large grassy area covered with large shady trees, the Lander City Park is a refuge for independent travelers seeking a free place to call it a night.  Popular with cross-country cyclists, climbers, random mobile religious churches, and Yellowstone bound RV’ers, the Lander City Park offers free tent sites and RV parking for up to three nights.

The Lander Park has the basic amenities of any fine town park including a covered shelter, picnic tables, playground, drinking water, and industrial steel toilets without seats that constantly flush while you hover.

I recommend setting up your tent on the south end of the park further away from the ball diamond to avoid having to move your tent for the occasional park wedding, Rotary Club picnic, or country band performance.  Also, keep as far away from the sprinkler as you can (you can’t miss it – it is connected to a large hose and usually hangs out in the middle of the park).  The park worker that rigs up the sprinkler early morning is exceptionally courteous of tent sleepers but has been known to midjudge distances.

I have never had any trouble at the park – the police patrol the area at night and it’s pretty quiet at night except for the occasional loud obnoxious drunk, but usually those are just my friends after a long night at the Lander Bar.

There are plenty of trees in the park to put up a slackline or hang a hammock.  Plus there is a sand volleyball/badminton court and horseshoe pits to keep you entertained.  Some dirty hippies are usually kicking around a hacky sack or hula-hooping to some dreaded guy’s rendition of Bob Marley’s “Jammin” while the local hospital puts on a fundraising picnic in the background.

The Lander City Park is conveniently located just a 15 minutes walk from the Lander Bar.  Once in town, head south on 5th street and you will run right into the park.   Let’s keep the Lander Bar free forever so please use the dumpster for your trash, be courteous to the locals and other campers, and don’t even think about starting a campfire.