Southwest 1916

A 10 day, 1916 mile roadtrip through California, Nevada, Utah, and Arizona.

By Steven Yan

June 15^th, 2013

the beauty of constraints

Cec went to bed. I sunk wearily into the couch. I flipped open my Macbook; Google Maps shone patiently back at me. I recalled the rapid-fire decisions we had made over dinner earlier that evening. “We’re going to camp the whole way. We’re going to bring Neska.” Cec had further environmental requirements. “There needs to be water. And trees. I want to sit under a tree and read a book. The campsites should have showers.” I began to silently rage at the situation. We were two weeks away from this theoretical road trip and had planned nothing. To increase the level of difficulty, we planned to depart on the eve of the quintessential camping holiday: Memorial Day.

“We’re not doing another damn staycation,” I declared to myself. However, as my night of trawling the interwebs wore on, these benign requirements became a burden as I peeled back the layers of camping reality and the laws of sheer distance. US National Parks, unlike their Canadian counterparts, do not allow dogs on hiking trails; some popular campsites in California and Nevada were closed due to government budget cuts; other campsites are first-come-first-serve only.

By 3 AM, I had a plan that miraculously tiptoed its way through all of the above. Two weeks later, this trip would take us to some beautiful places that we would never have seen otherwise.

quaking aspen

We left late on Sunday and didn't reach Porterville until sunset. We wound our way up the western slope of Sequoia National Forest and reached Quaking Aspen just as the moon rose over the trees. The next evening, we celebrated our first full day of camping with a dinner of pan seared flank steak and brussel sprouts. Unfortunately, the cool mountain air was far too cold for Cec to sit under a tree and read her book.

Trail of 100 Giants, Sequoia National Forest. A fire in 2011 charred many of the sequoias in this grove.

Star trails over Quaking Aspen. Karl the Fog made a guest appearance on the second night.

valley of fire

The next day we descended towards Barstow and headed up I-15 toward Vegas. The closest we came to The Strip was a pit stop at Whole Foods to buy groceries, ice, and make a futile attempt to purchase firewood (hint: there's no market for firewood when it's 95ºF outside). By mid-afternoon, we turned off I-15 toward Valley of Fire, spotting specks of the namesake red sandstone formations in the distance. We didn't know what to expect at the end of this lonely six mile road. We wouldn't see another living soul until we departed the next morning.

Valley of Fire is Nevada's oldest state park, located on the Moapa Indian reservation. Miles of red sandstone formations, formed by complex uplifting and faulting in the region followed by erosion, give the valley its name. Complete isolation just beyond the bright lights of Las Vegas.

Resigned to not having a fire that night, we were delighted to find two giant wooden posts in our fire pit.

Cec and I were awoken by a bright light shining through our tent; In my sleepy haze, I thought it was morning.

Instead, it was the moon.

This was one of my favorite moments of the trip. Warm silence, brilliantly lit.

Given enough time in the moonlight, the true color of the rocks emerge.

zion national park

We rose early the next morning at Valley of Fire and drove a few hours to Zion National Park. While US National Parks do not allow dogs on the hiking trails, Zion does allow dogs on the Pa’rus Trail, which winds through the canyon floor along the Virgin River. We took Neska for a walk.

It was especially hot and humid that day. Two miles into the hike, the heat proved too much for Neska. She called a timeout by the river.

What are these photos about?

LAKE POWELL

We rose early the next morning at Zion. A few hours later, we found ourselves at a Safeway in Page, Arizona, stocking up on groceries for four nights on Lake Powell.

I have happy childhood memories of family houseboat trips to Lake Billy Chinook in Oregon and Lake Shasta in California. However, I had never actually piloted a houseboat myself, let alone one towing a speedboat, nor did we only have one other person around for support.

Cec and I still talk fondly and often about these days on Lake Powell. It was the perfect mix of adventure, relaxation, and hard work. We anchored on a sandbar along Padre Bay, just outside of Gunsight Canyon. We pitched our tent on the roof and fell asleep every night to the ebb and flow of the tide lapping against the shore.