Day One - The Tormented Trail

After a tearful goodbye to our urban family in Logan, we climbed into our trusted steed and drove off into the sunrise blasting country music.

The drive into Moab took our breath away. Sarah recommended the most beautiful secluded campground. This was our drive into the site:

So quiet... so peaceful...

It was picture perfect. We couldn't stop squealing like little girls (as we are known to do) and singing Sarah's praises.

Little did we know…
1. That our newly-pitched tent, in the most beautiful campground either of us has ever seen, would soon be torn out of the ground by gale-force winds hurtling down through the canyon.

Little did we know...
2. Canyons become wind tunnels in Moab.

Little did we know...
3. Elise would soon sacrifice herself to the wilderness. As Bailey ran to check phone service, Elise lay face down, spread eagle on the tent as it billowed up around her and then lifted her inches off the ground as sand filled her mouth, stung her eyes, and found its way into more… unmentionable areas.

Little did we know...
4. Sandstorms become mudstorms in Moab. Just add water.
Edit: Elise lay face down, spread eagle on the tent as mud filled her mouth, stung her eyes, and coated her rear end.

Little did we know...
5. We do not get cell service in the canyons of Moab.

Little did we know...
6. It is impossible to take down a tent in gale-force winds. Instead, Bailey rolled the tent, and all of its contents (including Elise, who was, by now, indistinguishable from the mud-red tent), into a ball and shoved it into the trunk.

Little did we know...
7. That driving out of the canyon would be just as spectacular as driving in, but for different reasons: lightning flashing in the distance, new waterfalls gushing down the sides of the mountains, hail pounding the roof of our car. Or, in other words (as Bailey’s family might say): Thunder and Lightning, Earthquakes and Fire.

We parked in a mud puddle. Cried. Called our mommies (and our sis). Then drove into town.
Town, however, proved to be thoroughly unhelpful. As we drove down the main strip we noticed a curious thing: the stoplights were out. When we pulled into the first motel on the right, a nice Indian man told us “In this dark, I am blind.” Literally, this meant the power was out all over town and he didn’t know if he had a vacancy because his computer was down. Elise, however, thinks it’s a metaphor.

We finally determined that we would try the Lazy Lizard International Hostel, because we figured they would be lo-tech enough to check us in without power. We were right. The squeaky front door, for instance, advertised its new technology “New! Automatic self-closing door!” The place was run by a balding bearded man wearing an oversized Lazy Lizard t-shirt with holes along the seams. At the front desk, a sign advertised “Yes! We have free wife-eye!” Everybody was congregated outside with raincoats and umbrellas, huddling around a gas grill, swapping stories about the storm. We had the best one.

Picture this: We were crusty with red Moab mud as we stumbled down the stairs. Bailey carried in the entire bundled tent (and contents) also crusty with red Moab mud. Elise followed behind with everything else and dinner (which consisted of mustard, lettuce, and tortillas). We didn't even have to tell our story to get nods of approval from the congregation (bikers, chicks with 10-inch dreads, international rock climbers in gear, etc).

The next morning we made friends with the men lounging outside drinking coffee. We were making such a racket trying to clean our tent and pack everything back up that they thought our car was broken. Elise gave them a good laugh acting out the night's adventure.

Here is documentation of the Lazy Lizard:

This man sent all his positive vibes into the universe for us. It lasted a couple days.