No Name Mesa

This time we drove through east Zion and into Springdale for an art festival. From the park tunnel to I-15 (and beyond) it was one long stream of bumper to bumper traffic. The line may have been unbroken all the way to San Bernardino. I didn't check. But, I would just like to post this word of encouragement: This is great. This is Utah. Please enjoy Zion. Do not limit yourself in any way. Drive as fast as traffic will allow. Throw your trash on the ground. (That strip of hair growing under your lip is revolutionary—how did you think of it?) We hope you love the lodging in Springdale. We're building a lot more of it. See? Stay as long as you like. And when it is time to go, you'll want to use the southbound ramp at I-15.

In the meantime, EDO and I went up the Smithsonian Butte road and found a two-track going out to the edge of the mesa. We parked about half way down and found a little wash to explore. There was petrified wood, there were rocks to climb, and there was a lot of cactus. The roar of traffic from the valley was faintly audible, but it was quiet in the wash. I could hear the call of the canyon wren and sometimes the familiar "hoooo-oot" from Ellen when I'd been out of sight for too long. We each ate a sandwich and EDO stuffed her pockets with tiny crystal-filled rocks that sparkled in the strong light.

Just as the sun—low in the sky—began to swing around to our side of the butte, it was time to go back to the crowds. Sure enough, we picked up a tailgater from Los Angeles within five minutes. (My apologies. I hope I didn't dampen your enthusiasm for Springdale. Please visit often.) We also picked up VSO from art show duty just in time to join the stream of traffic through Rockville. It was bumper to bumper all the way to La Verkin. Fortunately, based on my advice, many of our friends turned south towards Hurricane, and I could finally drive really, really fast.