The Majesty of Utah
Utah is, without a doubt, the most disparate landscape I encountered on my trip. From dusty plateaus to snow peaked mountains to desert rocks the color of scarlet, Utah is a marvel of Earth’s landscapes. And I only encountered the southern half of the state.
On Route 70 just west of Colorado, scenic rock formations of tall layered plateaus surround the highway, set in the flat expanses of dusty gray desert. The layer colors range from muted greens and blues to deep reds, and stretch marvelously towards the sky, often creating brilliant arches and rock formations that are as stunning just off the highway as in any National Park.
The land is apparently mostly useless, something I learned the hard way as I set off from a rest stop with a quarter tank of gas. I passed a gas station shortly thereafter, but I let it pass as I assumed there would be another one before long. I assumed wrong, a sign after the exit informed me that there would be no gas stations for a hundred miles.
I panicked. I set the odometer on the car to see how long I could go. In my head I figured a quarter tank was barely less than enough gas to drive a hundred miles. I’d figured out that my car went about 300 miles per tank of gas, so it was going to be close. Some slack would be granted by the space below the E line, but I couldn’t be sure how much.
Worse, the terrain made the highway go up and down hills constantly. I’d be driving across the most brilliant rock formations in the United States and instead of admiring their magnificence I’d be staring nervously at my fuel gauge.
After about 50 miles of this, a sign indicated that gas was available at an exit. This was before I expected, but of course I had to check it out. Another sign off the exit indicated that the gas was 25 miles to the right, so I took off.
The road was full of flat desert with distant plateaus, as brilliant as all those I’d been seeing on the highway. Farming seemed to be the game for the few who lived in the area, as long irrigation lines stretched as far as the eye could see.
Eventually I reached the gas station, with my gauge’s needle slipping dangerously below the empty line, and the “low fuel” light screaming at me in aggressive orange. It was a small run down looking building in a town full of them, with two pumps and no name brand listed. I looked at the store, the sign read “CLOSED: next gas 12.5 miles.”
I could have cried, and I stared at the window in disbelief. It was about 10 AM on a weekday, how could they not be open? I noticed people walking around inside, and decided to go for the door. It wouldn’t open.
I began knocking and tugging frantically, maybe I could reason with these people. The man inside started yelling aggressively back at me, and I yelled to him, “Can I get some gas?”
He opened the door. “What’s the problem?” he asked me.
I repeated my question, a little pitifully this time. “Can I get some gas?” I said.
“Of course,” he responded, and stepped aside.
I walked in, a little confused, and apologized. It seemed the door was just kind of hard to open, and a sign on the knob had said so. I pointed out that their sign said “CLOSED.”
“That’s because she forgot to flip it around,” the man said condescendingly to an older woman behind the counter. She stepped out and changed the sign. “It’s not like anybody ever looks at it,” she said.
I fueled up my tank and told them, “You guys are my heroes.” I wandered out, another possible disaster averted.