The drive from Denver to Moab was fraught with inclement and impending inclement weather.  Still, I forged through the 300 miles, over mountain passes and toward freezing rain and snow.  Moab and its surrounding splendor awaited.

But I do not set up camp in the rain.  It’s one of my cardinal rules.  And it was pouring in Moab and had been for hours.  So I hunkered down at the Motel 6, watched the mini-marathon of The Closer on TBS.  (Hey, I’m a girl.)

Thanksgiving Day arrived and, fully regaled in rain gear, I traded Macy’s parade on Park Avenue for Arches’ Park Avenue.

Park Avenue Trail, flooded but still trailable

Park Avenue Trail, flooded but still trailable

Flooding along Park Avenue

Flooding along Park Avenue

I met a handful of folks along Park Avenue that day, perhaps lured in by the promise of what lay at the end of red rock road–not gold but scenery, the kind found in Peter Jackson films:

What lies beyond the mist?

What lies beyond the mist?

Here a butte, there a butte, everywhere a butte-butte...

Here a butte, there a butte, everywhere a butte-butte...

Advertisements