We time the RV almost sunk into the earth to become just another fossil

At 2 am we heard the pitter patter of rain. The prudent thing to have done, was to get out into the storm and leave. But the 2 am brain says, “nah, it’s gonna stop soon.”

We are early risers but not early enough. “Don’t walk around outside.” CT said to me by the time he woke me up at 5 am. Within the span of three hours, the top two inches of iron red of the decayed sandstone had turned to slime while the slivers of petrified wood and dinosaur bone fragments floated to the surface.

*Looks like petrified wood to me. Harvested the photo and left the rock there.*

Only after repeated attempts was CT able to use our GMC Sierra to coax Dolley, the bumper pull, out of the muck. Forward, backward, and sideways, the two vehicles skimmed along the mud skating toward a Utah juniper with a branch that dragged the length of Dolley’s side while I yelled, “The tree!” to no avail. I thought that branch was going right through the side window. Junipers in the southwest are not known for their flexibility. Even dead branches don’t give up the ghost to decay. CT had heard me yell out but knew that if he stopped there might be no starting again, window be damned. We had gone to Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument to be one with the earth but not to forever be one IN the earth.

*Before the storm. Notice the sky is blue and the dirt is dry, and the ball-obsessed dog contemplates to leave the ball there (his 6th sense about weather was not working).*

Somehow the truck and trailer got on the “hard pack” dirt road from our sheltered camping spot, window intact, and somehow, even with a couple inches of red mud stuck to all tires, we made it to the blessed asphalt on the highway. There’s a time for asphalt and there’s a time for dirt.

Fast forward to the next day as we were coming into Flagstaff, AZ on Hwy 89 at a good speed of 70, I mean no faster than the speed limit, we see pink cotton candy, and lots of it, trailing behind us into following traffic. “Oh shit!” He reserves actual swearing for emergencies.

At the next forest road turn off we pulled to discover that the branch’s push into our side had loosened screws along the side panel. The speed down the asphalt and the 40 mph winds for the past few hours since leaving the Grand Staircase had wrenched the panel open excreting our insulation into the highway behind us. Thankfully with an array of tools always carried, a few random screws, some hemming and hawing, and several swear words later, the rig was “restored” and back to drivable mode.

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