I Live Here

Today we, She-of-the-Capri and I, celebrated our seventh anniversary. 

Two, count 'em, TWO side-by-sides went by today;  there was at least one plane. The first was a foursome of guys all done up in their camo best. They looked like a diff version of the pink jeep in the post...

https://newmexnomad.blogspot.com/2021/11/sedona.html?m=1

The other was an elderly couple. They were kind and suggested Trail Mater if ever I was near Moab and needed a tow.

The first mentioned a sand trap a mere two hundred feet away. After walking it a ways I was considering returning to Ten Mile Rd. It was barely a mile to the main thoroughfare though and if I went back I'd have to go through Moab in order to circle back.

After Surviving Duma Pt Rd's DEEP Sand

Tombstone Butte

After reading about airing down (amazing to have cell signal out here!) I decided to drop another 5 and try it at 15. It made all the difference. Where yesterday's sands felt marginal at 20 psi, 15 imbued a bit of confidence. Some even go as low as ten. Live and learn.

A Bit Earlier

(Changing a tire now requires two days to recover. The idea of spending a day, maybe two, cutting sage, setting the jack in sand, lowering and moving forward perhaps a few feet, rinse and repeat, didn't appeal. It was only 39 miles to Moab, but MAPS says it's over an hour drive. Moab Motorsports (aka Trail Mater) charges $150/hr. Thus, getting "rescued" would be an expensive lesson in limitations. But here, hold my martini.)

At Its Base

The great thing about nomadicism is not having to go back to get home. I just put out the table & chair, grab the cheese & crackers, and Bob's yer uncle. I went two miles toward Dubinky Well when, overwhelmed by the magnificence of Tombstone Butte, I began considering the options. 

Some map perusal disclosed the point, ten miles in the other direction, of the road's end above the Green River.

One-point-nine-miles toward The End, six o'clock came; time to make camp. It coincided with a beautiful view and soon thereafter, a magnificent sunset. So far I've had it to myself. Apparently, I'm the only one who lives here.

The Point

Having survived Duma Pt Rd and enjoying the softer ride of 15 psi, the ten miles to the end of Spring Canyon Road wasn't as daunting. Knowing I'd likely not get another chance, I set off.

First Bench

Arrival

The End Point

River fleas

Rafters

Foldings...below the cave

Cleavings

The OTHER Road To Dubinky

Having been thwarted by the benches on Rainbow Terrace Rd, I returned to Ten Mile Rd; it was shadow-lengthening time.

The other road, Duma Point, aka BLM 337, is better, obviously meant for larger vehicles. Still slow-going, the slickrock has been ground down to make it more easily navigable or, maybe, so you can tell where the road is.

As I write in the video's description:

I like snakes; they keep the rodents down and give the cats something to think about. Thus, I automatically swerved to avoid squashing this person. After getting no response to my admōnishunz about sun-bathing in the road, I twiddled its tail. THAT got it going. Cats and snakes..."Don' touch my TAIL!"

I chortled at its blowing out its cheeks to look like Louis Armstrong and/or a rattler but was pleased that it saw fit to get outta the road. Sheesh!

We arrived at the top of the hill, still miles from Dubinky, in time for the evening show.

Hilltop Camp - Duma Pt Rd

Since alcohol doesn't blend

with heart meds...

my winning combination

Dripping Spring / Ten Mile Wash

Leaving Green River, I thought to avoid the terrible traffic from Interstate 70 down 191 to Moab. It's there, and though marginal in places, it was doable. Writing this on 22.March.2026, I have a vague recollection of a sign to Ruby Ranch and having to not go that way. I used Garmin's 1:24,000 topos on my laptop cross-referenced to a Garmin Etrex Hcx. 

Right about 1 pm we arrived. 

With hundreds of thousands of acres of open land,

somebody has a sense of humor

Hint of Fall

Ruby Ranch Rd to Dubinky Well

It turned out to be a bit more complex. First off, things were getting bouncey so I aired down to 20 psi.

There're two roads, mere hundreds of feet apart, that go south from Ten Mile. I chose the smaller one, signed for jeeps, motorcycles but not ATVs. It was sandy with many whoop-de-dos that motorcyclists seem to enjoy....young ones, anyway. 

MAPS said it was six miles to Dubinky or 32 minutes. An hour and fifteen minutes later I stopped at a fire ring to rest. I'd come 2.4 miles.

This Way

After cleaning the glass from the firepit, I went another 500 feet or so to an impassable stair-step down the bench. You'd need a rock-crawler to do it...or a motorcycle.

Too High a Step

Rainbow Terrace Rd

Rainbow Terrace Rd.

Rainbow Terrace Pt II - ends with Phoebe

Dunham's - Green River

I haven't tried their competitor's offerings, all I know is Dunham's prices are lower.

The main thing is the flavor! Their melons are like nothing you've ever had. These, with their orange-ish and cracquelure rind, are a combination of banana and pineapple.

Their canary melons are amazing! 

They also have watermelons, cantalopes, pears, apples, tomatoes and a couple of different kinds of squash.

Worth stopping for!

Green River, Utah

Groceries, laundry, shower. The State Park near the middle of town has unlimited HOT water for $7.00 for non-resident seniors (wanted tuh see what Berkshire Swash looks like).

Little Valley

The State Park's offers a choice of showers

The Regular

...and The Accessible

Green River Cutoff

12:36 pm - Utah Time

When I woke up this morning I was congested like I'd been a heavy smoker. I was panting, trying to breathe, just lying there. I made breakfast, and left.

Video taken at around 10:00 a.m.

2:10 pm - On way to Little Grand Canyon viewpoint at The Wedge Recreation Area. Note butte on horizon...was in last night's photo of moon.

On the way to Little Grand Canyon Overlook

Little Grand Canyon Overlook 

5:50 pm - Back at CR-401 aka Green River Cutoff. Now to see if there's anywhere to camp in Buckhorn Draw.

So over-grazed there's hardly anything but russian thistle. It seems cruel to put an animal out here...and certainly not justifiable as: Good Stewards of the Land.

6:00 pm - "Exploring" Buckhorn Wash. Camping allowed ONLY in designated sites. The video below is of sites 1-7. 

Green River Cutoff - 1st Leg

Sheriff said it was recently graded and magged (magnesium chlorided to keep down dust) and could be done in two hours. I guage it to be about 80 miles.

5:18 pm - Leaving highway 10 north of Castle Dale.

5:30 pm - Made it about two miles when this cable-supported bridge caught my attention. Notice the debris buildup from highwater on the left side at the base of the concrete.

5:47 pm - Gotta stop to look at rocks. These bentonite hills sometimes harbor dinosaur bones.

Yup, shur' nuff. This hyarz the tip uv uh toe frum uh Red-toed Bentosaurus. Iffn yuh look at hit thru a hand-lens (loupe) yuh kin see the fossilized cells.

6:26 pm - Here's a grouping. They appear somewhat like gypsum, but are much harder. Gypsum is 2 on the Mohs hardness scale; it can be scratched with a fingernail. None of these do that. (Parings from the Bentosauruses.)

6:33 pm - Time to think about making camp. Here we go!

6:35 pm - turning onto sideroad to camp?

6:40 pm - camped 

Moon Over Butte

(after Ansel)

Must've come a good six or seven miles between 5:18 and 6:40. That's an hour and twenty minutes or sumwherz aroun' three miles an hour; a stately pace.

🐢🐢🐢🐢

Salad by sunset. Notice the t't't'tTender light at top of fork.

Silver plate; NOT stainless steel! We used to eat off Bavarian china, but I felt bad about it getting broken so stopped.

Castle Dale

There was a box outside the entrance to the Post Office with real peaches and real tomatoes. 

Flavor I could only have imagined!

Delicious! Completely different from what's in the stores.

And now for The Green River Cutoff. From Castle Dale across The Swell to connect with highway 191 a few miles south of Woodhouse, it enables me to avoid about 75 miles of Interstate 70. The Sheriff said it can be done in a couple of hours. It's 5:18 pm Mountain  Time at the west end...we'll see.

The Taste of Hunter Power Plant

It's innerestin' how you can guage the level of solitude. The splendidly smooth expressway that leaves out of Ferron and up to Millsite State Park and beyond was crawling with tourists.

The weirdness came when I got out to assess Ferron Creek: growling engines and the creek turned from somewhat clear to brown.

Stepping out to see wha'sup, I spied a Defender (with snorkel) and a lifted jeep draining water in the parking lot. Two things made it weird: there's no road across the creek and other than the two males, presumably the drivers, the rest of the group was about a dozen young women in long dresses...the kind they usetuh wear in the 1800s. Comely lasses, I couldn't refrain from advisin' 'em about how the fish downstream mustuh felt...not to mention the fisherman in the next slot over. Jus' goze tuh show, religious piety doesn't obviate thoughtlessness.

Figgurin' tuh git away from 'em awl, I moved up north a few miles tuh Rock Canyon. Maybe it's the  several wash crossings that need extra clearance but the only other was a side-by-side on its way out with Dad at the helm, Mom hanging off shotgun and a half dozen li'l maggot-like critters poking out from all corners and top. These people sure are white!

Heading into the sun, it was impossible not to notice the smog. And it wasn't long before I could taste it. 

Now, two hours later, no other vehicles have been by. It's sad tuh see the depredation. But hey, it's desert; ain nobody but Mormons an' some Native Uhmerikunz out here.

Rock Canyon: The Rant Continued

The Culprit

Hunter Power Plant

I'd hoped to explore further back but by 1:00 pm the smog was so bad I had to leave. The air tasted as if I was knawing iron pipe and my throat & head hurt. Unfortunately, the entire valley, Joe's it's known as, is polluted. In general, Mormons are more kind, honest and quieter than other cults, but this is disappointing.

Quitchupah Creek

High-tailing it out of Scipio and eager to explore along State Highway 10, I picked Quitchupah Creek, as I usually do, off my old Garmin maps running on Mapsource, a legacy program abandoned by Garmin decades ago.

It wasn't until days later I discovered it's "lined" with rock art from the Fremont Culture (see link above).

It's a few miles south of Emery. 

Scipio Pt II

Sam said it was a six-hour job so leaving him to it, I set off to explore.

Mormon architecture is different than the pueblo style of Albuquerque.

This is the apple lady's; her husband built it in the 1920s.

"They're Jonathans," she said.

It's been so long since I'd seen a maple these seemed worthy of a photo.

This holds more than is readily apparent. Behind the fence on the right is a big garden with the large area of flowers in the video. Further down is yea olde gas station with its rusted pumps. Across the highway, where the parked car sits, is the Scipio Co-op, a combination museum, antiques mini-mall with 30 vendors and a small selection of contemporary tchotchkas.

The Merc is the most impressive building

Hup We Go....easy, easy

The fuel pump came in and she's going on the lift. Sam said it's about a four-hour job...I think as much to prepare me for the bill as anything.

I feel fortunate to have fallen into these folks's hands. It's been interesting being in a place where everyone knows everything about everyone. 

As luck would have it, Keaton's an artist and was kind enough to let me see some of his work. I also got to be a sounding board for some of the difficulties of his dovorce....which was final yesterday.

3:30 pm - The "new" fuel pump was bad. Fortunately, they had another on the shelf. This time they tested it before.

6 pm - Heading out. And with fresh eggs from Keaton's chickens.

Cole & Gordon

I'm gonna blame the elevation of 5360' for the lethargy. I managed to circumambulate the adjoining block where there's an apple tree.

Jonathans With Commercial Honeycrisp

The lovely owner, who looked every bit of a day over 90, was kind enough to, when I asked, encourage me to take a pocketfull. Maybe tomorrow, when the light is right, I can get some pictures.

Out for my evening amble, Cole & Gordon knew a likely prospect when they saw one. 

The way they opined the lack of salted caramel made me wonder if they'd bought 'em all themselves. It being too far back to the car for me to walk, I sent 'em off tuh fetch my wallet.

I've forgotten where I found the wallet, but the lanyard was made by a retired banking executive who had a leathergoods shop in Quincy, California. It's a teensy li'l place, hardly more than a walk-in closet, but if you're up that way it's worth checking out. Cole (the younger) noticed the John Deere emblem.

With four flavors I had to, of course, get one of each.

Cole knew the Albuquerque song, a tune I'd somehow -- in all my 48 years there -- missed.

Gordon had seven knives on him. Three on his belt and four more in his pockets. 

Here's R.W. Hampton doin' the song. 

So then, it's dark and I'm unrolling my sleeping bag when a voice calls, "Hello!" and a young Hispanic woman tells how their car is overheated and asks if I can help. I explain I'm just a tenant and know very little about cars. They're from Delta. Eventually we get the hood up and she assures me he topped off the radiator this morning. All the belts are there and no other obvious signs of trouble. I suggest the motel, apologize for not being more helpful and turn away.

I need drinking water and the spigot is on the other side of the building. As I'm filling the jug, the young man goes by with a couple of gallons of antifreeze. Back at the car I see he's got the radiator cap off. I hold my headlamp so he can see to pour. After the two gallons we switch to my jug. It takes another gallon and a half; the temperature guage is now in the middle. They're still worried that it'll go up when they drive it. I suggest driving two blocks to test it. They do and when they come back the guage is still in the middle. I tell them they'll make it home and after a few minutes they leave.

I did what I could. Isn't that what we all do?