Here Comes The Sun

It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m sipping an ice-cold Ninkasi Double Red Ale while perched on the bed of the Rodeway Inn in Hurricane, Utah. Beamer, ever the heat-sensitive travel companion, is belly-down on the tile floor panting like a derailed steam engine. We just came back from a rousing ball chase at the local park. I try to take it easy on the old boy—he is ten now—but tell that to him when he gets that gleam in his eye as the Chuck-It comes out.

The weather finally decided to quit sulking today. When I left this morning, the sky still wore its gray flannel pajamas—low clouds, dark and broody, threatening rain but not quite committing. There were a few scrappy patches of blue trying to break through, so I stayed hopeful and headed to Kolob Canyon Scenic Drive. It’s part of Zion National Park, and blessedly close. “Moody” is the only way to describe it. Red cliffs loomed like silent gods in the mist—majestic, imposing, and occasionally peeking out just enough to make me click the shutter. At least the air was clearer today. Less dust, more drama.

Next stop: Snow Canyon State Park. A mash-up of lava flows, rust-red cliffs, and white-ish sand dunes. Very sci-fi western. The whole place was surprisingly pristine—well-paved paths for bikers and walkers, a tidy little campground, and not many people milling about. By the time we arrived, the skies had mostly cleared, and for the first time in days, I saw shadows on the ground. Imagine that.After that, Beams and I aimed for an artsy-fartsy enclave called the Kayenta Art Village in Ivins, Utah. I had a late brunch there—an odd but decent shrimp and “grits” plate with two eggs. (Let’s be honest, it was really fried polenta squares—but whatever, I was hungry.) The place was buzzing with fit-looking retirees and enough designer sunglasses to blind a crow. The whole town had a “Santa Fe in Activewear” kind of vibe.

In the morning, we roll out toward familiar faces and familiar places—because sometimes, the road back feels just as necessary as the one forward. Also, I was promised a margarita... or was it pie? No matter.