The Writer's Life: Film & Book Reviews, Observations, and Stories
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Moab

On a crazy whim, we rented an expensive cabin fourteen miles from Moab on the Colorado River which flows rough and rocky a few feet from our deck, lulling us asleep at night. The complex has its own winery, restaurant, horse stable, and swimming pool and is so over-the-top I can’t believe I sprung for it, but I still love the sound of the river. I don’t care how much they charge me for it.

Because of Arches and Canyonlands, the city of Moab is a tourist destination, overflowing with bikers, motorcycle enthusiasts, hikers, ATV fanatics, rafters, campers, and visitors from the States and Europe. We did a fairly hard hike in Canyonlands today (though the guide book said it was moderately easy), where we had to scrabble 100 feet up a rock face to get out of the canyon. As I was climbing up on all fours, panting like an animal, I met a German couple about my age, who gave me a smile and proceeded to walk leisurely down the same incline with metal-tipped hiking sticks. I yelled “Gut getan” and “Tschüss” after them, so impressed I was with their mountaineering skills. Only the woman deigned to respond, and, for some reason known only to the gods, I got the sillies and had a laughing fit on the spot.