Yesterday I had an easy day. I headed out for a short slow contemplative jaunt to Deadhorse Point State Park, which is another must see spot on Samantha's Moab Tour. ( Tabs above -> Plan -> Open Interactive Map -> left menu (on phone press upper left three lines icon) -> Itineraries -> Samantha's Moab Tour ).

I drove the 370z out the twenty some odd miles stopping at various overlooks on the way allowing myself a pause at each spot to take it in quietly. 

I came across a sign that evoked a memory from my much younger years. There was a TV show with an introduction that went:

"Looked for, he cannot be seen. Listened for, he cannot be heard. Touched, he cannot be felt." 

In my little mind this resonated so strongly that as I went for long escapes in the woods I would practice walking without making a sound leaving no trace. To remain hidden, unseen, unheard, and untouched ... older me, of course, now looks back at the psychology of younger me and sees patterns and causes that were oblivious to me then. 

I walked quietly to the cliff face trying to leave no trace, not even a footprint. 

So many places here evoke my terror of heights and I keep challenging it. Dramatic mountains could be seen in the distance. 

Walking back to the car I noticed this interesting formation on a rock face and wondered about the geological processes that created it. It's hard to walk on this land without thinking about the millions of years of plate tectonics that formed it.

I drove across a wide open area and came to an entrance station that was operating.

"Oh, right. State operated. Not Federal." There was a line of cars, two RV's and a bus waiting to get in. 

Fortunately, they take credit cards. $20 entrance fee. $10 if on a bike. 

I drove past a few parking spots, camp sites, and the visitor center unaware of the spit of land I was driving out onto. The road tightened and narrowed and there were cars and people to be seen everywhere. On one corner there was a slight hill and at the crest it suddenly became clear that spit of land was not much wider than the road itself. 

I saw the canyons.

"Whoa!" I said aloud. 

I found a parking space and walked around. The area was German appropriate with a nice bench off the trail to the restrooms. 

I sat there for some time trying to tune out the cacophony of voices around me. The view was not to be believed. 

There was a walking path along the rim which had a nice safe feeling stone wall a couple feet high. I decided to look over it at one point and to my shock it went STRAIGHT DOWN. 

"Oh hell no!" as a gripped the wall tightly with one hand while tentatively reaching the other hand out to take this shot, hand shaking from the terror. 

I would ask Samantha later how far down this was. 

"Oh, about 1200 feet". 

She has suggested I find a particular spot that was likely going to be far away from the noisy humans but I was not able to find it. But I did see, below the bench where I had sat a pile of boulders that led down to a shelf about 20 or so feet down. In an out of character exhibition of mobility and fool hardiness, I scrambled down the the sharp angled pile of boulders to the flat below.

There was a smallish boulder near the edge of forever and certain death that I sat on. There was a somewhat uncomfortably narrow gap of about three feet between the small chair sized boulder and doom.

"Oh hell no, I'm not hanging my legs over the edge. That's Instagramer certain death." 

I looked down from that spot and noticed a sliver on the land that extended around the point. I could make out vehicles on a road.

The peace of moment was further interrupted by a violin in the distance playing a pop tune, not classical. I looked up and saw a wedding taking place. The sounds of the instrument echoed loudly mixed with the screams of little kids and people talking about all manner of subjects except that spot they were in.

I got off the boulder on the edge and climbed back up the pile to the walkway above. The woman there exclaimed to me, "I could never do that, sitting on the edge like that. I'm terrified of heights!"

"I am too." I replied then I looked down at the boulder and from that vantage point it looked like it was about to fall off the cliff. 

I walked around to the other side where there was this small formation maybe about 10 feet high that looked like a table top. I should have taken a photo of it because I don't know what to call it. A super mini monument. It was not a separate boulder but part of the ledge that stuck up. I climbed up onto it and sat there for a while. The sense of height and near death was particularly strong. 

As I went to climb down I realized all the rocks below were angled towards the cliff edge, the 1180 foot high sheer cliff, and that if I happened to slip and tumble it would be the end of me.

Carefully, I climbed down making very certain to follow the sailing rule of three points of contact. 

In some cases, it's the fear that's the real thing to be afraid of. Fear interrupts the mind and makes the automatic too conscious and that's where mistakes tend to be made. 

I drove back slowly and went to visit Samantha, Ron, and the once feral dog for another afternoon of deep open meaningful conversation the kind of which I am starving for.

It's so tempting, the basic human mind reaching for patterns where there are none, to believe that "things happen for a reason". "Meeting Samantha was supposed to happen." Some souls you cross paths with have a way of altering, or clarifying a life. Powerful. 

But that model of understanding doesn't resonate with me. 

"Things happen when they can." 

And I am so grateful that these moments were able to happen. 

I am about to pack my things up and cram them into the car and head up the last must see route, Route 128. I've had a taste of it and it is spectacular. In this area, one runs out of words to describe the landscape. Awesome. Inspiring. Spectacular. Incredible. Holy Fuck. Whoa. Damn. Oh wow. Holy shit I was not prepared for that. (Next Corner) OH DAMN! and so on. 

Then I will gas up the car and return it. I have been forbidden to clean it. Thinking like a lawyer, I thought maybe that would mean I could let someone else clean it, i.e. get it detailed.

"No." she said. 

Dammit. No means no, most of the time and this time it really does.

So against every impulse I have I will return the car dirty. I am however looking forwards to spending a couple hours in a final conversation for my time here in Moab. Then I'll suit up and hit the road once again. 

Leaving this place is not easy. 

I will have to come back. 

If you are one of the precious few that has made it this far I'd like to point out the list of tabs at the top, particularly the photos tab where I post many more photos than I do to Instagram or Facebook. I'm sorry the pinch zoom isn't implemented, but you can click (or tap) a photo for full screen and then swipe.