June 13, 2009 - 7:00 am.Alarm buzzing, groggily scrambling to shut it off, I flop back into bed to totally allow my mind to awaken. 7:10 am - I can't justify procrastinating getting out of bed any longer. I have to be to work at 10:00 am and I committed myself last night to take my father, Mark, wife, ShaeLee, and most importantly, beautiful black lab/greyhound mix, Vita out riding on 4-wheelers this morning.
I live in a castle on my .53 acre piece of Heaven, in the quaint little town of Silver Reef, Utah. Silver Reef is the preeminent old-west ghost town. Louis L'Amour himself could not have imagined a more rough and tumble mining town, complete with a Wells Fargo Stage Coach building, general store, livery stable, several saloons, a newspaper called the "Silver Echo," 3 cemeteries, a jail, and even its own China Town. In its hey-day, Silver Reef, which was formerly called "Rock Pile" (you'll see how appropriate this name was if you ever get the chance to see my yard) was home to gun-slingers, miners, cow-punchers, cowboys, Indians, scarlet women, gambling, and drinking. For more detailed information and a history of Silver Reef, please see:
http://www.legendsofamerica.com/ut-silverreef.htmlhttp://www.woodworkersauction.com/silverreef.htmToday, Silver Reef is my home, backdrop, staging area, and canvas for my adventures. From my front window, the foreground view is of the white silver reef itself, which is the only place in the world where silver was, and still is, found in sandstone, I can gaze upon the lofty 10,000 ft. peak of Pine Mountain, and in the middle are the rusty, red cliffs extending north from the Red Cliffs Desert Reserve. The view is a veritable rainbow of rock and sky. As the light changes throughout the day one can literally watch the colors shift throughout the spectrum.
Perched at an elevation of almost 4,000 ft., I live in the high desert. Characterized by sand sage, pinyon & juniper, yucca, prickly pear, desert almond, and myriad other plants that you don't want to touch. The truth is that it isn't only the snakes and scorpions that are dangerous. Most every living creature either bites or stings...including the plants. I am blessed with more wild-life than I can name or count. You'll have to ask ShaeLee about the song birds that abound. My favorites are the raptors. I have had a few awe inspiring experiences watching golden eagles soar, peregrines dive, and red-tails play. I even once saw the carrion eating turkey vulture take off with a 4' snake in its mouth. The quail are cute to watch in our front yard, and the wild turkeys and peacocks, with their decorated feathers and noble mating rituals, add a dignified air.
7:30 am - Vita can't wait any longer. Her tail won't stop wagging, and truthfully, the high pitched, repetitive whine is starting to get annoying. She is waiting for the word "go" (her favorite). She is as athletic and loving as they come, and craves our morning jaunts. They are the highlight of her day. Every morning, like clock work, she instigates the drill. Get out of bed, visit the potty (for both of us), brush teeth, put on dark-yellow Prana climbing shorts, and...Run! Should I ignore her and sleep in, or commit the unforgivable sin of waking up extra early to go climbing without her, sweet girl that she is, forgives me and gives me a nuzzle that would make the queen's sentries at Buckingham Palace melt.
7:31 am - We're all ready to go. The door opens, Vita is first out of the gate, followed by ShaeLee, it is a race to get the ATVs started and see whom it will be who will have the most fun. ShaeLee and I are on the big, red, Arctic Cat 650, Dad is solo on the smaller machine. We inch the toys out of the garage and gun the throttle down the rock-chip and tar street, waking any of our neighbors who may still have been asleep. Today is a cool, slightly overcast morning. As we fly toward the dirt road, I enjoy feeling the faintly humid air whip past my face, a telling sign of elusive rain that may yet come. A hundred yards out of the garage brings us to the end of the pavement. Let the fun commence. I am always amazed at how fast Vita can run when I am on a 4 wheeler. As the speedometer inches up tick by tick, I press into the throttle even more to see just how fast she is. 15...16...18...20...22 mph! No way I could ever keep up. She is fast. Although Vita could probably run faster, I back off the throttle, ShaeLee has reminded me to watch the road. "I am," I chide back to her, knowing full well that I almost ran us into a bush, or a rock, or some such obstacle I really should pay attention to.
Down into the gully, climb to the top of the white, sandstone silver reef. Stop at the 540 ft. deep mine shaft at the top of the hill, walk out over the precariously protected opening, and look down into the abyss. This place is cool. Quick, back onto the ATVs. Time is creeping toward the hour of return. Pshaw! Live in the moment. Push out the concern of making it to work on time. Down we go, into the valley beyond the silver reef, between the striking red cliffs, where Leeds Creek snakes its way down to Harrisburg and drops into Quail Lake. Dad points out a canyon, and asks, "can we go there?"
"Absolutely," is the response. He has spotted "box canyon," a break in the red cliffs that seldom flows with the collected torrent of summer thunder storms. "Lead the way," I say, inviting him to explore on his own, all the while knowing the path of least resistance. Box Canyon is a frequent site of Vita's and my adventures. Skirting the edge of the Crocker's 80 acre ranch, we gain access to the mouth of the canyon before our road abruptly ends. Since Dad is the guest, I ask if he wants to keep riding or go for a walk up the canyon. Up we go, treading lightly over the sandy, boulder strewn, creek bed, filled with tell tale signs of previous floods. As the canyon narrows, time determines that we should head back. We've received a taste for what the canyon can offer and determine to be back sooner rather than later.
Feeling that impending eventuality that the first Saturday of October will arrive sooner than I think, and the St. George Marathon will be upon me, I opt to let ShaeLee and Dad go on ahead on the machines while I run the few miles back to the house with Vita by my side. Crossing Leeds creek without getting one's feet wet is normally just a short hop. The still melting snows from Pine Mountain, however, make today's crossing a little more involved. Vita, of course, welcomed the drink, and short rest, submerging her belly in the cool mountain spring water.
Creek crossed, the heavens turn on the faucet ever so gently and we welcome the cool, summer sprinkle for the home stretch. Up the hill, past the 540 ft. deep mine shaft, down into the dry valley, back up to the end of the dirt, onto the rock chip and tar pavement, and finish with a sprint...more like a dry-heaving, panting, brisk jog, gasping for oxygen. The marathon is going to come too soon.
