Live passionately, even if it kills you, because something is going to kill you anyway. ~Webb Chiles

Lake Powell, Utah

Hysteric is the word I would use to describe the series of unfortunate, yet surprisingly fortunate, events which occurred this past weekend as a simple trip to Lake Powell turned into the most bizarre, inexplicable trip I have ever experienced.

The trip was meant to commence at 3:30, however, a seemingly simple task (such as printing off directions from a FB event link) turned into an hour long project. What was a bit more concerning, and would turn into the major problem, was that the Google Map Phil was trying to decipher was sketchy to say the least. Directions were fine until they led to an undisclosed dirt road that apparently would lead to the campsite by the lake. Nikki and I, rearing to go, decided Phil had used enough time and made the decision that we would figure it out when the time came. 

And here is where the trip turned hysterical. Thanks to Google Maps' awful directions and Phil's procrastinating to get directions until after our original departure time, the team found ourselves driving for quite a while on Hwy 95 with no distinct gravel road in sight. We turned around a few times and went to the one gravel road we could find. This "gravel" road turned into a treacherous rocky terrain. If you've never seen a VW Bug before, you should understand one thing: it is not an off-roading vehicle. After going maybe a mile and a half in, Gizmo came against a great foe of uneven rocky terrain. I was too unskilled to save Giz from his underbelly being punctured as we attempted to cross over it. As I backed him up to try a different way, Phil notified me that poor Gizzy was leaking. So, I parked Giz and Phil checked underneath him and made the call that it was not water leaking out. There we were, lost, literally in the middle of nowhere, with a leaking Gizmo. Fortunately, I had packed a flashlight which we used as we let Gizmo to search for this supposed campsite. 

The weather was perfect. It was nice and cool, not too breezy, there was a huge, bright full moon which illuminated a lot of the landscape, and the actual hike was easy. After our hour and a half unsuccessful effort to hike to safety, we started our trek back to Gizmo. Phil pulled through with a tent, colored muffins, and Blackjack which got us through the night.  

The night before I had made the team decision to not think about what we were going to do the next day, but now it was the next day and the time had arrived to figure out what on earth we were going to do. We figured being in the middle of nowhere was useless and that we needed to at least reach some form of civilization. So, we packed up camp and carefully drove Gizmo back toward the direction of a Hite road we had tried the night before. As we tenderly traveled down 95, maybe about 5 miles down (literally on the other side of the rock we camped at) we passed a brown sign which read "Farley's Canyon and Lake Powell 3," along with a gravel, dirt road.... I turned Giz around and we attempted another off-roading excursion on this gravel road towards Lake Powell. This time, however, we saw Devin's car on a far-off hillside, on the other side of another rock. We pulled up to a porta potty station and found a yellow note from our friends welcoming us to the campsite. The team rejoiced! We then began looking for the road to sanctuary.

Once again, it seemed as if we were on the homestretch. We could see the cars, we had a sign, but the road managed to elude us. After honking for a couple minutes, to no avail, the team gathered water for another hike. We hiked straight up the middle rock to the top and saw that the only way to the campsite was to off-road up the rocky hill. So, onward we went, down the hill and up another one until we finally reached out intended destination.

We spent the rest of the day tubing, cliff jumping (not diving...), and relaxing in good company and comfort. The next morning we broke camp and went to visit Gizmo. Giz's car mechanics, Rob and Devin (with Dev's flashlight headband) figured out that Giz was not leaking oil, but antifreeze from a crack in the radiator. A MUCH better situation than a punctured oil pan. 

Gizmo luckily made it to the Hite Ranger Station in one piece. One would think that a Ranger Station would have some sort of cellular service in case of emergencies that occur in the middle of the desert. This was not the case with the Hite Ranger Station. After a failed cell service search at mile marker 51, Jennifer (volunteer ranger) kindly let me use the ranger phone to call my insurance company.

Rob and I went back to our troupe and Rob decided to stay with me (an absolute gem)  and wait for the tow. Our friends bon voyaged and Rob and I began our adventure of killing 3 1/2 hours. Which actually turned out to be quite fun. Eventually, Tim the tow trucker, white beard, gruffy, burnt arms and all, hooks Gizzy up and lifts him onto the flatbed while Rob and I hopped into the luxurious backseat of the tow truck. It was a sweet deal. Super comfy, tons of room and we didn't have to awkwardly sit up front with Tim. And I got to save gas money.

The first part of the ride was nice; I dozed off into a deep sleep. The next thing I remembered was Rob waking me up and then looking through the back window to see Gizmo crash into an electrical box on the side of the road. The chain that had been holding Gizmo onto the flatbed of the tow truck was in the middle of the highway and Gizmo was 3-4 feet off the flatbed, crashed into an electrical box. Was I shocked? Yes. Was I surprised? Not really. Why not add this onto the rest of the past 3 days of my Powell adventure? The damages were anything but slight. *Gizmo has been claimed as 'totaled' with damages amounting to $9,000. R.I.P. Gizmo Chocolate Bear Schwartz* Luckily, Tim's boss said he would cover all the costs of damage on Gizmo. ROCK SOLID! Blessing in disguise? Methinks yes.

This trip was hysterical in the fact that the actual events of those 3 days should be turned into one of those ridiculous, unrealistic, unlucky road trip comedies. Most people go boating at Lake Powell, I’ve learned that my life refuses to fashion itself after the activities of most people. Hurrah for the middle of nowhere.

Peace and Blessings