One of the neat things about living in a ski resort is that you don't have to leave to go on vacation.  Really, look at how many people save their pennies just to come visit our ski town for a few days, and most resorts are in pretty stunningly beautiful areas, anyway.  Sure, we might have to drive 100 miles for a decent pair of shoes or that gotta-have-it hybid vehicle (if we didn't order it off the internet first), but there are plenty of locals who insist that any/everything a person needs can and should be bought locally.

Family and friends usually look forward to the excuse to come and visit us in our resort, and many jokes are made about how many friends a person suddenly finds out he/she has when the move to a ski area occurs.  And with a garage/storage shed/living room full of "toys" for outside adventure which sometimes gather more dust than use, there really is no excuse to go anywhere else.

So why would we leave our privileged mountain resort homes for other places? 

Because we can.  And lots of other reasons, but I'll leave that to the other arm-chair psychologists...

One of my absolute favorite places to get away from valley fever (our version of the cabin type) is Moab, Utah.  Only four hours from my home resort, Moab offers red sandstone arches, bridges, sheer rock walls thousands of feet high, and plenty of warm desert air and sun.   National parks, monuments and BLM land surround the neat little mining/outdoor activity town that experiences the same kind of growing pains (and prices) our ski towns do, but at a slower pace. Moab also gained attention from the outdoor set as they found the national monuments and parks around town as excellent sources to use some of those garage toys that had been gathering dust.  A veritable Mecca for rock climbers, mountain bikers, jeepers, and other desert sport bums, many half frozen resort workers make the pilgrimage from still snowy, muddy, cold Colorado after their resort closes to not-chill-out in Moab.  Trying to get away from your home resort for a break when it feels like you see the same people everywhere you go frequently means making the drive to Moab, where, when you stop at the grocery store, you know everyone else shopping there, because they're from your resort, trying to get away from you. 

I have traveled to Moab literally dozens of times throughout my life and the stories I have would not only make their visitor's center proud, but also frequently have the potential to be incriminating.  Examples run the gamut from wholesome to Mormon-blushing to Dad-please-don't read status, but they mostly involve how great it is to have a warm, cheap and stunningly beautiful/different place to run away to.  There is the story about the time a friend tried to tackle a kangaroo rat in the light of a full moon.  There is the story of watching Haley's comet with nothing more than my jeep, a lawn chair and a blanket, no city lights around for many miles.  The story of "streaking" through a neighbor's campsite, only to find out we knew them from back home.  Lots and lots of stories, always with the warm, dry backdrop present albeit taken for granted.

The elevation is low, the area is arid desert and it can get brutally hot especially around the start of June.  The fact that so many ski resorts close in April and May garners a collective "yahoo" to Moab for those looking to defrost, but not broil, and I wanted to share new stories-to-be with my husband-to-be, Tom. 

Tom had spent many years working an "endless winter", which meant going to whichever hemisphere happened to be hosting the current cold part of the year.  A non U.S. citizen, he had limited experience traveling around America, and I was thrilled that I was going to have a chance to not only warm up after a really, really cold season in Colorado, but that I was going to be his tour guide for his virgin Moab trip.

He had heard so many people testify to the panacea of this oasis from winter, he willingly listened to the advice I gave him in preparation--I wish I had known that the advice/willingly/listen thing had an expiration date that coincided with marriage, but back to the trip...

"Okay, you're going to need to pack Tevas (sandals), shorts and bring sunscreen.  That's about it"

"I don't have sandals or shorts.  I haven't seen summer in a long time, remember?"

"Okay, we'll pick some up along the way"

"What about a jacket?"

"Maybe a light one, but you probably won't need it this time of the year.  It is the desert, and even if it did rain, it dries out almost instantly"

I listed all of the facts about the very small amount of precipitation the area receives, the soft sand we would camp on, and all of the amazing warm outdoor activities we were going to do.

On the drive out of town, conversation wandered from how big we were going to build our campfire (lots of lighter fluid), to wondering if the leaves on the trees would have buds yet, interspersed with fascination at the torrential rain/sleet/gunk we were driving through as we headed west to the Colorado/Utah state line.  I told Tom not to worry about the weather at this point-we were only about halfway there, and Moab never gets long, cold, stormy days at that time of the year. 

As you may have figured out already, the Moab we arrived in that day was not the sunny, warm, dry place I had described.  But being an optimist, I explained that we were probably lucky because a little bad weather might scare off the weak campers, and, of course as I had described previously, the weather always clears and dries quickly in the area. 

In light rain, we drove to a spot not far from town that has a great view.  It is also a few mere yards from the town dump.  You couldn't see or smell the dump from our campsite, though, and it isn't the first place I've been to where the prime living/camping spot is near a landfill, but to the uninitiated it is understandably a strange idea.  Big points to Tom at this point for nodding with me in agreement that the rain would clear and dry, and that putting our tent near the dump was a good idea.  With freezing fingers, I helped him put up the tent (his hands did okay, he had brought his gloves).  The campsite was usually a popular one, and I thought we were lucky that we had grabbed a space.

We went back to town to pick up some groceries and I noticed that we didn't run into anyone we knew at the store, as I promised we would.  In fact, the store was practically empty.  Ignoring these small signs, I told Tom all about the fantastic colors of the rock and the amazing vista we would see as soon as the fog lifted.  Besides, I had never seen fog in the area before, so it wouldn't last long, right?  We bought a lot of firewood, food to be cooked over the fire (basically marshmallows), sunscreen (had forgotten ours at home), and a t-shirt with a gecko (not sure why, just bought it).

The jeep was buffeted from side to side on our drive back up to the campsite by the sudden high winds, and I was glad I had brought my tough 4-season tent.  It would be cozy at night if the wind continued, and the wind would dry up all this nasty water, right?

The tent was flying like a kite, attached by the one tent peg we were able to get into the ground.  Although I'd never seen the area have wind storms that stuck around for any considerable amount of time, we decided to anchor the tent with rope and small trees nearby.  Tom pointed out that the was an indentation in the rock under our campsite that was about tent size, and I assured him that I wouldn't roll around or be uncomfortable because of it, but that wasn't his concern.  Then I addressed his specific concern and I assured him that I had camped in the area so many, many times and he didn't need to worry about flooding where we were.  Remember, I had been there many, many times, right?

I couldn't stop shaking in my t-shirt and shorts, and my toes were obviously blue in my Tevas.  After trying to get a match going, our mental image of a raging campfire modified a bit due to the still strong wind and wet drizzle.  For the time being, a campfire was not going to be an option. 

My stomach growled loudly enough to be heard, and we decided to save the cookout for later, after the storm had passed, and headed back to town for a bite.  I pointed out all of the terrific places to grab a sandwich, a drink, a late dinner-that apparently we'd be able to visit another time since none had opened yet for the season. 

Yeah, I said, this was a little earlier than I usually came out to Moab. 

I showed Tom the cool place to hear live music that we'd have to come back for, since the sign on their door said that they'd gone on a ski vacation in Colorado and wouldn't be back for a week.

We ended up getting something forgettable to eat at the one gas station that was open, and with the jeep's heater on high, and with rain pouring down the whole trip back to camp, prepared ourselves to just hunker down in the tent for the night and wait for clear weather the following day.

Now before you assume you know what we saw, remember that the tent was a 4 season, expedition strength cost-more-than-my-car tent.  Nothing inside would get wet, unless something wet was brought inside.

Nothing wet had been brought inside, so that wasn't the problem.  The wind wasn't the issue either because of the rope-down we had done (quite possibly, one could have used the rope job we did as a hammock, too). 

As we came around the corner to our campsite we saw the tent, floating.  Literally bobbing like a boat moored to a buoy.  Ever the optimist, Tom skipped over puddles to the tent, unzipped the tentfly and looked inside.  He came back to the jeep, where I stayed huddled by the heater vent with a big smile and thumbs up-everything inside had stayed dry!

Even through the snowflakes that had begun to come down he could see I was starting to cry, and he did a wonderful thing.  He went back to his side of the jeep, opened the door and got in.  He said everything inside of the tent was dry and safe.  He then asked me if it was okay if we could get a hotel room for just this one night because he had a sudden urge to share a hot tub together.  And he said he was sure the storm would blow over and we'd be able to experience this amazing place as I (and others) had described it later on during the trip.

We did camp for the majority of the rest of that trip and it was the start of a lot of great new Moab stories for us as a couple.  There have been many warm times since that first trip (and some cold ones too, but now we prepare a little better), but driving home after that first trip neither of us missed the irony of looking forward to going back to snowy, cold Colorado to warm up....truly, there's no place like home!