THE DEPARTURE 4/24/08

Rare experiences rescue our lives from the ordinary. Sort of a truism, yes, but essential nonetheless. How forgettable life would be—how easily days and weeks of work would blur together into years of normalcy—without something unusual to break it all up. You don’t remember last week’s conference call, but last year’s trip to Paris? The road trip you took in Spain? That hike in the Rockies? Whatever they are, these uncommon events—of various scale and expense—balance out the daily grind of modern life. They make life worth living.

I’m on my way back to California, to the patterns of urban life. With me I’m taking a revised look at the world and an altered appreciation for our country’s geography. I’m grateful for that. And grateful for the Land Rover Adventure that made it all happen. Maybe I should starting thinking about Namibia for next year.

THE LAST NIGHT 4/23/08

After resting up, our group gathers together in the spacious media room. Here, over glasses of wine (and an occasional margarita), the event photographer, Glen Davis, shares with us all the images he captured over the past few days. We marvel at the landscapes. And the vehicles. And each other. And we talk. Over onion soup, cucumber salad, lamb, and gnocchi, we talk of our experiences here in Moab.

THE SECOND DESCENT 4/23/08

I drive in the Range Rover Sport on the way down. It’s cushier than the LR3, the seats hold you more. Like a cockpit. But there’s less clearance in this scar, less suspension, and it’s more of a challenge to climb the descent. It’s an interesting lesson in character. Each Land Rover has its own particular sense of self.

Off-road driving is physically demanding work. It requires constant, vigilance. Constant attention needs to be paid to the terrain. By the time our cars finish the descent, make our way back down the landscape to the entrance to the trail, we’re all rather fatigued. And utterly amazed at the views we saw, the nature we witnessed. We’re all thirsty, too.

A quick jaunt back on the smooth, paved roads of Moab, and we pull into Milt’s Stop & Eat, a small, sweet-smelling burger joint in operation here in downtown Moab since the 1950s. All of us—every single one—orders a milkshake. Some with malt. Others with pineapple. There’s an immense sense of accomplishment and pleasure here. We enjoy the shakes, and shuffle almost sadly into the vehicles one last time.

DEATH ROW 4/23/08

We reach “Death Row”, a curving natural amphitheatre of rock. After a steep descent, we park all the vehicles here, and the Land Rover team sets up supplies for another outstanding lunch. On the rocks, in the middle of the desert, on a sandstone mound at the edge of the La Sal range, we have sautéed brown rice with pork, chicken, and grilled vegetables. Cheesecake and fruit for dessert.

A Jeep passes us. The driver knows one of our guides, asks with a grin: “Do you have any caviar you’d like to share?” It’s a cute nod to the luxuriousness for which Land Rovers are also known. There’s a truth to the comment, oddly enough—and we’re all fine with it. To drive a Land Rover is to have an urge to experience the best the planet has to offer. Caviar included.

HELL’S REVENGE TRAIL 4/23/08

The rock starts up from the sand. We climb onto them, climbing up from the sand—and suddenly find ourselves on a tightrope. A tightrope of rock. A thin line of rounded slick-rock with 100-foot drop-offs on either side. We drive straight.

We cruise into the trail’s canyons, work our way up and over a handful of sandstone mounds, gasping and holding our breath as the vehicles take 35° inclines, and as the landscape around expands. Even with occasional gusts of wind, one can see all the way to the horizon. To the end of the state, practically.

“How many people never see this?” Burns asks. And it’s true. Not many of us get a chance to see this kind of landscape. We do. Our vehicles let us. We see soft rolling rock hills. We climb them with ease, watching the vista drop down on either side of us. It’s smooth and beautiful—and requires a different kind of technical expertise than the tough, loose rock-crawling we tackled the day before.

We stop on top of a petrified sand dune, look out as the clouds pass over the sun, changing shadows on the landscape. We go down an incline—a 40° grade, easily.

As we make progress, I notice the LR3 engaging its ABS as it descends rock formations. I ask about it. It’s an ingenious use of the system. More so than for emergencies, the ABS allows for superior control if any wheel slippage occurs. That’s the essence of these vehicles. They are in total control. At all times. And they make innovative use of technology to support virtually any off-road challenge.

The sights are truly immense. All of us—the Range Rover, the Range Rover Sport, the LR3s—each of us takes time out to step outside and look at the landscape. We gawk so much we get an hour behind schedule. Which is fine. This is what we’re here for. The terrain is varied. Sand parts thrown between mini rock shelves and outcroppings. But it’s all quite a bit smoother and more comfortable than the craggy rocks of the previous day.

We stop at the top of an expansive 360° view of the La Sal Range, the Colorado River, and the town of Moab far below us—which looks so small beneath us it could be a miniature garden.

Another surprise. We’re heading down an extremely steep slope (another grade in the upper 30° range), and I feel the LR3 lift—even beyond its normal raised suspension. I learn that the vehicle is self-adjusting, extending its suspension automatically as it senses it needs a slight bit more clearance. As Burns puts it, “the vehicle senses that there’s not enough terrain to grip—and it finds it.” These Land Rovers are constantly thinking, and it’s a marvel to consider the amount of engineering that’s gone into their abilities, and the constant computations that go into each movement.

THE NEXT MORNING 4/23/08

I get up earlier. I want to see something of a sunrise. A quick splash of water, and I’m out the front steps of my room, in time to catch the sun pushing its way through some cloud cover. I see Canada geese on the river on the right. And catch some of the reflection of the red rock bluffs in the moving waters of the river.

A hearty breakfast, and we’re off again. The morning drive is bracing. And beautiful. I have the window down in my LR3, and take a few breaths of the dry air. The canyons flow by us, as striking today as they were yesterday. They are so tall, so entirely unexpected.

And then we arrive in downtown Moab, a pastoral Midwest town. Brick buildings, tree-lined streets. We work our way through some pedestrian intersections, make a left on Mill Creek Drive, pass bike shops, quaint houses, small-town parks, a cemetery—suddenly, the road rises up, and I look down to see the valley below us, these canyons, a straight phalanx of red rock lining up toward the horizon.

We arrive at the entrance to the Hell’s Revenge Trail. And it’s immediately apparent that this is a different kind of a day. From the trail head, one can look up at the softly rounded slick-rock above us—and a massive line of sandstone running north, called “Lion’s Back”. There’s nothing too rough about it. No loose rock. No steep angles or “waterfalls”. A smooth, rounded hill of sandstone. A beautiful playground. This is pure climbing. A lesson in grip.

THE DESCENT 4/22/08

The way down is as remarkable as the way up. I can’t help but look over and notice Burns is not placing his foot on the brake. His foot is off the brake. Off the brake, and going downhill.

This is Hill Descent Control in its purest form. The LR3 is in complete control, lowering itself down the rock almost without any human interaction. It’s a level of control and safety that sort of catches the breath. Not unlike what happens when we look out and see the La Sal Range in the distance as we make our way back down the trail.

Burns turns to me: “I never get tired of these mountains. I could live up here forever.”

Heading back to the resort, the highway feels like driving on pillows. After a day of challenging rocks and insanely-steep inclines, it’s almost a relief to drive flat, and feel the cushion of paved road.

I arrive at my room, exhausted and nicely exfoliated by sand. I take a quick shower, and then head to the dining room. Tonight we have tomato soup topped with chile relleno (insanely good), Caesar salad, Utah trout with brown rice, and a glass or two of chardonnay.

Conversation is extraordinary. And unexpected. Our group, sitting around the dinner table—worldly off-roaders and subdued doctors alike—we all talk over the day’s events, and weave our way through conversations about politics and religion—two almost impossible subjects. Everyone said something, everyone listened, everyone got to know each other. This was our first night.

THE HALF-PIPE 4/22/08

The trail evens out at the top of the shelf. We reach an expanse of sand. We switch our the LR3’s Terrain Response setting to Sand Mode, which allows for sure-footed acceleration and superior control over the slippery, finely-grained trail surface.

We reach another section of medium-sized boulders, lined up in front of us in step-like shelves. It’s intense. Gripping the wheel, I look to our guides for instruction. Burns directs me, finding a good path in the rock—a “line” as he calls it. I ease the vehicle up and over the shelf, setting it down gently—riding up the face of the rock like a living, breathing creature.

This is the amazing part about these vehicles. You look outside, you look up and forward, you see these rocks in front of you—and you can’t believe it’s crossable. You simply cannot believe it. But the Land Rover moves up and over, assuredly, carefully, effortlessly, softly.

And then we’re at one of the most exhilarating portions of the drive. A thin, V-shaped cleft in the rock, like the trough of an ocean wave. There’s only enough room for our vehicle’s wheels to balance on their outer rims. I move forward. Cautiously. Burns stands in front of the LR3, points the way. And with only the outer rims making contact, the Land Rover makes its way through the cleft—makes it way through and up the rock.

And then we’re at the top. We reach a little bluff of rounded rock that opens into a steep canyon—an archway, though which we can see the Colorado running far, far below. We stop for lunch. Pita gyros with grilled chicken and vegetables. Fruit for dessert. And plenty of water.

CROISSANTS AND COFFEE 4/22/08

After two hours of climbing, our caravan takes a break at the base of a rather nasty-looking rock formation. It’s called the “Waterfall”. It’s a series of slick-rock shelves linked together, one after the other, like some intimidating sandstone ladder.

I share a cup of coffee with Ken. I learn that, after his military service, he took part in the Land Rover sponsored Camel Trophy, the last event of its kind. He beat out 16 other teams to finish 2nd in the world, crossing 2,500 miles of jungle terrain in Borneo. Ken isn’t the kind of guy to take second. He’s preparing for a new trip across the North and South American continents. He’s the kind of figure you’d want with you on any expedition. He commands confidence.

After croissants and hot coffee, we ride up the “Waterfall”. From the front seat of the LR3, you can see only the steep rock face lifting in front of you—and blue sky as the approach angles upwards. Theres’s an element of trust in place here. Without seeing exactly what’s moving under our vehicles, you put your trust in the engineering. You put some faith in the machine. It’s nerve-racking at moments. Thrilling at all times.

After making it up the “Waterfall”, I step out to view the shelves we just mastered. It’s astounding that a vehicle can drive such a thing. I quickly find out that it’s not always so easy. A group of Jeeps arrives below us. They have trouble making the approach. I hear the drivers shouting and cursing. Which is unfortunate. In the absence of technique (or technology—whatever it was that the Jeeps were missing), the enjoyment of the landscape vanished.

POISON SPIDER MESA TRAIL 4/22/08

We get to the head of the Poison Spider Mesa Trail at a little over 9:00am. The vehicles are all placed into Rock Crawl Mode. Suspension is raised for maximum clearance. Low gears are selected. And we’re off.

My LR3 floats forward, rolling over the first large boulders in our path, skimming over them. The sound of loose rocks can be heard scrunching under the treads. And then an occasional moment of silence as the tires grip the sandstone.

The rock formations are simply stunning. Exotic, petrified sand dunes lift up next to us like the backs of sleeping mammoths. We move over them, around them, up and down them. In the lead LR3, Burns shifts to a manual gear setting as he declines. He also makes use of a special brake/acceleration technique that places both feet on both pedals simultaneously. Control, I quickly learn, is the essence of good off-road driving. And control is what Land Rovers effortlessly provide.

THE FIRST MORNING 4/22/08

The alarm goes off at 6:30. Were it any other day, if I didn’t look out and see the red rock bluffs rising above the Colorado River in some morning sunlight creeping in from the East, I’d sleep in. I don’t sleep it. A quick splash of water, a quick collecting of my things (sunscreen, an apple, my notebook), and I’m out the door, walking alongside the river.

On the way to the resort restaurant, I pass by our Land Rovers. They’re all lined up at the front entrance to the resort, glistening, waiting for us. They’ve been fueled and prepped by our Land Rover Adventures team.

Breakfast is perfect. Hot food if you want hot food. Cereal if you want cereal. And some great, ambling morning conversation (Hillary won Pennsylvania). I have a bowl of bran flakes (people say it’s good for you, but it doesn’t taste nearly as good as the scrambled eggs I have with potatoes and green peppers—the resort’s kitchen knows a thing or two about great food).

Then we’re all up from the table, and outside, standing in the cool morning air—loading up. Lots of gear in the back of our LR3.

We meet the other folks in the group. There are twelve of us. A Range Rover enthusiast from the East Coast. Wistful blue eyes. Retired. He made his reservations just days before, heading out here on a whim.

There are two father and son teams. A duo with roots in the South. A wedding photographer and human resources director. The father here with his son as a graduation gift. The other father/son duo: a political science doctor and an anesthesiologist from Salt Lake City. Palpably excited like the rest of us.

Our instructors are three. Jim is there. So is Ken Cameron, a former military topography specialist, and a self-professed dabbler in all things vehicular. And then there’s the director of this entire adventure program. Robert Burns. Sandy, salt and pepper hair. He could be a distant relative to Chuck Norris. Or maybe a cross between MacGuyver, Eric Clapton, and Phil Lesh. A man whom, as I’ll find, has a profound passion for the natural world, and an almost unfathomable knowledge of Land Rovers.

Each us—whether familiar with off-road driving or not—are all here for the same reason. We share a need for rare experiences, and have a rather large affinity towards the landscapes that surround us. We love Land Rovers, too. All of us.

Burns goes over the basics. Hand signals—the gestures that each of the instructors will be giving us as they guide is through the difficult parts of the terrain—are covered. As is our destination. We’re off to the Poison Spider Mesa Trail today. It’s a twelve-mile winding path of petrified sandstone called “slick-rock”, a tightly-grained sandstone that grips our vehicles perfectly.

We all mount up. Burns takes the lead LR3, leading the pack of Land Rovers out the front gates of the resort. After twenty minutes of sweetly winding roads curving alongside the Colorado, we’re suddenly looking up at canyons of red rock. Straight, beautiful canyons on either side of the road. This is “Wall Street”—90 degrees of sheer rock sandstone, rising straight up from the ground.

But these aren’t normal sandstone walls. A closer look (we all pull over and walk up to the rocks), reveals ancient Anasazi petroglyphs—timeworn drawings carved into the sides of the antediluvian sandstone. Warriors standing with shields. Families with arms interlocked, standing against the ticking of time. The carvings are from 600-1300 AD. So very long ago.

THE RANCH 4/21/08

We arrive at the Sorrel River Ranch Resort. It’s a working ranch with stables, appaloosas, trees, and grazing land in the middle of a valley of red peaks and rock towers. There’s rustling wind through threes, wooden buildings, and an aging sunset.

We have time for a dinner at the resort’s upstairs restaurant (wild salmon with macadamia nuts, grilled vegetables, a beautiful Napa Valley sauvignon blanc, and chocolate cake for dessert). We head off to our rooms. They’re beautiful, detailed with wood. The Colorado River rolls its way in front of my doorstep. It was a long day of traveling. I set my alarm for an early rise in the morning. Tomorrow is our first day of exploration.

THE ARRIVAL 4/21/08

We’re met up at the airport by Jim Swett, one of the Land Rover instructors who will be guiding us through Moab. Jim has close-cropped hair. He wears Ray-Bans. He has a healthful swagger to him, an undeniable air of purpose and confidence. He helps with our bags.

The LR3 is waiting for us outside baggage claim. It’s silver and glistening on the outside, black, clear, and spacious on the inside. Jim gives some simple instructions—seat adjustments, GPS navigation entry—and then the Sirius Satellite network tunes in. Bon Jovi. DEVO. We’re getting the classic 80s channel, and we love it. This is our vehicle. Jim warns us about the view we’ll see as we drive in to our destination. It’s so beautiful, he says, it’s not easy keeping eyes on the road. We drive off from the airport.

We follow a highway. It turns off into a flat arterial road, which starts cutting across a landscape that quickly changes into rolling foothills. And then we see them:

Rock formations. Small at first, then rising up expanding in front of us. Then towering over us. Red rock, layers of earth, eons of history. Immense and beautiful and exotic at the same. Then, the Colorado River on the right, moving quickly. And suddenly I’m aware of the point of it all. There are places in our world that simply deserve to be seen. If you miss them—if you skip out on experiencing them—you’re skipping out on a larger experience of life. Looking at these red Utah rocks, I figure one owes it to oneself to see the world for how it truly is. I’m immensely lucky to be here.

THE FLIGHT OUT 4/21/08

I’m taking a week off from work. I’m on a plane to the Midwest, to the canyonlands of Utah at the foothills of the La Sals—to off-roading with a team of Land Rovers. I’m here for a Land Rover Adventure, a two-day excursion into the desert with a Range Rover, a Range Rover Sport, and two LR3s accompanying me. It’s a rare chance to experience a part of the country that I’ve never seen before, on the backs of my favorite vehicles on the planet. It’s a rare moment to catch a memory that might live longer than a spreadsheet. Or a work review. Or traffic…

I know I’m no longer in Southern California when, flying in to Grand Junction, I can see, instead of the usual freeways, mesas and rock bluffs pushing out to the distance like massive wooden tabletops. A ridge of rock bluffs rise up to the plane as we land. The bluffs are tall, standing up against the dry, desert atmosphere like sentries. The plane touches down. Beyond the tarmac, I can see the desert. It has a glassy sheen to it in the afternoon light. Dry rocks. Occasional dry plants.