As it turns out, everyone goes to Moab for recreation, especially on the weekends. Especially on a long weekend. To be honest, after a week and a half of driving, climbing rocks in the Flatirons, staying out late with friends and family, and eating a lot of Whole Foods deli meat and $7 chocolate bars, we had lost track of the passing days and hadn’t even considered this. We had planned on finding a camping ground on the way in, but as we drove towards town, stopping to scope each one out in the dark, we realized that things were looking full. Finally, sometime past 10 p.m., we gave up. We found a pull-out next to the Colorado river, drove as close as we could, and popped open the back of the minivan. I think I found the fact that our sleeping pads and sleeping bags fit perfectly in the back, plus a little extra that stuck out over the cooler, more charming than my boyfriend did. I thought
it was quite wonderful: the moon, a day from being full, lit up the canyon and the outline of the rocks, and we could feel the breeze from the river. There was nobody else to be noisy and obnoxious — aside from the occasional car on the road and the fact that that we could potentially get woken and hassled for not being in a designated camping area. And guess what: it was free.
As it turned out, nobody hassled us, which didn’t stop us from waking up every time a car got close. In the morning, in lieu of a shower, we jumped in the river, headed to town for breakfast, and then went north for the day’s activities.