Day 60: maybe paradise is a laundromat in utah

Zion, UT – 0mi, 0ft

It’s 9:35pm. Charles and I are sitting in TABS laundromat in Hurricane, UT, listening to the hissing, humming, and squeaking of Speed Queen Commercial Washers. I recently returned from a 20 minute quest to acquire quarters spanning Pizza Hut, Ernie’s General Store, Taco Bell, Little Caesar’s, and Alfredos. Said quarters were ultimately acquired by knocking on the drive-thru window at Alfredo’s (a Mexican restaurant, obviously). We are running five loads of laundry simultaneously. We will not leave this laundromat until 11:27pm.

Spokes has been full of experiences, like this one, that I can only describe as surreal. “What is going on? How did I get here? Why am I doing this?” Right now, as I write this blog, I am sitting on the porch of a general store in Nevada, in a town with a permanent population of 16. All I can hear are crickets and the occasional click-clack of Charles’ and Tian’s keyboards as they blog beside me. There are twinkling Christmas lights adorning a house across the street. It is August. It is 11:50 pm. I am once again waiting for the laundry.

Like I said, surreal. But sorry, I got ahead of myself. Let’s get back to the day at hand.

On Day 60, I woke up in a grain silo. I dilly-dallied my way through the morning, packed myself a pb+j, and joined the other Spokies in the minivan, squeezed between the sliding door and the folded, untethered middle seat. We drove to Hoodoo’s General Store, where Ishaq purchased $25 worth of snacks in exchange for free all-day parking. Ishaq generously shared his snacks with rest of the team. (We joked early on on in the trip that Spokes was like Groundhog Day and we each had some vice that we would need to overcome in order to escape. Ishaq’s was his poor sharing abilities. I’m happy to report he will be escaping Spokes when we reach SF.)

At Hoodoo’s, we met up with our new friend from Bryce, Cameron. He was wearing a bright orange shirt and appeared far more prepared for this hike than most of us, with our drawstring bags and tennis shoes. Together, we caught the shuttle into Zion National Park. We unloaded half a mile later and walked through a maze of empty line lanes, which made me feel like I was at Busch Gardens, or the airport. We re-boarded a different shuttle and continued our journey towards Angels Landing. I passed the shuttle ride watching Ishaq and Tian play Star Realms and the rest of the team play naptime whack-a-mole.

Finally, we arrived at our stop and found the trailhead. The trail began with a bridge crossing a very enticing looking stream. We resisted the urge to abandon our hiking plans and spend the entire day kicking our feet in the sun-dappled water. It was a hard choice. Propelled by the beautiful sights ahead of us, however, we began the climb up to Angels Landing. The first mile and a half of the hike consisted of very steep, narrow switchbacks. We took our time, stopping to rest at the few shaded areas we could find. We discussed how terrible biking either up OR down this trail would be. Ramona is the only one who stands any chance at all of surviving the bike down. The rest of us, Charles observed, would be biking the Devil’s Takeoff. No thank you. After many, many, MANY switchbacks, we made it to the ranger station at the entrance to the last mile of Angel’s Landing. Because this is such a popular hike, entrance to the trail is controlled by a lottery-ed permit system. We were lucky enough to get two permits, so the rangers gave us all the ok to complete the hike. After the ranger station, Angels Landing turns into an steep, adrenaline (and endorphin)-pumping scramble along the rocky ridge line of the canyon. I’d seen pictures of the hike totally swamped with people, so I was happily surprised that we passed few people along the way.

We spread out across the ridge, each step demanding careful attention. Metal handles and chains attached across the rocks helped guide us as we ascended… up and up and up. It was a beautiful day. Blue skies, hot but breezy, a couple wispy clouds. Looking out across the red canyons, I couldn’t believe I was still on the same planet I’d been in just a couple days ago. I still don’t understand how it is possible to have lush, green areas like Zion in the midst of endless, desolate desert. The park was named Zion after the biblical place-name often used as a synonym for Jerusalem and embodying the idea of a place as “refuge” or “sanctuary”. If I was a Mormon pioneer discovering Zion¹ in the late 1800s, I too would have thought I must have stumbled upon some sort of holy land.

Once on the summit, we all sat together and ate our lunches staring out across Zion Canyon. Best pb+j view ever. We made friends with a concerningly friendly squirrel. He really wanted our sandwiches. Unfortunately for him, I wanted my sandwich more. We sat on the top of Angels Landing for what felt like forever but still somehow not long enough. We’ve seen so many beautiful sights on this trip, I sometimes fear I’m becoming less observant of the beauty around us. Not today.

At some point, we left the top of Angel’s Landing and made our way back, all the way down to the river we saw on our way up. This time, at last, we took off our shoes and socks and waded in. Most of us found nice big rocks to sit on and chatted or sat in silence while water gushed around our legs. The sun hung lower in the sky than it had in the morning, and the light dancing on the water made it even prettier than before.

As usual when we are gathered around a body of water, a couple of us started skipping rocks. This particular stream had lots of smooth, flat rocks conducive to elite-level skipping. Unfortunately, despite trying my hand with some objectively perfect rocks, my rock-skipping skills remained unimpressive. Fortunately, they were still better than Ruth’s. It’s a great quality of life that there are almost always people both worse and better than you at things. Nonetheless, my competitive spirit was fired up so I probably could have stayed there for hours, skipping rock after rock incredibly mediocre distances. Practice makes perfect progress, right?

With a glance at my watch, however, I remembered that we remained in a very real predicament. After our decision yesterday to “save laundry for tomorrow”, the clock was ticking down before the laundromat closed and the entire team reached laundry-pocalypse. Several Spokies had already warned me that they had “no clothes left” after two days without laundry. It was time to leave the stream and head back out of the canyon.

We reversed our morning commute to return to our host, Robin’s, house. I originally planned to buy post-hike gelato from the general store, but I was so excited for dinner at Robin’s house that I decided to save my appetite. The night before, our first night at Zion, Robin cooked us what is without a doubt the most delicious meal we’ve had this entire trip. She told us she would be cooking “casserole and salad”, which was intriguing but didn’t strike me as anything out of the ordinary. I was imagining some sort of cheesy rice dish and maybe a caesar salad. No. Robin cooked us no less than 6 separate dishes, all packed full of vegetables, flavor, and love. Chickpea, couscous, and feta salad. Eggplant and tomato with mozzarella and polenta. Beet and jicama salad. Black bean, corn, and pepper salad. Wild mushroom casserole. Mac and tuna. I might be forgetting one. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. It was insane. Anyway, Robin was cooking for us again tonight so we skipped gelato and headed straight back for dinner and to complete the rest of our tasks for the night.

Our laundry mission was becoming dire. With an hour and forty minutes until closing, we zipped out of Robin’s driveway and towards Zion Park Laundry. As we pulled into the parking lot, however, we found a very unwelcome site. Laundromat shuttered. Machines piled outside the building. The interior half ripped apart and empty. A sign on the window said “closed for the next month”:| The nearest laundromat still open was more than twenty miles away, in a town called Hurricane (but pronouned her-a-kun, according to our native Southwesterner, Sarah). This would have been an absolute disaster, except Ruth was already planning to drive to Hurricane to go grocery shopping at Walmart. We quickly made the decision to tag along with her.

Thirty minutes and one beautiful sunset later, we pulled into a (fully functional!), somewhat antique laundromat. I haven’t spent much time in laundromats outside of Spokes², but I think Ramona’s fascination with and love for them has rubbed off on me. In addition to the laundromat adventures I recounted at the very start of this blog, Charles and I supposedly worked on our blogs in the laundromat. I believe we wrote a combined total of about six sentences.³ Somehow, we completed all the laundry, folded all the dry clothes, and finished our blogs before Ruth finished grocery shopping. She arrived, however, bearing strawberries and chocolate, so we forgave her. Actually, the timing was quite perfect! We reunited, bid goodbye to our dear friend the laundromat, and once again hit the road. We pulled back into Robin’s driveway around midnight. I took a shower, Charles did some adulting to find an apartment, and Ruth finished making everyone sandwiches (real Spokes angel 🫶). Finally, I returned to the grain silo and went to sleep. As far as I know, I still haven’t turned into grain.

1. Zion National Park was originally called Mukuntuweap, meaning “straight canyon” by the indigenous Paiute tribe ↩︎
2. This might not be true, actually. I have many fond memories of ripsticking outside the laundromat on base in Sasebo. Maybe I just reignited an old spark? ↩︎
3. This is actually quite impressive work for the two of us. Please comment your congratulations. ↩︎