I had some extra time since I had left Zion rather early so decided to take an indirect route which took me through the mountains to Hurricane and Apple Valley in Utah as well as Colorado City and Moccasin in Arizona. It snowed. And rained. And snowed some more. The higher elevations had several inches of the white stuff on the ground. Back in Utah, I stopped in Kanab at one of the smallest McDonald's restaurants that I have ever seen! But they had free Wifi. At one point it was almost a white-out with big flakes of snow blown by the swirling wind. But that didn't last very long. By the time I left, about an hour later, it was still cold but it had stopped snowing and the sun was shining!
Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park is a few miles north of Kanab. I checked into the campground and found a site. Then, after adding another layer of outerwear, went off to play in the sand dunes. Did I mention that it was cold and windy? But the sun was shining. Well, sometimes it was – when it wasn't hidden by clouds. Still, it was a wonderful day.
The two largest dunes, in the distance, are about 100 feet high. And yeah, I climbed to the top of both of them. To me, they didn't seem to have that “coral pink” color although the color did change depending upon the intensity of the sun and shadows from the clouds.
above: The southern big dune as seen from the top of the other one.
Though I've lived in many different places over the course of my life, they have been mostly in Europe. Within the US my travels have been limited to the East Coast, and my trip to Las Vegas for Interbike was the first time I'd ventured west of Pennsylvania. Popular culture is saturated with images of Vegas, and I thought I knew pretty well what to expect: casinos, bright lights, neon signs, drunken merrymaking... If in the right kind of mood, I could see the kitsch appeal. But what I did not expect were unfinished construction projects, miles of empty parking lots, and a funny sense of being in the middle of a Broadway production that had its funding cancelled before the set could be completed. Maybe I wasn't supposed to arrive during the daytime (or be awake during daylight at all while there?), but the Vegas I saw looked not unlike the outer boroughs of former Soviet bloc cities, with their faded concrete high-rises and muddy vacant lots.
Equally fascinating was that Las Vegas seemed to be intentionally "anti-pedestrian" in design. I have no background in city planning, so it's hard to explain exactly what I mean. But with the exception of the smallish main strip - which is indeed walkable and feels like Disneyworld on crack - the city is made of these self-contained complexes accessible either by car or Monorail (they really try to push the Monorail, but it was mostly empty every time I used it).
Even in the city center, the roads are multi-lane and highway-like. Sometimes there are sidewalks, but they are lined with tall guard rails and there are no provisions for crossing the street except maybe every mile or so.The hotel I stayed at was technically around the corner from the convention center where Interbike was held, yet it was recommended I take the Monorail to it. Well, one night I had this crazy idea to walk. I could clearly see the hotel right in front of me - how bad could it be? It took about an hour and a half, because there was no way to walk to it in anything resembling a straight line. I had to walk around stadium-sized empty lots surrounded with chainlink fences, and when I tried to take shortcuts through hotels, I was forced to navigate along winding paths designed to maximise my exposure to slot machines. It was surreal. As for riding a bike, I remember someone posting a ridiculous statistic on twitter, claiming that 100% of Las Vegas residents who cycle report being hit by a car at least once. Having now been there, I no longer find it implausible.
While of course I've known that places like Las Vegas exist, I guess I've done my best to avoid them - choosing to live in areas that are walkable, which for me equates with livable. Being faced with the reality of what a city like this is actually like was jarring. I know that places like Boston comprise only a small fraction of the American urban landscape, while a model similar to Las Vegas is more common. I know it, but I try not to think about it, because the realisation fills me with a dread that I don't know how to overcome.
Will Spring ever arrive this year? Looking at all the new snow on the trail as we braved another "spring ride," I began to seriously doubt it. Nonetheless, my Rivendell is back in action after a long winter.
Now, here's an admission: Although the Sam Hillborne is super-comfortable, when it comes to shorter rides without major hills I've come to prefer a more pared-down roadbike. In fitting the Rivendell with a front rack, decalleur, handlebar bag and good sized saddlebag, we made a conscious decision to optimise it for long distance travel and exploration at the expense of simplicity. Though individually each accessory is fairly lightweight, all together they do add heft to the bike and make it more difficult to take in and out of the apartment. And I find it inconvenient to detach and reattach the bags depending on what kind of ride I am taking, so I would rather just leave them on.
I have a routine 30 mile ride that I do whenever weather permits, and on this ride my ideal bike would be a lightweight single speed (fixed/free flip-flop hub), with a tiny saddlebag and no fenders. Currently, my Moser and Bianchi share this role, with the Moser being the fixed gear and the Bianchi essentially acting as the freewheel singlespeed, since the 2x6 gearing is so unfinicky that it allows me to forget it's there. By contrast, the 3x8 gearing on the Rivendell feels cumbersome on a ride where I don't need to shift gears.
I am not the first person to experience the epiphany that "for fast and short rides I prefer Roadbike A, while for long and hilly rides I prefer Roadbike B." Still, I was surprised to feel myself developing this preference - particularly the single speed and no fenders part of it. There is something to be said for just being able to throw a bike down on the grass and not worry, for pedaling fast and not playing around with shifters. At times I value this simplicity and ease more than I value load capacity, gearing, comfort, and yes - even keeping my clothes clean and dry. There, I said it!
You really 
I was awestruck by its size and intensity of color, and we were still well over a mile away!
A zoomed-in view of Sawyer Glacier.
As we moved in closer we began to realize just how big this thing was. And we were all amazed by the amount of ice floating in the water.
A close-up of a portion of the face of the glacier. Note that the upper portion, or second tier level, is now hidden from our view.
Of course, calving was what everyone wanted to see - and hear! Me too!
But I was also enthralled by all of the ice that completely surrounded the boat. The ice was constantly on the move. Every time there was an event there was also a surge in the movement of the ice. When all was quiet you could hear the ice moving – each piece scraping against the other and making a crackling, tinkling sound.
It wasn't a solid mass of ice but was made up of pieces of all different sizes.
When we first came into view of the glacier, Steve had told us to look for the seals laying on the ice. He had been in contact with two Rangers who were perched on the side of a cliff to the right of the glacier. Their task was to count the seals and at the time we arrived they had tallied more than 1,000 of them! They were everywhere, generally close to the perimeter of the cove.
There wasn't a lot of movement on their part. One would occasionally lift up its head and look around but mostly they were just taking it easy.
The seals didn't seem to be bothered one bit when ice fell off of the glacier. They just rolled with the flow.
There was quite a bit of activity with the glacier. This was a fairly large event. You can see ice still cascading down while the spray from the big chunk that fell flies up in the air. We stayed at Sawyer Glacier for nearly two hours and by the end of that time, I was freezing! But I would have stayed longer if I could. It was impressive, exciting, exhilarating. Quite simply, fantastic!
Before we left, however, Captain Steve noticed a seal not too far away and maneuvered the boat closer to it. The seal lifted its head and looked at us. It made no attempt to leave its apparently comfortable perch on that bit of ice.
And with that sweet look, we departed Sawyer Glacier, exuberant and more than satisfied with the experiences of the day. But wait! There's more...