Standing atop Dead Horse Point, you feel as if the earth has dropped away beneath your boots. The goosenecks of the Colorado River wind in a coil far below, carving an ancient pathway through the desert, while the vastness of Canyonlands National Park stretches outward in every direction. The s ilence isn’t just quiet — it’s almost deafening, as your eyes drift from one redrock monument to the next and your thoughts slow to match the pace of the land. Far below, the Shafer Trail winds through the rocky flats on a seemingly endless route to nowhere. As you fix your gaze on a sun-bleached plateau, it’s easy to see the scene play out again: Susan Sarandon’s Louise flooring the gas pedal, the turquoise 1966 Ford Thunderbird surging forward, Geena Davis’s Thelma beside her, as the two of them are lifted free of gravity and free from their travails, suspended in that unforgettable moment of choice from the 1991 film that bears their names. For decades, the desert around Moab has been a refuge for Parkites, a seasonal exhale after winter’s long hold or a break from the holiday rush. When I moved to Park City in 1988, I knew nothing of deserts. My coaching buddy Ruff used to talk about escaping south each April, trading snowbanks and ski trails for sand, slickrock, and heat. I listened politely, but I never understood the pull. Now I do. Living in the mountains sharpens the desert’s appeal. It’s sand and rock is a therapeutic — a break from winter snow and the onslaught of holiday visitors.  This year’s holiday retreat to Moab was less about getting away from shoveling snow and more about getting a different landscape out our window — one where snow was not an expectation. I have a thing for identifying snow-covered mountain peaks. In the vast desert around Moab, it’s more about redrock monuments. Staring out from a treeless cliff to the valley floor a thousand feet below, you have to wonder how water and wind carved the Wingate sandstone of towering monuments like Castleton Tower or The Titan. Nursing a Johnny’s IPA at a Main Street bar, I felt right at home amidst the shops and restaurants we’ve known for years. At the Back of Beyond book shop, I always gravitate to the Ed Abbey section. From his days as a park ranger in the 1950s, when he penned “Desert Solitaire,” to his advocacy of the ’70s with “The Monkey Wrench Gang,” he opened our eyes to the value of Mother Nature. If only we would listen! Anytime you visit Moab, you should stop in and buy a copy of “Desert Solitaire” and share it with a friend. No trip to Moab is complete without a visit to Lin Ottinger’s Rock Shop. Lin left us this last year, but his shop lives on. Our minds flashed back to our early days in Moab, visiting with Lin and admiring his early ’60s VW microbus. In the parking lot next door, a family was booking a desert Jeep adventure. At the wheel was the legend himself, Dan Mick. For decades, Dan has pioneered the Jeep tour business in Moab. As a Jeeper, it was an exciting moment to run into Dan high atop Hell’s Revenge. Heading back home, we stretched out the drive to linger longer amidst the sagebrush and sand. Cisco, the ghost town that refuses to die, remains a harbor in the desert for us. Each time we visit, a few more buildings have collapsed. But its heritage lives on. Born out of the 19th-century railroad boom, it began its life as a water stop on the Denver Rio Grande. Its history was chronicled in saloons and shootouts, as ranching grew across the barren fields, leading to a 20th-century oil boom. And, yes, this is the place where Thelma and Louise blew up the oil truck. Over the years, time changed for Cisco. It’s now been almost a century since its last boom. But amidst the fallen timbers, there’s always a sense of life. The old fire truck standing next to a hydrant was decorated for the season. Alongside was a partially fenced-in area with a sign that read: “You are entering a RED NECK AREA. You may encounter American Flags, Armed Citizens, The Lord’s Prayer, and Country Music.” Welcome to the desert! The post Ridgelines: Drifting through desert memories appeared first on Park Record. ...read more read less