[ Tuesday, April 29, 2003 ]
Day 54 to Day 64
Zion National Park, UT. I now have news about Mormons and UFOs, but to remain organized and chronologic: I depart Moab after six days because of the jeep festival. Drive across southern Utah, through Bryce Canyon NP (snow), Red Canyon (snow), and survive two close calls on the highway with deer, one very close, and a potentially serious mechanical problem with the Bad F*cker Mobile while in the Dixie National Forest (snow) and freezing temperatures. Make it to Zion National Parking Lot in the rain and camp in and around there (mostly on pretty BLM land right outside the park) for four days.
I ride the singletrack circuit on the top of Gooseberry Mesa one day (see above), and decide it is the best trail I've ever done. Slickrock, 500 ft. drop-offs, forested singletrack, panoramic views everywhere, technical stuff. A road ride through Zion NP the next day, and meeting great people camping all around the area.
Meet a family from Nevada in the park, (John, Dina, Shannon, Eric). Thanks for the company, conversation, the great lamb chop and red wine, and the marshmellows!
Hurricane, UT. SLC Punk. Found a coffee shop in Hurricane, UT, just outside the park. They're flying a French flag outside the joint, or what looks just like a French flag - maybe that's why there are no customers other than myself and the local rebellious kids/town punks - all three of them - Wes, AJ, and Sean. We discuss the state of the world and the trials of living in a small conservative Mormon town in rural Utah. Wes is wearing an American flag upside down on his leather jacket. He informs me that the local cops have repeatedly told them that "someone's gonna kick their asses someday", and that said local cops have added them all to the "gang database" or something like that, because of their political views. They are savvy enough to send letters to the ACLU office in Salt Lake. I like these rebellious kids.
Wes: "We are all human; it's time to prove it." (Anti-Flag)
Lisa: "The most beautiful things in life cannot be seen or touched - they must be felt with the heart."
Sandra: "We're trying to bring the entire world to Hurricane."
A nice afternoon in a café, waiting out the threat of rain. The next morning I head back to Arizona to explore Indian Country a little.
Indian Country (in AZ). The funny thing about the phrase "Indian Country" is that it's not just slang - it's a term of art and a definition of a type of Indian land title under federal statutory law. The particular "Indian Country" I'm en route to is the Hopi Nation and the Navaho Nation which completely surrounds it.
The Navahos fly 3 flags on their government buildings - tribe, state, and United States. In most Indian Country a tangled web of these three overlapping and competing sovereigns owns, manages, and controls the land and its inhabitants, and it's not always certain who is "sovereign" over anything. I visit Canyon de Chelly NP, the only National Park on tribal land. The park is inhabited by Navaho families who farm the canyon floor, so hiking through the park is verboten. 
I visit a variety of museums, ruins, cultural centers, and parks on Hopi and Navaho land, camp at the Navaho Tribal Park in Monument Valley, and drive around the rez reminiscing about South Dakota. I meet Marshale, who works at the Navaho Visitor Center in Window Rock, and he invites me back for a longer visit. I fantasize about representing the tribes in glamorous Supreme Court arguments on the nature of sovereignty.
Toast! (Arizona Regional Burn, eastern AZ). I leave the 4 corners area, driving south down Hwy 191 to locate and participate in a grand Temporary Autonomous Zone, otherwise known at "Toast!", at Area 51. Arrive at sunset and I'm only the second person there, and I relax by the fire and drink beer with the landowners. Fuck yeah, freedom again.
More folks arrive Friday, we gradually build a little community, a transitory village, experience a little liberty and expansiveness. By Sunday morning there are around 150 of us, mostly burners from Arizona and New Mexico, but some have come from as far as NYC, Miami, even Iowa.
Saturday morning, in light of the fact that several participants have come with substantial arsenals of semi-auto assault rifles and handguns, we form a "Toast! Militia" and a shooting range is established. After an afternoon with the AR-15s, AKs, handguns, shotguns, and an aeresol-fueled potato cannon, we reconvene for a field trip/safari to a nearby petroglyph canyon.
We tour the signs left by the Ancient Ones. One of them bears an uncanny resemblance to our popular conception of a UFO. Some others depict the Ancient Ones fleeing said UFO, or maybe fleeing the white invaders on the native homeland.
I meet all kinds of kewl and interesting folks out here, and it's fun to have a group this size camping together - sharing stuff, playing, talking, and scheming. These little TAZy things are what makes my road trip great. Some AZ burners, in particular Grover and Gary, have made this really good and special event happen. Bravo guys! Thank you. 
Curtis and Michael have set up (and rescued and re-built) a coffee and toast bar which becomes Lexie's Joint at night. We dance around in the sand squishing scorpions and drinking sangria. Stuff gets burned. A very good time is had by all (or most all), and we all prove once again that life CAN be profound and good, that it CAN be cooperative rather than competitive, that we CAN live without television, multi-colored toothpaste, and manicured lawns.
Thank you all you freaky AZ playa people. Thanks and love to Jerry and Virginia upon whose land we autnomized. 60+ photos filtering their way through photoshop en route to all ya'all!
The Bad F*cker Highway gradually moves westward, and I am sane and thriving. [4/29/2003]
PAY ATTENTION BLACK ROCK CITY
