day 2—arch-itecture at its finest

We woke up at Big Bend Campground, tucked beside the Colorado River, just off the highway and eight miles from Moab. The first light of morning gently filtered into the van, but we lingered under the covers, savoring the warmth and the peaceful rest that still lingered in our bones.

Ah, the first morning of our new life, I thought, lying in silence, basking in the calm.

Eventually, I wiggled to the edge of the bed and carefully climbed down. At 5’4”, with a 3-foot drop, it wasn’t the most graceful maneuver, but I managed without incident.

Trent followed with ease, his 6’4” frame making it look effortless. Right behind him came the pitter-patter of four eager paws—Charlie, ready to greet the day.

Sliding open the door, we were greeted by stillness. No hum of engines, no chatter of strangers, no unplaceable city smells—just clean, crisp air and the sound of our breathing.

We’d gotten lucky—albeit akin to our insanity—as we imagined this campground was teeming in the warmer months. The familiar mesas rose in the distance as Charlie eagerly sniffed the ground, her tail wagging in excitement.

We exchanged a glance—giddy, hopeful, and a little uncertain. That’s the thing about freedom: no one tells you what to do. Up until now, our days were structured by routines and obligations.

“Should we make coffee?” I asked, breaking the moment. Trent nodded.

I climbed back into the van and pulled out our induction stove pot with its removable handle. A click of the red neon button on the control panel activated the water pump, and soon fresh water filled the pot.

Meanwhile, Trent peeled away the window covers, revealing a thin layer of frost beneath and fog draping the ground like heavy curtains.

“Looks kind of dreary today. Should we spend the morning exploring downtown?” I suggested.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” Trent agreed. He rarely disagreed with me, but when he did, I loved him all the more for it.

We lingered over instant coffee and a simple breakfast of maple brown sugar oatmeal with bananas, enjoying the unhurried pace of it all.

By mid-morning, we were ready to head into Moab. The 15-minute drive wound along the edge of the mesas, the Colorado River keeping us company on the right.

Main Street greeted us just before 10:00 AM, subdued and quiet, with many shops still closed for the slower season.

“Pull over here,” I said, spotting a parking space in front of Tumbleweed, a shop I’d read about featuring work from local artists.

“We have about 20 minutes before anything opens…should we take Charlie on a walk and grab some coffee?” I asked. I didn’t need more caffeine, but the warmth was inviting, and I loved the charm of coffee shops—the community they fostered and the diversity they welcomed.

We wandered south a block or two, passing several options before spotting a tiny green-and-red trailer across the street with a sign that read Cafe Italiano.

“Let’s try that one,” I said, pointing. It felt like an unlikely find in the middle of the desert, but it reminded me of sipping cappuccinos in Europe.

Behind the counter, a one-man operation greeted us with a cheerful, youthful energy.

“Hi there! Can we get a large black coffee and a vanilla latte?”

“Sure, that’ll be $9.34. Just give me a few minutes.”

While waiting, I noticed shelves beside the window lined with handmade crocheted ornaments and business cards advertising local services. Behind us, two picnic tables hosted a few other patrons.

We struck up a conversation with a woman traveling back to Arizona with her two dogs. Her French bulldog was eager to meet Charlie, but she wasn’t having it. Ever since she was a puppy, she had been suspicious of large trucks, and the ones rumbling through town kept her on high alert.

Once coffee was in hand, it was already past 10:00. Just a few minutes turned into thirty, in true Italian fashion.

“Well, I guess we don’t have to wait any longer,” Trent laughed. “Let’s go explore some shops.”

We put Charlie back in the van and ducked into Tumbleweed, looking for a way to commemorate this part of our journey. We’d decided long ago to collect stickers from our stops to eventually cover a cooler, but I also wanted to start gathering art for our future home.

The shop offered a variety of options: brightly painted landscapes, abstract wire sculptures, and vivid photographs. A brick casting of the La Sal Mountains juxtaposed with crimson arches caught my eye. We chose a Moab sticker and a few postcards to mail from the post office nearby.

By 11:00, we were headed toward Arches, despite knowing it was the Saturday after Christmas—a tourist-heavy dilemma. As we pulled up to the entrance, traffic came to a standstill beside a sign that read: 1-hour wait from this point.

We both sighed. “I guess everyone else had the same idea.”

Thankfully, the sign was a bit off—it only took 45 minutes to reach the front.

A park ranger in his mid-fifties greeted us with a friendly smile. “Good morning! Welcome to Arches National Park. Do you have a Park Pass with you today?”

“No, we’d like to buy an Annual pass please.” Trent handed the man his ID and credit card and moments later we were on our way in. This was just the first of many national parks we’d explore in the year ahead. 

As we wound along the park roads, while it was neither of our first times visiting we couldn’t help but be awestruck by the massive red rock formations that towered above us, glowing in the soft winter light.

“Would you look at this arch-itecture!” I chuckled.

We stopped first at The Windows and Delicate Arch, two of the park’s most iconic spots. Both were packed, a steady stream of people making their way up the trails and snapping photos at every turn. We tried to soak in the majesty of the landmarks despite the bustle, but the crowds detracted from the landscape’s tranquility—so we pressed on.

Eventually, we found solitude at Sand Dunes Arch. The short walk through narrow rock walls opened into a hidden space, quiet and still, with soft sand underfoot. It felt like stepping into a secret tucked away from the world. Nearby, Broken Arch was equally peaceful. We lingered, while I tried to capture the moment with my Sony a7rv. Photography was my latest hobby, and I spent a long time experimenting with angles and settings, determined to do the beauty of the landscape justice.

The sun dipped lower in the sky as we made our way back to Moab. For dinner, we decided we were both too tired to cook and stopped at The Moab Diner, a cozy little spot that felt like stepping back in time. Over plates of hearty comfort food, we replayed the highlights of our day.

Rather than returning to Big Bend Campground, we decided to find a more remote spot for the night. Driving out of town, we turned onto Behind the Rocks Road, a rugged dirt path that led us deep into the quiet desert. The stars began to emerge as we pulled off into spot 7, far from any other campers, and completely free, but with a cost: no services.

The stillness out there was absolute. We stepped out into the cold night air and tilted our heads back to take in the sky. Without any light pollution, the stars were breathtaking—dazzling pinpricks of light scattered across the vast blackness. 

If today felt like this, what would tomorrow bring? I wondered.