day 30—to be hank

After a few days of basking in the glow of our newly engaged bliss while celebrating with friends and family, we hit the road again. The van, which was quickly becoming home, welcomed us back with open doors.

Our next destination? Hanksville, UT. A place that, if aliens were to visit, they’d surely stop to put up their feet (do aliens have feet?).

Hanksville itself isn’t exactly a bustling destination. I don’t remember spotting a single hotel, though I’m sure there must be one or two, but the landscapes leading to Capitol Reef National Park are straight out of a sci-fi movie. Its barren, red rock terrain is eerily Mars-like, making it a hotspot for space research.

Today’s mission required AWD, plenty of patience, and a snorkel.

We turned off UT-24 and immediately faced our first obstacle: a river slicing through the road. The water, a muted brown, flowing swiftly. To our left, a very pregnant white cow stood watching our predicament with a gaze that seemed almost judgmental. We quickly realized that cows here were a sign we were close to something interesting. Most people might have complained about the detour, turned around, and blamed the GPS. But we were determined.

Trent stepped out to test the waters, literally. He threw a rock into the river, and it splashed with a satisfying kerplunk, but it didn’t exactly reassure us that driving through was a great idea.

Back at the van, Trent reappeared in shorts and camo Crocs, armed with our hiking poles. He stood at the river’s edge, poking around to find the shallowest part. Then, he waded in, carefully using the poles to measure the depth. The water barely grazed his calves. I had to laugh at how something so seemingly daunting was no match for us.

He came back, dried off, and said, “I think we can make it.”

He shifted the van into reverse, angling it away from the cows so we could approach at a better angle. The road veered right, and once we were in the water, there was no turning back.

Our 5,000-lb van cut through the current with surprising ease. Success!

It took all of 30 seconds, but I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I glanced in the rearview mirror and swore the soon-to-be-mother cow smiled before moving upstream.

Though no more water hazards appeared on the road, we were grateful for the upgrades to our suspension. The next stretch required careful navigation.

A few cow sightings later, we arrived at the Bentonite Hills. They rose before us like vibrant waves frozen in time, their smooth, undulating surfaces painted in pink, lavender, and gold hues. The sun’s harsh rays cast deep shadows into their folds, emphasizing their surreal curves as though the earth had been gently sculpted by an artist’s hand. Dust swirled around the colorful terrain, creating an ethereal haze that blurred the line between earth and sky. The rich, earthy tones pulsed with life, shifting with the light, while cracks in the ground revealed the arid dryness beneath.

It felt like stepping into a forgotten dream—a Dali painting—where time stood still and the world had been reborn in these breathtaking forms. I imagined melting pocket watches at our feet.

We parked, and Charlie, Trent, and I leaped out, eager to explore this surreal landscape. I ran down one of the hills, arms wide, convinced that this was where I could fly.

After a few hours of absorbing the surroundings, we crossed the river again, traveling west on UT-24.

Forty-five minutes later, we passed Capitol Reef National Park’s entrance, the shadows of golden hour tempting us to linger. We found a free campground a few miles away, nestled above the canyons as the sunset tucked in the landscape in its iridescence.