Interstate I-70 From Cove Fort to Crescent Junction, Utah
On the second day of my April 2012 tour of the Four Corners, I drove the 377 miles between Mesquite, Nevada and Moab, Utah.
During the first leg of that journey, I traveled Interstate I-15 North
for 163 miles between Mesquite and Fort Cove, Utah. As I drove north
through St. George, Cedar City, Parowan and Beaver, the human
population dwindled.
Through my right side-window, I could see snow squalls forming in the
mountains to the east. As I proceeded, I saw intermittent snowfall in
both 
the Dixie National Forest, and in the Fishlake National Forest. At almost 6000 feet
in altitude, I felt nothing more than a rain shower near the town of
Beaver. Knowing that Emigrant Pass on Interstate I-70 topped out at over
7500 feet, I feared that heavy snow could meet me at that altitude.
With no other options for crossing the Wasatch Plateau, I continued.
Near historic Cove Fort,
Interstate I-70 peels away on a broad arc to the east. With such an
inconspicuous beginning for a 2200-mile long interstate highway, I
almost missed the off-ramp. Had I stayed on I-15, from Cove Fort to
Salt Lake City was 176 miles. Although I love to stop and see the
sights, I had webcam business
awaiting me in Moab. In the interest of time, I skipped the Cove Fort
highway rest stop at, which is also the sole remaining
nineteenth-century Mormon fort.
In 1867, Mormon prophet Brigham Young called Ira Hinckley and his family to come
and direct the building and operations of Cove Fort. Even today, the
place symbolizes rest and refreshment to travelers. Situated as it was
at the confluence of the Mormon Trail (Salt Lake City to Rancho Santa Ana del Chino near Los Angeles) and the Old Spanish Trail
(Santa Fe to Los Angeles), Cove Fort appeared to be a natural place
for commerce to flourish. Sometimes, plans do not work out. Today,
there is no development of any consequence near the old Cove Fort.
As I-70 East climbed up and on to the Wasatch Plateau, I watched as
snowstorms formed in the mountains to my south. If I could make it to
the farming town of Sevier, my first brush with mountain snows would be over. Still, another series of high passes waited between Salina and Fremont Junction. Only east of the junction would I be safe from spring snowstorms. 
As
I continued through the high country on I-70 that day, the pavement
remained dry. From that omen, I knew I could make it to Moab before
dark.
As I drove past the Salt Wash Overlook,
afternoon sunlight brought the appearance of lush greenery to that
desolate valley. Such spring greenery may have fooled early Mormon
emigrants as well. Although the area almost defines the term “hard
scrabble”, early Mormon settlers briefly farmed the lower reaches of
Salt Wash and valley. After several crop failures, wiser heads prevailed
and the settlers moved on to greener pastures.
As I crossed the San Rafael Swell, I encountered a long series of steep grades. Pulling my travel trailer up and over the huge anticline,
I could almost see needle on the gas gauge heading toward empty. If I
opted for economy, I would have to drive less than forty miles per
hour, which is unsafe on an interstate highway. If I opted for power, I
might burn all of my fuel before 
reaching
Green River, fifty miles east. Coaxing what economy I could from my
Nissan Titan’s V-8 engine, I dropped the transmission into third gear
and kept rolling at forty-five miles per hour.
After what seemed like an interminable number of climbs, I approached the top of the San Rafael Reef.
The “reef”, a landform named for its appearance, is a geologic fold at
the eastern edge of the San Rafael Swell. Before engineers blasted the
I-70 roadbed through a narrow breach in the reef, a person could stand
at the bottom and simultaneously touch each canyon wall. By my
estimation, the current roadway often exceeds the interstate highway
maximum of a six-percent grade. If you overload your vehicle or if you
gain too much speed, descending through the reef on I-70 can be a
harrowing experience. Unlike many descents, some of its tightest turns
are near the bottom of the 
canyon,
rather than the top. Until you are safely out on the flats, personal
concentration and conservative speeds are essential.
Upon safe arrival at the bottom of the San Rafael Reef, it was only seventeen miles farther to the town of Green River, Utah.
After another check of my fuel gauge, I skipped a stop in Green River,
opting to fill up upon arrival in Moab. As I passed over the Green
River highway bridge, afternoon sunlight hit the escarpment of the Book Cliffs. With time to spare, I decided to turn north at Crescent Junction for a visit to little known Brendel, Utah. Formerly comprised of not much more than a railroad siding, Brendel is now the location of what I call Moab Mountain. Although it is technically not a mountain, Brendel is the final repository for Cold War uranium tailings removed from the UMTRA Superfund Site, also called the Moab Pile.
By James McGillis at 04:25 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link
