Finding The Long Lost Moab Burro in Cisco, Utah 2020
In May 2013, I discovered a strange beast resting on a railroad siding at Seven Mile, near the intersection of U.S. Highway 191 and Utah State Route 313. The location was just a few miles north of the infamous Moab Pile, the adjacent Colorado River and the City of Moab itself. The beast was a dusky yellow in color and had an enormously long snout. Since the Moab Giants Dinosaur Park did not yet exist, I knew that the beast could not be from there or the Jurassic Period.
Later,
I discovered that the beast was not a cold-blooded animal, but a
genetically engineered hybrid. In the 1950s, whoever or whatever created
the beast had crossed the DNA of a burro and a crane. With its
proximity to the highly radioactive Moab Pile, I suspected that
radionuclides might have enhanced the new animal with enormous strength
and power.
After some extensive research, I discovered that the beast now featured a
diesel engine and a lattice-boom crane, which could include a powerful
electromagnet. Its creators had branded the beast on its stern with
the words, “Burro Crane.” This version of the beast was a Model 40, originally created by the Cullen Friestedt Company near Chicago, Illinois. Enthralled by the nature of the beast, I knew that I needed more information.
By 2015, the Moab Burro,
as I had dubbed it, had disappeared from its former location on the
siding at Seven Mile. Over the following five years, I worked
incessantly toward a PhD in Burro Crane Studies at the University of Google. My doctoral thesis hypothesized that Burro Cranes had obtained the ability to shape-shift from large to small and to dematerialize and rematerialize
in different locations. Although the Google elite had accepted my
concepts as entirely possible, they suggested that I obtain physical
evidence before conferring the honor of a PhD on me.
In the year 2020, I embarked on a research expedition to Moab,
Utah. There, I was hoping to find the erstwhile and long-lost Moab
Burro. If I could find the 
Moab
Burro Crane, I could prove my thesis and obtain my long sought after
Google PhD. When I pulled into Seven Mile, the siding was still there,
but the Moab Burro was, once again, nowhere in sight. Having brought Coney, the Traffic Cone and Plush Kokopelli with me for our long-awaited reunion with the Moab Burro, you can imagine how disappointed each of us were.
With nothing to see at Seven Mile, we decided to return toward Moab on
Highway 191. Having heard that various republicans had repeatedly shut
down Arches National Park,
just for spite, Coney, Kokopelli and I decided to turn in at the
Arches National Park entrance and see for ourselves. Once again,
uncaring politicians had closed the park for no good reason. When we
stopped for a 
photo
opportunity, a group of tourists showed up right behind us. With the
speed of a flash mob, Kokopelli led them into some Monkey Wrench
action, all in the best spirit of Edward Abbey. Before we knew it the tourists had opened Arches National Park... for the people.
Almost immediately, we found ourselves coughing through a nuclear dust cloud emanating from the remnants of the Moab Pile. As the dust cleared, we crossed the river on the “new” Colorado River Bridge. Once we were across the bridge, we turned left at the remnants of Old Lion’s Club Park.
The original park stood on the spot where the 1855 Elk Mountain
Mission first camped on the Moab-side of what was then called the Grand
River. Stately cottonwood trees that may have shaded the Mormon
missionaries at their first 
campground
disappeared on March 31, 2015. Instead, uncaring souls who gave not a
hoot for history or the park had transformed the quaint old park into an overheated series of concrete paths and bunker-shaped buildings. So much for progress, I thought.
Continuing our journey up the Colorado Riverway,
I soon came to another historical location, which had signs reading
“William Grandstaff Trailhead.” To an uninitiated visitor in 2020, the
name was colorless, and not descriptive in any way. For those who know
their Moab history, the place had once been known as “Negro Bill Trailhead”
for many decades. William Granstaff, AKA Negro Bill was one of the
early pioneers at Moab. Bill ran cattle in the box canyon that later
bore his name. On September 27, 2016, the all-knowing BLM Moab Field
Office “pulled a fast one”. In the grand tradition of destroying old
Lion’s Club Park, the BLM made a 
stealthy
move. Overnight, and without warning, the BLM changed out the
historical “Negro Bill Trailhead” signage and all the road signs
referencing the site. Goodbye Negro Bill. Hello William Grandstaff.
By that time, Coney, Plush Kokopelli and I were all feeling uneasy. If
the authorities in and around Moab could hide, disguise, or make
history disappear so easily, how might we ever find the missing Moab
Burro? Although Coney has uttered a few words, Plush Kokopelli has
never said a word in all his 2,000 years of existence. Respecting that
tradition, we drove silently, with Cisco, Utah as our destination.
Along the way, we spotted the remains of the old Dewey Bridge,
once the longest continuous single span between St. Louis and San
Francisco. Although replaced with a newer concrete bridge over the
river, the historic Dewey Bridge stood proud for over a century, until
it was destroyed by fire in April 2008. That happened during a classic
case of a child playing with matches nearby. His “science project” got
away from him and rapidly burned the wooden bridge-deck of the old
suspension bridge. Once a treasure on the National Register of Historic
Places, passing by we could see the support cables dangling in the sky,
with no bridge-deck to support.
After traversing that long and winding road known as Highway 128, we
transitioned to The Old Cisco Highway and into Cisco, itself. We were
not prepared for what had happened in town since our last visit in 2008.
In those 
days,
Cisco was a ghost town, without a single operating business and only a
few aging cottages showing signs of life. Derelict mining and drilling
equipment, some dating back to the uranium boom days of the 1950s lay
abandoned all around the place. The shell of a long-abandoned aluminum
house trailer still shone in the desert sun.
And then we saw it. There before us was the Moab Burro,
with the number B-47 painted on its fading yellow sides. In shock, we
saw that the Moab Burro was chained to an unused railroad siding near
the old highway. Immediately, we jumped out of my truck and ran for a
visit with our old friend, the Moab Burro. From its former resting
place on the Potash Branch at Seven Mile to its 2020 home was a rail journey of about forty miles. How long had the Moab 
Burro
been at the old Cisco siding, we wondered? How long would it be in
Cisco until it rode the rails to a new destination or transported itself
through other dimensions to wherever it pleased?
Now, in August 2024, having achieved my Google PhD in Burro Crane
studies, I am planning another visit to Moab and Cisco, Utah in October
2024. Recently, I used the powers of Google maps to look at that
railroad siding in Cisco. According to the most rent aerial mapping of
the area, the Moab Burro is gone. Only its tender car remained on the
siding where the Moab Burro lay in 2020. Stay tuned to find out if and
where we might soon find the elusive Moab Burro.
To read the full story of the Moab Burro, click HERE.
