Accidentally finding monumental beauty… and dinosaurs

I found myself admiring Ogden’s organizational skills as we left the city and came upon a mountain with a giant “U” on it.  “Utah labels its mountains,” I said, “How crafty of them.”  Eventually, we drove by multiple mountains with letters on them that seemed to stand for nothing, leaving our confused minds to grasp desperately for explanations.  Is it the first letter of the County’s name?  A high school?  Is it a giant graffiti thing?  Is there a very patient and heavy-handed serial killer out there leaving clues for someone? 

 We had a long drive that day which we assumed would be relatively unremarkable… until we drove through the town of Vernal, Utah.  As we got to the middle of what we believed to be a regular, small western town we noticed a giant dinosaur in a cowboy hat, surrounded by oversized fruit.  His hands grasped the two halves of a large watermelon which, judging by the look on his face, had been split apart in some fiendish way.  I slowed the car as we both furiously grabbed for our cameras, not realizing that this would be the first of many ridiculous giant dinosaurs.  Everywhere in Vernal had a dinosaur out front.  Strange, spiked ones in jackets.  Giant pink ones holding signs.  A fat one in a bikini.  The restaurants, the stores, the hotels.  Our eyes dashed back-and-forth to scan every giant beast with a multi-colored accessory.  As we passed the Sinclair gas station, I searched the grounds with an excited gaze.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.  That Sinclair station didn’t have a dinosaur!”  I yelled.  A look of shocked revulsion crossed Lindsay’s face.  “Isn’t that their thing?!  How dare they!” I continued, ”They had the normal, small green one on the sign but that’s it.  And he wasn’t even wearing clothes or doing anything!  He had no activities!” 

“No activities?”  Lindsay said, “Well he’ll never get into college.”

 After the excitement of Vernal, we approached signs for Dinosaur, Colorado and Dinosaur National Monument.  A monument?  Knowing how much we loved the huge dinosaurs in Vernal, we definitely had to see a monumental one.  We followed the arrows down a path and guessed what wonders this place would hold.  Further and further we drove yet nothing was around us.  As we pulled over to look around, the silence was noticeable.  There wasn’t a car for miles.  There didn’t seem to be anything for miles.  A feeling of total release passed through me and I exhaled a quiet calmness.  It wasn’t that we couldn’t see people down the hill at a restaurant or in a house.  Even hiking mountains, I knew that there were people in the lodge below me.  There is always the feeling that someone else could be on that mountain too, ready to turn the corner and come into your life.  But here, there were no people.  The distance I felt between myself and society was real.  I immediately slipped off my shoes and stepped into the middle of the road.  I walked the yellow line with lighthearted abandon, like a child deciding to avoid the sidewalk cracks.  At last I stood still and breathed deeply.

We drove further, thinking the dinosaur monument could be closer to the peak but eventually abandoned our search and turned around.  Turning back on to the main road, I saw a sign that read, “Dinosaur National Monument Canyon.”  What?!  “None of the signs we saw before said anything about a canyon,” I screeched.  “And I understand that the canyon is part of a national monument but isn’t saying ‘Monument Canyon’ a little like saying ‘house yard’?  The double-label is confusing.”

Although it was one of the most beautiful and meaningful places I’d ever been to, there was still a feeling that we’d been mislead.  There was no dinosaur.  I couldn’t help but picture Jan Hooks saying, “There is no basement in the Alamo,” followed by mocking laughter.  There was no dinosaur in Dinosaur National Monument Canyon and yes, we were Pee-Wee Herman.