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Show THE ZEPHYR AUGUST 89 PAGE2 . mom and j !" Whwil ratunwd at dark, thaatrwt. wtraampty In that bad to early years. fan aalaao at 9 pjn.1 dont think Pa gone I aroae early, ate breaUatl, and bought eome more old back to the When I left, I already knew fd be ta poetTSrtTtoTp ; f page two what Jffli the name of that town? quiet little town of to remember. I Just cant eeem Jim Stiles took a couple of short Journeys away from Moab last month one, to take a break from reality, I suppose; the other, to entrench myself more deeply In tt. A few days after the July Issue hit the newsstands, I set out In search of a town I had never seen. . In, 1984, a friend of mine told me about a place In New Mexico that "time had forgot It was she said, like stepping Into the 1940s. In fact she brought me a souvenir post card from a store there that ed the Second World War. It was a New Mexico town In no hurry to see the 21st century, content to be pleasant and quiet We had. planned to go there someday, but we never did. In tact I never found out the name of the town. It remained a mystery. With only that brief description as a guide, I left Moab on a Monday morning In search of the Forgotten Town. The heat wave that has been smothering us all month had Just settled over Moab, and my first thought was to find higher country. I decided to pay a side visit to Tellurlde, which I hadnt seen In ten years. I was still twenty miles from the high mountain town when I started to notice the large, gaudy country homes with turquoise blue metal roofs and expansive windows. I found myself at the tall end of a creeping line of cars, trucks and motorhomes, all on their way to Tellurlde. I must admit, its the cutest little town Ive Tellurlde has changed. ever seen. It's drowning In Its own cuteness. Clapboard homes and gingerbread houses, painted In bright, cheerful colors, line the streets. condo complexes are everywhere Knotty-pi- ne yawn. For a minute, I had fond, nostalgic thoughts of Moab, and Its dump, and Its Junk cars and Well, I thought, we may be ugly, but at least were multiple eyesores. honest. None of that contrived quaintness In Grand County. Of course, Grand County needs the spit and polish cleanup that so many have encouraged and demanded. But I hope we never get to the point where we lose our Identity to an Invasion of fiberglass awnings and and "Old West falsefronts, and housing developments with names like Raspberry Patch and Elk Run and The Preserve. I stayed In Tellurlde for about ten minutes, and then pushed on. I had been out here In the red desert for so long. Id forgotten what It was like to be surrounded by a sea of green. A bad case of green deprivation, to be sure. I sat down by the Dolores River and watched the water ripple over the rocks, and listened to the river and the wind In the fir and spruce forests that lined Its banks. That night I camped along a Forest Service dirt road near Chimney Rock and watched a waning moon sink behind Pledra Peak. The next day I drove Into New Mexico, now searching In earnest for the Lost Town. I didnt know how Id be sure Id found the right place. I was depending on a gut feeling, and nothing else. But In one little hamlet after the next, that gut feeling was missing. I was about to give up when I turned onto a state highway and Just up the road found my destination. Old tracks from a narrow gauge railroad were dotted with Cumbres-Tolt-ec RR cars. An old adobe hotel, the Shamrock, stood opposite the ticket office. Just up the street, Foster's Tavern (estab. 1880) served as the town's northern port of entry. I walked Into an antique and collectible shop; on the counter was a collection of old post cards Just like the card my friend had brought me five years ago. I knew I'd found my Forgotten Town.. The owner of the shop, a gracious woman named Pat Cooke, asked what had led me to her home, and I told her my story. She rented me a room at the Lodge next door, and I spent the rest of the day walking the towns streets. At 7500 feet elevation, the air was cool and the breeze was. scented with Ponderosa Pines. On a side street, I found a shop that made player pianos, but I could never find the owner. I stopped at Foster's Tavern for a beer, and spent a while talking to a did a fair Job of keeping the last bar stool warm for most of the day. who guy He was there six hours later when I returned for dinner. At suns efr I took a drive across the river and past the tad stands of cottonwoods, and Into the high country meadows that surrounded the valley. I pre-dat- . . wn . bric-a-br- ac, . couple of weeks later, Sleight and I took a drive up to Vernal to observe a Community Impact Board "retreat, hosted by Uintah County. We had been offered the opportunity for a free flight In one of Creamer and Noble Engineerings planes to get an overview of the proposed Book Cliffs Road. There was no way, however, that we could get to Vernal by 6 ajn. As tt was, we had to leave at four In the morning to arrive In Vernal by nine. I gloom and slept In the car for staggered out the door In the pre-daan hour, while Ken downed cup after cup of Circle K coffee. We had been told that a meeting to discuss the overflights over the Book Cliffo would begin at 9:30. But when we arrived, we learned that there would be no meeting. We did "crash a breakfast for a variety of politicians and bureaucrats who support the road, and tt was here that I had a very Interesting conversation with a gentleman who sat across the table from me. He was a state representative from somewhere In that area, and because he didn't know I was associated with a newspaper, I wont mention him by name. But the tone of the conversation Is worth noting, because If s so typical of the problem we face. He spoke briefly about David Adams and Steve Creamer, about what fine men they were, and then commented that the Book Cliffs road was about the greatest thing that ever happened to Uintah and Grand Counties. Didnt I think so, he asked? Well, Im not sure I replied. The State Representative looked stunned, and I gave him a 30 second condensed version of my speech on cost and revenues and Uvlng within our means. He looked annoyed for a moment; then his face broke out In a broad I grin, he raised his hands, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "Oh wouldnt worry they'll get the money somehow. Here was an elected representative of the people, a man who no doubt considers himself a conservirtlve, who has given his stamp of approval to a multi-milli- on dollar project, and who doesnt have a clue as to how to pay for It. ' Not a clue. Finding the answers to questions Is not always easy. But we should at least find out what the questions are. On the other hand, I cannot help but be Impressed this month by all three of our Grand County Commissioners. As the August Interview reveals, they have taken an Informed and objective hard look at the Book Cliffs road and are not sure the revenue Is there to pay for tt. David Knutson has been a longtime supporter of the Cisco to Vernal highway, but as David says, "If we cant afford It, we cant afford It, and Merv Lawton It stands now, as points out, "We dont have the money to retire the loan, even at a very low rate of A : Interest Is refreshing to - see elected officials putting the best Interests of the public, before their own personal preferences. Maybe theyll start a . It 1 ; trend. Lets hope so. THE CANYON COUNTRY ZEPHYR SUBSCRIBE NOW P.O. BOX 327 MOAB, UTAH 843.32 (801) i i 259-777- an annual subscription is only 3 JIM STILES, PUBLISHER $12.00 Irish West production manager contributing writers Jim Graham, Mattingly, Steve Mulligan, Lloyd Pierson Audrey Ken Sanders, John Sensenbrenner, Alan West, Terry Tempest Williams Ken Sleight 1989 The Canyon Country Zephyr all rights reserved . E uAn THE CANYON COUNTRY name address ZEPHYR P.O. BOX 327 MOAB, UTAH 84332 t. t t. . i. |