SR-65, Utah. I've been waiting for this road to open up since I saw it was gated off when I took a drive a few months ago in the winter. It wasn't scheduled to open until June 1st, but out of curiosity, I checked the road closure website. It opened last night at around 5pm.
Filled the Mini up with gas, topped off the oil, and hit the road. The weather was brutal, a flash rainstorm started as I got onto the freeway. I hydroplaned a couple times on the freeway leading to the mouth of Parley's Canyon, and I was about to call it quits, when the rain started to fade. Had one of the scariest drives of my life up Parley's Canyon (It's a 70 mile an hour, 3 lane freeway that cuts through the canyon, not at all ideal for bad weather) but I needed to drive it if I wanted to get to East Canyon, or SR-65. Finally, the exit came, but the rain continued.
I turned onto the road that leads to the canyon, and the rain held steady. It soon became obvious that I was one of the first to drive the road this year. I could hear gravel hitting my wheel wells, and all sorts of small debris was strewn across the road.
The road narrowed at the mouth of East Canyon, but the rain held steady. The trees lining the road gave way to a steep cliff face on one side, and a drop-off on the other. I kept on because the road was just starting to get interesting.
About halfway up, the Mini flashed at me that it was below 37 degrees outside. Snow started to fall, on top of rain. A slick, sleety, mush covered the road, which was now cluttered with large rocks that had fallen over the winter. It was a surreal feeling, being the only one on this driving heaven, while Mother Nature gave her protest.
This is what it was like in the 1964 Monte Carlo, I thought. I truly felt like Paddy Hopkirk, piloting the car that mine pays homage to.
I had reached the summit. The weather cleared and a thick layer of fog covered the valley below. It was stunning. I kept going until I found a dirt patch off the side of the road to stop and take some pictures.
I was now descending into the valley opposite of where I entered. Snowy pines turned into budding aspens, and the road began to straighten out. Switchbacks gave way to undulating hills and the rain was only a slight drizzle at this point. The road mimicked the coast of the reservoir that it bordered, and the Mini tackled it perfectly. I held it in 4th, but occasionally dropped down to 3rd for some of the tighter corners. With the windows slightly cracked, I could hear the chirping of birds and the sound of the Bridgestones sloshing through yet another puddle.
Eventually the road led into a small town called Henefer. Not interested in what the town had to offer, I turned onto a single-lane road that divided two farms. The rain stopped and the valley was a beautiful, vibrant green.
The road turned into a bland neighborhood filled with cars that seem to have stopped existing past 1999. I didn't feel like causing trouble by turning this sleepy road into my own racetrack, so I left and turned back around.
I got lost in the beauty and perfection of the road, and missed a turn that it took. I went straight through onto SR-66, which I didn't even know existed. I wasn't even half a mile in, before being warned by several signs that said for the next 3 and 1/2 miles, there were many sub-15 mph turns. And unlike the previous road, this wasn't a neighborhood. I'll spare you the details, but I doubled the speed limit 75% of the time I was there.
Much like SR-65, SR-66 spit me out in another small town, of which I had zero interest. The only thing that caught my eye was a purple C6 Corvette. I envy the owner, who probably gets to experience these roads on a daily basis. I turned around, and was greeted by a tractor driving down the opposite side. This was truly a small town.
I got back onto SR-65, and the clouds had completely cleared, as well as much of the snow that had fallen. I climbed back up the mountain, this time without the hazards of bad weather. The Mini tackled it without any protest. One corner after another.
I reached a lookout point that was previously covered in fog, and got out to take the picture that prefaces this story. Looking back to the Mini, I saw something out of place.
I had murdered a bird somewhere in the process and didn't even notice. And instead of falling off of the car after being hit, his foot had been lodged between the plastic lip and the grille. I dragged this poor corpse along for at least 60 miles. I hope he had one hell of a ride.
I went back down the way I came, free from any bad weather. SR-65 and SR-66 are now easily within my top 5 roads that I've driven.
I assume the poor bird fell off on the freeway when I hit a violent bump. The only trace of him when I got back was a feather on my back window, and a few tufts in the front grille.
These are the rest of the pictures I took that didn't fit into the story.
The contrast between red-rock and snow was beautiful.
Underneath the layer of fog. Directly ahead, behind those clouds is where I took the first picture.
Behind that corner is a nasty field of fallen rocks.
