Day 6: Gateway to Delta, NV, including Arches National Park and Moab; 395 Miles; “Heaven and Hell”

[From 2009]

We’re eager to get started, bright and early, before the desert sun gets too high.  Bruce gives us a private tour of the Gateway Colorado Auto Museum on site, full of classic Americana, including the 1954 Oldsmobile F-88 Convertible concept car.  Fascinating to see how it and the Mantide share some common design language.  Bruce, knowing these roads well, offers to pre-run the morning drive for us in one of the rentals available from the resort, a Ford GT.  Bruce promises, “hey, if you guys thought that the road coming into Gateway Canyons was memorable, you’re going to be blown away by the scenery heading out to the South.”

And he’s dead-on.  As we drive along the Dolores river, we liken it to a quarter-scale Grand Canyon – if the Grand Canyon had a paved road running through it, and no tourists.  Bruce explains that their busiest times are during shoulder seasons, when outdoor explorers like to visit, resulting in mid-August drives with almost no traffic. 

I start the day behind the wheel of the McLaren.  I’ve been lucky enough to drive a variety of exotic cars, but nothing is more magical than this – not an Enzo Ferrari, not single seat race cars, nothing.  And, admittedly, it’s more than a little intimidating, even aside from the $2.7 million price tag.  While it doesn’t have the visceral openness of a superbike, its performance is certainly evocative of one.  And the McLaren philosophy does shine through:  highly-tuned, normally aspirated motor; perfectly balanced suspension without compromises; and no fussy electronic stability or braking aids, much less a paddle shifter.  You, the steering wheel, the gas pedal and four contact patches.  What you do with it is up to you.

And as we fly down RT 141, Dan and I are playing tag.  Bruce has gone ahead with a radio to make sure the road is ours, and we take full advantage.  Whichever car is in the lead, the other is right behind, right up to 160 mph.  We slow to 120 mph for the curves, then punch it when the road opens up to the horizon.  Cattle guards at 100 mph are interesting, almost as interesting is when you catch up to a dualie pickup truck, and think it’s creeping along, when you look down and realize that this local is doing 110 mph.

The differences between the McLaren and the Bertone come into focus.  The Mantide, much like the underlying Corvette ZR1, delivers staggering performance in an envelope that any reasonably talented and experienced driver can tap.  The McLaren is not afraid to draw a line in the sand and tempt you to come close to it, knowing that crossing it will mean serious regret.  In summary, the Mantide delivers 95% of the performance of the McLaren with about 70% of the effort – which is good or bad, depending on what you’re looking to get out of the experience.  Put another way, an apt analogy would be the difference between Grace Kelly and Angelina Jolie.  Both beautiful, sexy, complex, intriguing, but wholly different personae.

Heaven.

We’re deep in Tabeguache, when we pass a sign promising a scenic outlook ahead.  The radio crackles with Dan’s comment, “if everything we’ve seen thus far is ugly and not scenic, the outlook ahead must be a Michelangelo fresco on a mesa!”  Pulling over, we marvel at the ghostly remnants of the Hanging Flume, built into the side of the sheer canyon cliff to convey yet more water for mining needs.  We soon press on, as the sun is high in the sky and we’re headed for Utah.

Hell.

We’re driving on some true desert roads now; long, straight stretches running into the Horizon, broken up only by a hill climb in the Manti-la Sal National Forest.  Back in the Mantide, I’m starting to feel the effects of the sun.  As mentioned, the Mantide cockpit is effectively a greenhouse.  The GM air conditioning pumps plenty of frigid air, but the redesigned vents are just chilling my knees and legs.  The outside temps are over 100 degrees, and I think the inside temp around my head is pretty close to that.  Dan mentions over the radio that he’s going to investigate replacing the clear Lexan with electrochromic glass, as on the new 612s.  Doesn’t do me any good now, the heat is really getting to me.  I slow down to 50-60 mph, as I just don’t have the spirit to go faster.  The other guys run up ahead to Moab to meet the transporter, while I just limp along.  I’ve drank 4 big bottles of water, and I still chug down another 32 ounces when I meet them for lunch in Moab, all cranky and bothered – sorry, guys.

Arches National Park is the highlight of the trip for Mark, who is eager to get some beauty shots of the cars in front of many natural arches as possible.  Dan has volunteered to take over in the Mantide,

while I collapse in the 16M with Glenn.  Made of sterner stuff than me, Dan maintains his good humor and that British stiff upper lip as he too is sitting in the sun while Mark shoots us around the park. 

Granola junkies wearing Camelbak pouches hiking in the sun don’t care about the cars, but families in RVs still crowd and gawk.  The 612 has proven so relaxing, Nathaniel and Mark are now eager to go for a hike through some of the arches.  Nat has a flight out of Salt Lake City to catch, so Mark offers to stay behind and take him there.

            Glenn, Dan and I book for Western Utah.  I-70 in Colorado may be the most spectacular piece of interstate in the country, but I-70 through Fishlake National Forest gives it a run for the money.  I lose count of the number of Suburbans and pickups, many with big lift kits and monster truck tires, doing over 90 mph out here.  And I thought that the 15-16 mpg that the Ferraris are getting was bad.

We make our way to the little down of Delta, Utah, at the effective Eastern end of the interesting bits of RT 50.  Toss our bags into the Days Inn and grab some remarkably tasty Mexican food at Mi Rancherito next door.  Dan gets carded for his beer; not surprising in Utah, but Glenn is a bit dismayed that he does not get carded for his sangria.  When it arrives in a bottle with an accompanying margarita glass, he discovers why – it’s a sangria soft drink.  Ah, Utah!