1. Southern Utah, 2006, Spring Break.
Dutch and I were 22 with some mistakes yet to make.
Running around in the desert, hiking and climbing.
Impulse doing the deciding.
Between Kanab and Caineville we took a detour.
Double-checked the map and both felt reassured
That the rough dirt road was a complete loop
All of the way around Factory Butte.
But the road was partially washed out, we didn’t know.
We took a wrong turn that seemed like the way to go.
Down a long slope, narrow, steep, wet mud slick.
Sliding, riding the brakes, fighting away from the cliff’s lip.
Safe at the bottom, elated ‘cause we did it.
But past the point of no return, now we were committed.
I kept jumping out to take pictures of the Jeep
As Dutch drove it over red rocks and through shallow creeks.
But the road kept splitting into tinier trails
That either petered out or just stopped without fail.
So we executed three-point turns and turned back
‘til we found a sound route that felt like the right track.
But we came across a boulder in our path and were forced
To swerve into a stream, a slight change of course.
The maneuver that proved to be the end of our pushed luck.
The wheels sunk deep into the soft sand and stuck.

Chorus: Factory Butte never gets any closer (x4).

2. A Sunday, 3pm, 50 degrees.
In the frigid flowing water falling to our knees
And digging with bare hands, the situation dire.
Trying to wedge flat rocks under the sunken tires.
Hopeless. We gave up and changed to dry clothes.
Food, water, extra layers (it gets cold when the light goes):
All into our packs, nothing left but to depart.
Sun already setting, too much of a head start.
We aimed for Caineville, spirits running high,
Energy and good humor both in ready supply.
But taking a direct route wasn’t possible.
Canyons, bluffs, and buttes: constant obstacles.
Kept doubling back , trying to get around
Until we realized we were just losing ground.
I remember standing broken on a canyon’s rim
In the day’s last light feeling deeply grim.
After full dark, hope all but lost,
Somehow Dutch managed to stumble across
His own footprints from earlier in the day
By a road we could follow all night to the highway.
No more wandering lost with no plan.
Just a heads down slog over gravel and sand.
Exhausted, we trudged on, dogged persistence
As Factory Butte loomed huge in the distance.

Chorus: Factory Butte never gets any closer (x4).

3. We stopped every half mile for a rest and a drink,
Which turned to what the Saint calls “fifteen minute blinks.”
Waking face down in the dirt road, torn from sleep
By the bitter wind goading us back onto our feet.
During one rest, collapsed on my back,
I looked up at the sky, propped up by my pack,
A granola bar in one hand, bland, half-eaten,
Chewing on the same bite well past reason.
There wasn’t much moon, if any, that I recall.
I watched the stars, waiting for one or more to fall.
That’s when I caught sight of a single point of light
Moving across the black sky from my left to my right.
At first I thought it was a plane. It was strange to imagine
People 30,000 feet above me in a pressurized cabin,
Reading magazines, reclining their seats
While I was sprawled out freezing in the desert beneath.
But it wasn’t a plane, it was moving too fast,
So I pointed it out to Dutch and I asked,
“Is that a satellite?” and when he looked the point of light
Started zipping around the sky like an insect in flight.
Tired as I was, I wasn’t sure it was true.
I asked, without looking away, if Dutch was seeing it too.
He said he was and we watched for a moment, both silent.
“We’re seeing a UFO,”I said. He didn’t deny it.

Bridge: I got to my feet and we stood side by side
Feeling what we saw went beyond “unidentified.”
It flew without a pattern or discernible intent,
We were too cold and tired to discuss what it meant.
So we just watched, it all felt dreamlike.
The Vast Unknown made the miles that we’d hiked seem slight.
How the UFO left, we still dispute.
We turned and walked on in the shadow of Factory Butte.

Chorus: Factory Butte never gets any closer (x8)