This is the second essay in a two-part series about my road trip to visit The Wave near the Utah-Arizona border. Read the first essay about my painful stop at the fakest place on Earth for the whole story.

PARIA CANYON-VERMILLION CLIFFS WILDERNESS, Arizona — While sitting in my office at work surfing the Internet, the travel gods looked upon me fondly when they presented me with a Los Angeles Times article about the The Wave — a sandstorm formation near the Utah-Arizona border — that prompted me and my friend to embark on a last-minute road trip. But the travel gods don't always treat me well. Even ignoring the pain Las Vegas brought me earlier during this very road trip, I have not easily forgotten my fall into an ice-cold Alaskan river, my cramped ride in a dangerous speed boat in Laos, or my disastrous attempt to visit Mount St. Helens. Nevertheless, my friend and I sped through the dark flatness of the Nevada desert toward The Wave with our trust in the travel gods as our only plan.

A child craws on the red-orange sandstone at The Wave.

A lizard rests on a rock in the Utah desert.

A feather lies in the cool, red sand of the Utah desert.

A hiker walks in the distance beyond desert cacti.

Our trip required a lot of faith, because seeing The Wave on a whim is not easy. To maintain the pristine sandstorm formation and prevent overcrowding, The Arizona Bureau of Land Management allows only twenty people access to The Wave per day. The Bureau allows reservations for ten of the slots four months in advance through its website, but the other ten are given out by lottery at 9:00 AM Mountain Time on the morning before the day of the hike. Since we had decided at the last minute to visit The Wave, we had no choice but to try our luck at the lottery, but we knew our long drive would not be able to get us to the Paria Ranger Station in Utah in time. To deal with this problem, we posted an ad on Craigslist before we left and hired a St. George college student to attend the lottery and obtain our permits for us.

As we drove, my friend used her iPhone to search the Roadside America website for on-the-fly, visit-worthy roadside highlights, but the Grafton ghost town in Rockville, Utah, the landlocked lighthouse in Cedar City, Utah, and the World's Largest Thermometer in eastern California all seemed too far from our current trajectory to warrant a visit. We didn't mind; our devotion to the travel gods gave us hope we would reach our most important destination: The Wave.

About an hour east of Las Vegas, we stopped for gas in a tiny town named Glendale, and as we pulled into the station, we noticed a group of teenagers excitedly milling around a fence. Curious, we walked toward the group and discovered the entrance to the Glendale Haunted Corn Maze. For the unacquainted, a haunted corn maze is a network of passages cut into a large corn field, filled with people in scary masks and face paint trying to startle and chase after fright seekers attempting to navigate the maze. We didn't know quite what to expect, but this lucky stop, awarded to us by the travel gods, seemed to fit perfectly into our trip philosophy. We paid our admission, and soon we were running from a man with a chainsaw in a cornfield under the desert sky. The smell of agriculture and the sound of laughing teenagers filled our heads, and at once, my Midwestern soul felt a strong nostalgia for the simplicity of small-town American childhood.

After we escaped the disappointingly simple maze, we spent the night at the Bob-Bon Inn in Kanab, Utah, a motel with a mysterious tagline: "Utah's Little Hollywood." We never understood it. The next morning, we awoke very early, and in the darkness before sunrise, we drove 45 miles to an eight-mile dirt road leading to the trailhead. As dawn broke, we began the trail-less backcountry hike with a detailed map, compass, and an iPhone running GPS Kit to guide us. We savored the sunrise as we leisurely hiked across the long-shadowed red Utah and Arizona desert, stopping frequently to take photographs, scrutinize lizards, and marvel at the area's unique sandstone formations. Near a particularly striking rock arrangement, we lay down in the cool, rust-colored sand, enjoying the otherworldly wilderness. Soothed by the feeling of the fine sand on our faces and impressed by the desert geography, I wondered aloud whether we needed to bother finding The Wave; the rest of the desert seemed therapeutic enough.

But we soon found ourselves sitting on the edge of The Wave, eating lunch while watching a European family and a gaggle of professional photographers all in awe that a place so improbable could exist on Earth. As we became hypnotized by the red-orange bands of the entrancing sandstone, I imagined sitting in a tasty vat of an alien confection, covered in coral candy goodness. We hiked over bizarre fields of brains and up steep walls of stretched taffy, all the while taking hundreds of photographs. Adequately capturing the carrot-colored universe with my camera seemed impossible. Unfortunately, we couldn't stay forever, and we reluctantly began our hike away from the shadows of the brick-colored desert buttes and back to the car.

For the first time in sunlight, we drove back through the Utah desert, and as we passed expanses of cacti and imposing mountains, my friend looked at the remarkable maroon hues of the desert crags and quietly said, "Purple mountain majesties," as if suddenly understanding for the first time. This day, the travel gods were exercising their generosity.

As we drove through Zion National Park due to an impromptu side trip our way back to California, the travel gods (channeled through a small sign reading, "Grafton") steered us to the Grafton ghost town recommended by Roadside America, a visit only made possible by our lucky detour. We snapped some photos of the small town's somewhat-famous one-room school and marveled at the story of a town resident who built a house separate from his own for his wife. ("Honey, I want to marry you, but would you mind living by yourself with the kids in this house across the street?")

About an hour and a half southwest of Las Vegas, near the Mojave National Preserve, we stopped to refuel in Baker, California. As I filled my car's gas tank, I looked up. Serendipity had struck again in the form of the World's Largest Thermometer, towering over us. Our faith in the travel gods became stronger than ever.

Construction exposes the underbelly of the Las Vegas facade and inhuman lava machines at The Mirage.

LAS VEGAS, Nevada — I had read about The Wave, a sandstorm formation near the Utah-Arizona border, a handful of times in newspaper travel sections and outdoor adventure magazines. It was on my (very long) list of places in the world to visit in the future, but on Monday morning last week, as I sat in my office, Internet surfing brought me again to a Los Angeles Times article about The Wave. I sent a quick e-mail to a friend in Seattle alerting her to The Wave's existence and that someday, I wanted to visit it. She e-mailed me back offering to fly to Los Angeles four days later, on Friday, in order to visit it over the weekend. Admittedly, knowing her personality, I suspected my offhand e-mail might prompt such an adventure.

On Friday night, after work, I raced through Los Angeles... (more)

Rescue Diver students try to revive an unconscious diver (courtesy of Eco Dive Center)

CATALINA ISLAND, Calif. — In the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Catalina Island, I lay lifeless with eyes closed on the water's surface. Over the sound of the enormous waves brought on by the Santa Ana winds, I thought I heard Alex, my scuba diving buddy, yell, "Diver! Diver! Are you okay?" I didn't respond. I faintly heard, "Stay calm. You're going to be fine," as he grabbed my arms and began dragging me out of the water and onto the beach. As my head touched the sand, I felt a wall of seawater crash over me. The water rushed into my nose and mouth, and I couldn't breathe.

Then, I felt Alex punch me in the nose. Hard.

It felt like someone had dropped a bowling ball on my face. Dazed and totally bewildered, my brain tried to understand why my scuba diving buddy would... (more)

A couple looks at the horizon during magic hour in Utila, Honduras.

UTILA, The Bay Islands, Honduras — My ex-girlfriend and I took the bus east to La Ceiba, checking into the Lodge at Pico Bonito, a beautiful eco-lodge in the Honduran jungle. Nestled among banana trees and climbing monkeys in the verdant rainforest of Pico Bonito National Park, the lodge offered excellent opportunities for bird watching, hiking, horseback riding, and white water rafting. More important for my plan to win back my ex-girlfriend, the lodge's secluded location made it exceptionally peaceful and romantic, far from any Honduran pop music, making it easy to spend time together without distractions. Our charming jungle bungalow felt like a magical tree house with its rustic furnishings, cute porch hammock, and private surroundings.

With the help of the world's biggest... (more)

Children watch carnival games at a patron saint festival in Tela, Honduras.

TELA, Honduras — In the middle of the night in our hotel room in Copán, Honduras, I awoke next to my ex-girlfriend in complete darkness — the kind of dark darkness you see only when you're in the middle of nowhere in a developing country. Urgently needing to relieve myself, I stumbled toward the bathroom and tried the door but found that my partner-in-crime had mistakenly locked it behind her on the way to bed. I tried desperately to defeat the door's privacy lock but failed. Not knowing what to do, I opened the window — a second floor window that led to the roof. Then — I'll be honest — I peed on the hotel's roof. She awoke and asked why I was standing outside.

"I'm peeing on the roof," I said. When she asked me why, I explained that she had... (more)

The ruins in Copán, Honduras include a Mesoamerican ballgame court.

COPÁN, Honduras — I admit it. My trip to Honduras in the summer of 2004 was part of a bold plan to win my ex-girlfriend back. We had ended our relationship a year earlier for a variety of good reasons, but over time, I had realized that our decision was a mistake. For the past year, she had been teaching at an elementary school in Tela, Honduras, and when one day she e-mailed me to tell me that she had broken up with her new boyfriend, I ignited my master plan. I e-mailed with her and talked to her on the phone frequently, and when the Central American school year ended, I knew it was time to move to my plan's next step: visiting her in Honduras. I assumed that if I could spend some time with her, I could convince her that we had made a mistake. Plus, the trip provided me... (more)

The Celebrity Infinity sails near Alaska's Hubbard Glacier

JUNEAU, Alaska — For my grandmother's 85th birthday, my family decided to take her on an Alaskan cruise to Ketchikan, Juneau, Sitka, and the Hubbard Glacier aboard the Celebrity Infinity. Though a sedentary cruise attended mostly by people twice my age was not exactly my idea of an ideal vacation, I nevertheless looked forward to spending time with my family, most of whom live on the opposite side of the country from me. After we planned the trip, however, my work schedule changed, and my available time became more limited. I was a little worried about getting back to Los Angeles from rural Alaska in the middle of the cruise, but it was just a boat, after all, and since the cruise itinerary had a stop at an Alaskan port almost every other day, I figured that I could simply disembark... (more)

Socks and boots dry in the sun near the West Coast Trail's Michigan Creek (by Brian Leukart)

WEST COAST TRAIL, Vancouver Island, British Columbia — When my brother Brian and I awoke at the West Coast Trail's halfway point, we knew we had a lot of distance remaining, and we pressed ahead under a cloudy sky toward Tsusiat Falls, a 50-foot flood of clean water shooting over beach cliffs, 14 kilometers away.

On the way to the Trail's second ferry crossing at the salt water inlet Nitinat Narrows, the trail became easier as we hiked on wooden walkway for several kilometers through an eccentric-looking bog with stunted-growth trees. Brian and I wondered about the kind of terrain under the walkway, terrain apparently so severe that Parks Canada felt it necessary to build a boardwalk through the wilderness. We stepped curiously off the platform, and when our feet touched the... (more)

Hank looks out at a spectacular coastal view near the West Coast Trail's halfway point near Dare Point

WEST COAST TRAIL, Vancouver Island, British Columbia — For well over eight hours, through a stormy coastal night following our hike's worst day, my brother Brian and I endured the loud, ceaseless pop, pop, pop of rain pouring on our tent's rain fly. We nestled in our sleeping bags, remembering the immense value of a warm, dry shelter. Then, as morning broke, the wind slowed and the rhythm of the pop... pop... pop... on the rain fly began to slow and finally stopped. We lazily and reluctantly made our way out of our tent to take a look at the new day.

The bright sun shining down on our beach seemed like a miracle.

Slowly recovering from the soggy night, we sluggishly unpacked our wet clothes, prepared a hot breakfast, and sat in the sun, soaking up the warm rays. After... (more)

My brother Brian folds a wet tent in the morning after our hike's worst day

WEST COAST TRAIL, Vancouver Island, British Columbia — There's no way around it: by definition, there's one day in every hiking trip that's the hike's worst day. You always know that day's coming, you just don't know when and how bad it will be.

My brother and I awoke on the West Coast Trail at kilometer 22 at Walbran Creek, excited and ready to hike to Chez Monique, a "restaurant" unexpectedly located about halfway along the trail in the wilderness. Other hikers had warned us not to expect much; reportedly, the "restaurant" consisted of a few tarps and two propane stoves set up to feed burgers to hikers. Nevertheless, we were looking forward to Chez Monique's relative comfort, and we took to the forest trail as rain started pouring down.

For most its length, the West Coast... (more)