Ancient pot at end of the rainbow 

We were back out exploring San Juan County last week.  We were looking for the pot at the end of the rainbow.  I may as well have been looking for a unicorn or sasquatch. 
Years ago, I had heard about a large intact pot in an Indian ruin somewhere in San Juan County.  Well, SJC is big and rough, and you can easily die out there, so I asked about.   I finally found a guide.
Like most guides that lead you to lost treasures, he had a sordid past.  His family was in the poultry business, so I knew he was going to be a tough egg to crack.  He gave up his dreams of being the next Colonel Sanders, rebelled against the easy life and started out as a musician, strike one. 
Worked on and off at summer jobs like firefighting, strike two.  And ended up working for the US Forest Service, strike three.  But I decided to take my chances and hired him as he has been out of a job for a long time. 
And his price was reasonable, a Pepsi and a hamburger from the Patio in Blanding.
The pre-trip communication was cryptic, but he assured me that he and Frank would pick us up so when the morning of our adventure arrived, I grabbed my whip and Indiana Jones hat, packed a peanut butter sandwich and waited. 
Sure, enough our guide shows up, and we head down the road.  We had driven for some time, and I finally ask about Frank. 
Turns out the truck is named Frank.  He pats the dashboard affectionately and says, “Ol’ Frank is reliable”. Of course, the reason our trip was delayed was because Frank had just came from the shop.
 So I am headed down the road (trying to loosen my load got a world of trouble on my mind) in a truck that reminds me of the Millennial Falcon because it has been modified to “achieve superior speed, shielding, and firepower” but apparently spends time in the shop and is captained by Han Solo and Chewbacca. 
Well, we didn’t pick up Chewbacca until Blanding and his name is Robert, but we called him Bob.  I really wanted to call him Chewy-Bob or Bubba-Bob, Bob-Bob but some people are sensitive. 
My too kind and loving wife and I are sitting in the back seat of Frank, and she whispers to me, “Do you think they are going to rob us and kill us and leave us somewhere no one can ever find us?” 
Sticking with this Star Wars analogy, I say, “Listen Princess, you gotta trust someone in this ‘topsy turvy world’ and I nod my Indiana Jones hat and give her a sultry confident look. 
Besides, along with my PB&J sandwich, I have my lucky rabbit’s foot, and a broken compass in my backpack. We should be fine.
We fly by The Empire’s (BLMs) last known outpost on Cedar Mesa (Grand Gulch Ranger Station), and suddenly realize there won’t be a potty stop on this trip.  Han Solo says he has a secret compartment (of course all smugglers have secret compartments) that is full of “ice water”. 
I look at my too kind and loving wife, and we wonder if that is a code word for something nefarious, so I assure him, “Thanks, none for me…I’m trying to quit.” 
It doesn’t dawn on me that water before hiking in a desert might be the difference between living and dying.
You can see how exhausting all this was.  I haven’t even started the hike yet.  We get to somewhere in SJC and it is the most remote, harsh, rough, dangerous place we could find and start our hike.
We start hiking down a perilous hill, but it is more sliding on my behind than hiking. 
Chewbacca has not said much but finally says “aarrghhraar” and Han says, “No I think it is this way.” Chewy responds with another “aarrgghhh” and Han says, “I don’t think it is shorter.  This is the way we always go.” 
This conversation goes on for a few minutes.  My too kind and loving wife whispers, “We are going to die.”
We drop nearly 1000 feet, then climb up 1000 feet.  We repeat this process several times.  We are being boosted up cliff edges and lowered down shear rock walls.  We are trying to hold on to rocks that Spider Man wouldn’t climb. 
Remember the scene in Mission Impossible where Tom Cruise is climbing the red rocks near Dead Horse Point and hangs horizontally between two rocks and does the physically taxing “Iron Cross”?
That was me.  I was Tom Cruise.  Except I was wearing my Indiana Jones hat and had my lucky rabbit’s foot.
After scraping, scratching, climbing, clinging, praying, swearing, and sweating we make one last shimmy down a ledge and find some Indian ruins. 
Spectacular!  Beautiful!  But no pot.  My too kind and loving wife whispered to me, “Where the hell is the pot?”  She always whispers.  I shrug my shoulders and shake my head.  She pushes me towards Hans Solo and Chewbacca.
Befuddled I ask, “Uhhh, I thought there was a pot at the end of this rainbow.”  Han Solo says, “Patience my young Jedi.”  Our guide was just messing with us.  He nods and points with his lips.  We walk around another corner and there is the pot at the end of the rainbow. 
A beautiful intact pot sitting there for a thousand years.  Left sitting there, like someone had walked away and planned on returning but never did.  I got kinda teary-eyed and just had to say the famous Indiana Jones line.  “That belongs in a museum.”
I have seen thousands of pots in museums and secret government collections.  The BLM’s Cerberus collection holds nearly 102,000 items, including 1,600 ceramic objects, over 350 woven items, thousands of pieces of jewelry and thousands of projectile points. 
Seeing all these in the inventoried sorted neatly catalogued in a sterile climate-controlled setting elicited nothing but sadness.  There was no jaw dropping spiritual soul expanding moment like I had looking at that pot sitting in the sunlight as it had done for a thousand years.
Looking at that pot basking in the sunlight reminded me of the scene when Indy finally claims the Cross from the Man in the Panama Hat, declaring, “That belongs in a museum!”  The man famously retorts, “So do you!”
I suppose that is where I belong; in a museum along with other old stuff.  I don’t know how many more adventures I have in me.  But finding the pot at the end of the rainbow was worth it. 
The adventure ended at the Patio in Blanding with an ice-cold Pepsi which restored my strength and confidence and got me thinking that perhaps I should dust off my map of Abelardo’s lost Gold Mine.