Month: April 2022

14 ZEPHYR YEARS AGO: Dewey Bridge–its History & Fiery Demise (ZX#5)— by Jim Stiles

by stiles • April 25, 2022 • 8 Comments

The death of old Dewey Bridge on April 6, 2008, burned to death by a seven year old playing with matches, was almost more bad news than I could bear to hear. As one relic after another of the rural West’s past vanishes, this was one remnant I thought would survive. It was just a few years ago that Jennifer Speers, the millionaire with a soul, bought up the adjacent Dewey Bridge subdivision from a developer, plowed under the roads, dismantled the infrastructure and tore down a $600,000 home in order to restore the area to the way it had been.

I first heard about Dewey Bridge, believe it or not, from my mother. In 1973, I was still living in Kentucky, trying to scrape together enough money to come West again, if only for a month or so. The previous winter, I’d passed through Moab for the first time, on one of the coldest days in recorded history. With a can of flaming Sterno on the floorboard of my VW Squareback (the damn heater never worked), I stopped only long enough to gas up and then drove all the way to Grand Junction, where I used my dad’s Gulf Oil credit card for a warm bed at the Holiday Inn.

Across the Gambel Oak; Life Lessons from Grandpa & Coyotes–by Brandon Hill (ZX#4)

by stiles • April 18, 2022 • 2 Comments

I know how to win a Pinewood Derby contest. I know this because my Grandpa taught me the trick of graphite lubricant to the wheelbase of a sleekly carved piece of wood. The man probably humbly won (or, ahem, advised many boys on how to win) more Pinewood Derby contests than he had children, toes, fingers, blades of grass, and grandchildren. I know how to sail a 4 stage model rocket into the sky because my grandpa taught me to do so. The Saturn 5 won the show that day. I know that each stage demands powder that will keep the life-saving parachute from catching fire. I know how to catch a fish because my grandpa taught me how to bait a worm and salmon eggs. I did not learn to swear or drink because of my Grandpa. Best anyone can tell, he never did either. A fact my Grandma and extended family are still in awe of. I know how to shoot a gun because my Grandpa taught me how to do so. I know how to be a good husband because my Grandpa taught me how to do so. I know the importance of Midway because my Grandpa taught me so.

POKING THROUGH THE RUINS (BERT SWINK’S JUNK YARD)…Jim Stiles (ZX#3)

by stiles • April 6, 2022 • 13 Comments

In the late 90s and early 2000s, there was a small but vocal minority who supported the idea that the junkier Moab remained, the less chance it would turn into the next New West population center. There was no more honored and revered example (in my mind at least) than Bert Swink’s Auto Parts and junk yard. It was situated just south of Moab, and in full view of US 191. Tourists by the thousands passed Bert’s yard every day and must have marveled at the amazing collection of vehicles of all ages and descriptions. But as Moab moved into the 21 Century, its political leaders and economic boosters were appalled at the sight—it looked like junk to them. And even worse, it would have the effect of keeping real estate prices down. That was the rub with Moab’s hierarchy. These eyesores must be removed!

Having heard the rumors of junk yard extinction, I started taking photographs of the remaining auto graveyards, just as I had photographed the disappearing orchards a decade earlier. And so below are some memories of Bert’s. I have to admit I got a late start and many of the classic old auto wrecks had already made their way to the car shredder that had been set up 10 miles south of Moab at the far end of Spanish Valley.