Escaping to Paradise: From Austin to Arches

It’s about that time again.

I’ve been back in Austin through the winter. The temperatures are rising, the stress from work is piling up, and my tolerance for city living is officially spent. I can always feel it creeping in, this need to unplug, to get away, to reset in some quiet corner of the world.

It was time to find a new place to disappear to. Somewhere rural. Somewhere peaceful.

There are only a handful of states I’ve yet to spend real time in, but one had been pulling at me for a while: Utah.

I’ve met a lot of people from there thanks to its relative proximity to Texas, and I’d been itching to explore Arches National Park. Maybe even do some serious stargazing in a dark sky zone.

So I did what I always do when this feeling hits.

I opened Airbnb and ran through my usual checklist:

• Entire place to myself

• Monthly discount

• Strong Wi-Fi

• Dog-friendly

• Within budget

I set the location to all of Utah and started scrolling.

It didn’t take long before I found a listing: a converted garage on a working farm, tucked away in some small town of Utah.The reviews were glowing. I booked it for a month. I'd be heading out in just a couple of weeks.

Not long after, my friend Tori called. I told her about the trip, excitedly sharing the details.

She asked where in Utah I’d be staying.

I paused. “Good question. Let me check.”Paradise, Utah. I laughed. “What a great name.”

I heard her typing in the background.

“You know this town only has like 300 people in it?”

“Nope,” I said, still smiling.

“What are you going to do out there?”

“Not really sure,” I admitted.

We kept talking about Utah for a bit, pulled up the 22-hour route from Austin, and mapped out some fun places to stop along the way.

A few days later, I packed up the car, loaded up Governor Davis and hit the road.

A Stop in the Desert

We made a quick stop in Salt Lake City, which wasn’t quite our vibe. Bars closed early, like 8 or 9 PM, and there just wasn’t much going on. So we pushed on to Provo, which gave us easy access to Arches National Park.

Unfortunately, like most national parks, Arches doesn’t allow dogs on the trails. But that didn’t stop us. We drove through the park slowly, soaking in the stunning views. The drive alone took nearly four hours. Towering red rock formations. Endless desert horizon. It was breathtaking.

But it was at night when the place truly came alive.

After sunset, Governor and I would drive deep into the canyon. The rock walls blocked out every trace of artificial light. Arches is an official International Dark Sky Park, and it earns that title.

It was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face or even my phone, lying right beside me on the hood of the car.

But the stars.

The stars were unreal. I’d never seen so many in my life. They blanketed the sky, endless and impossibly bright. I laid back on the roof of my car with the windows down, Governor’s head resting on the window below me like a loyal watchdog, though I think he was just as mesmerized as I was.

It wasn’t just the stars. It was the soundscape. Insects, distant animals, the total silence of being far from anything human.

The contrast made every chirp, buzz, and rustle feel alive.

It was the kind of moment you never forget.

Welcome to Paradise

A few days later, it was time to head to Paradise, my new home for the month.

As I drove the final stretch, I turned down a gravel road just a half-mile from my Airbnb. That’s when I saw it. A kid, maybe 12 years old, driving a four-wheeler with a toddler in his lap and another kid riding on the back. A Great Pyrenees paced the edge of a nearby field. Every farm I passed had animals, sheep, cattle, horses.

Then I arrived at my stay.

It was a converted two-car garage. Half was a pottery studio for the owners; the other half was a shared common area full of plants, handmade ceramics, and cozy nooks to sit and read. You could open the garage door and let the breeze in while gazing out at three horses grazing just 30 feet away. My private kitchen and bedroom ran along the back, with porches on both ends.

The owners came out to greet me and walked me through the lay of the land.

“Behind us, the neighbors train horses and practice lassoing and hog-tying,” they said. “Across the road, there’s a sheep farm. Every night at sunset, their Great Pyrenees rounds them up like clockwork. Next door? Bull riders. They train bucking bulls for the PBR, and every Wednesday night they host backyard bull riding. Oh and up the road’s a creek. Right now, it’s spawning season for the salmon.”

I stood there smiling, watching the sun dip behind the hills, listening to the wind blow knock around the ceramic pieces of a homemade wind chime.

I knew then I was exactly where I needed to be.