We paid to camp at the Slickrock Trail trailhead.
It was ten dollars.
That brings our total accomodation costs for this leg of the trip to...
Ten dollars.
Average cost/night: Fifty cents.
That's pretty good, unless you're talking about the rap guy, who is pretty not-good, although not as not-good as the really rude one with the bad haircut, although that doesn't actually narrow it down much. The one who interrupted the vanilla country-pop star's award acceptance speech. I can never remember whether he's the one who molests pre-teens or whether that's one of the other, equally unlistenable and unlikeable tardomatic shitbuckets that pass as pop stars these days.
The guy in the campsite three down from us (in an otherwise unoccupied thirty-site campground) decided to play some of the so-called "music" that emanates from these so-called recording "artists" at intolerably high volume (ie audible) just after we went to bed.
I didn't bother putting pants on before I went to have a wee chat.
It wasn't a long conversation, and afterwards I was able to stand outside, staring at the incredibly-bright starscape and luxuriating in the utter soundlessness of the desert night for quite some time before the cold had me leaping back into the Reaper and back into my fartsack.
We slept well.
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