NPS maintenance was changing out tunnel light bulbs.  Tony driving, did a James Garner (actor in the 1970's TV series Rockford Files) skidded 180 degree turn (the opening tease of every show), and we got the hell out of there as if El Diablo himself was on our asses, throwing our beer bottles out the window at the first chance (I finished mine since I was in the back).  We got to our cursed entrance, now knowing what we were doing, got out with tools in hand and in a matter of minutes unbolted the barricade, drove through, rebolted the thing only to see danger ranger coming out of the tunnel like Batman out of his bat cave, lights a flashing.
 
     Tony said he'd talk for us as the van was his.  Terrence and I didn't mind Tony being the sacrificial steer put on the meat hook first — we to follow.  We all had our licenses out, hands on the gate when our policeman — punishing father — butcher got out of his rig.  Now seeing his facial features we KNEW we were going to jail.  Our first time in the southwest and we see it from behind bars.

     The ranger was beyond mad but not quite hysterical.  "You could of run right through those guys on ladders and killed 'em!"  "You're right."  "How'd you get in?"  We showed him the flaw in the hinge design and he calmed down.  Now he was the understanding dad and let us off the hooks with just a scare (scar).
 
     Mr. Nice Ranger (he really was) said, "Camp up here tonight.  Snow will fall, temp. will be near zero.  You'll get in tomorrow."  "OK."  He went back into his batcave and we went in separate directions to drop our pants, then we drank another round of Henry's brew and discussed the error in our way.  All this excitement to get into national park.
 
     The next morning at dawn we were three virgins at the Virgin River looking across up at the Great White Throne, saying nothing but ruminating a lot. 
 
     What is the draw that leads climbers into the southwest?  Why go?