As previously agreed, the first one up in the morning woke the other.  Dave sounded the get-go at 6:15 a.m.  We packed hurriedly, downed cold cereal and were on the trail by 7:00.  This was by design, of course. The lesson of the sun’s effects from yesterday was not forgotten.  We walked briskly along in the shade of Elephant Canyon, and then in the sun as we climbed quickly up and out of it.  We paused for water at a trail split, then continued a quick pace down a new trail back to Devil’s Kitchen.  The return loop section was more flat, but less scenic.  No matter, we just wanted to get back to the Jeep, back over Elephant Hill and to the hotel in Moab.  As beautiful as the desert can be, it is not a place where humans belong.  Even the charm of a camp lizard bravely climbing up my shoe to hungrily pluck an insect off my shoelace cannot block out the realization that it's hot out here, painfully dry and hard, and insects feast on human flesh with desperation (there’s nothing else to eat).
   Even in the early morning hours, the sweat was gathering in pools above my eyebrows (so that’s what they’re for).  The camp appeared shortly after the latrine stench curled our nostrils.  We threw the packs in the back and motored off, glad to have one stage of the day’s trek completed.  The road followed deep sandy ruts for a quarter mile before hitting rocky terrain.  Dave commented that it did not bode well that the hill was named THE SILVER STAIRS.  Naming something usually denotes extreme difficulty and/or someone’s death in the area.  In fact, it was not too bad.  I stood outside and pointed out the least hazardous route to Dave and before long we were back on the sandy road, kicking up a half-mile rooster trail of red dust behind us.
    At the split to Confluence Overlook we unlocked the bikes and peddled off down the sandy track toward the marriage of the Green and Colorado Rivers.  How could we pass it up?  After all, our quick hiking pace had covered four miles of rocky terrain (including thirty feet through a tunnel so small we passed through on all fours) in less than 1.5 hours and it was only 9:00 in the morning.  We road carefree down the gentle slope quite swiftly.  In no time we had to cache our bikes at a hitching post (no kidding) and walk the remaining half-mile to our destination.  The vegetation of the canyons we had grown accustomed to, though meager, was lush in comparison to the sparse and sporadic scattering of hardy botanical survivors near the river. 
    Now, postcards I have seen depicting the Confluence of the two great Utah rivers illustrate a pale green Green merging with a muddy brown Colorado, with the colors remaining distinct and independent for a mile downstream, running along, side by side, in river racial-harmony.  There was no such variety waiting for us.  Instead we witnessed a muddy brown Green River joining a muddy brown Colorado River of the same hue, with nothing but a white foamy scum line delimiting the two rivers as they joined into one.
More impressive than all that was the immense drop-off to the river from our vantage point.  Measure it in hundreds of feet.  A sign warns: "Danger : Unfenced Overlook.  Use Extreme Caution."  Despite the numerous hazards encountered thus far in the park, this was the first official mention of the dangers intrinsic to this area.  We used extreme caution.  As usual, we had the advertised view all to ourselves.  Nothing like a seven-mile hike to weed out the onlookers. If it can’t be seen from the window of an air-conditioned Caddy playing Neil Diamond, it ain’t worth seein’.  Thus we enjoyed the view in peace and solitude.
    The hike back to the bikes was quick, surely not a half mile.  The ride back to the Jeep was much more difficult than the initial cruise.  Loose sand is hazardous to bike on, but is exponentially more difficult when the path is uphill, and the sun is out, and its hot, and you’re tired.
    Several super-cell thunderstorms had already formed not far off, and were busy strafing the distant mesas with wind, rain and lightning.  The urgency to get over Elephant Hill became apparent, so we did not dally along the way.  We got to the Jeep and drove off to the east, back toward Elephant Hill, back to civilization.
    The Jeep track around Elephant Hill is a two-way (good luck) route from the end of graded road until just over Elephant Hill (so named, as far as I can guess, because it’s really freakin’ big) at which point it splits into two one-way paths to form a large four mile loop.  We were traveling new terrain, and found it much more pleasant than the road we had taken in.  In fact, there was very little in the way of stressful obstacles until we regained the two-way at the foot of Elephant Hill.  I hopped out at that point and did not get back in the car for the next half-hour.
    The basic problem in going up the backside of the hill is the steepness.  You could not ride a bike up that grade, at least I don’t think so.  The hikers we met halfway up expressed their doubts in words and grimaces.
    "I don't think you’re gonna make it up there."
    "Well, we came down it.  Hope to make it back up."
    "Good luck."
    "Thanks."
    More white-knuckle four-wheel crawling up the hill.  Pull in, back up the hill twenty-five yards, pull in, go forward (if possible).  I just never would’ve laid good money on any vehicle making it up that hill.  Dave negotiated the numerous obstacles like a pro. We made it up and over the hill and drove out of the parking lot where a small crowd of spectators gathered to watch our slow progress down the steep grade.  Humans can smell potential disaster and seem to gather to watch it like buzzards.  Nothing to see here folks.  Go back to your ham and mayonnaise sandwiches.
    Very satisfied with the drive, and immensely relieved that the vehicle that would carry us back to Colorado was back on pavement in one piece, we motored off toward the park exit. We stopped at the visitor center for a quick lunch in the shade, then on to Moab to the Sleep Inn.  Our rooms were not ready, so we toured the scrubby city of Moab in search of a grocery store.  The greater metropolitan area of Moab is nothing to behold.  Uglier towns are difficult to come by.  The only attractive piece of real estate on Main Street is the McDonalds.  With fifty billion customers they can afford irrigating Kentucky bluegrass (which is not even from the U.S., much less Kentucky) and weeping willows in the arid desert.  We found the grocery store sought after, purchased goods and headed back to the hotel.
    After a bit of waiting, the rooms were ready and we moved in.  First things first, showers due the weary travelers.  Much dirt was shed.  We’ll probably get a bill in two weeks for the soiled wash cloths.  A shower is a rare and precious experience after a week (roughly) in the desert, one to be coveted.  Feeling very refreshed I emerged from the shower, shaved my Neanderthal beard down to a sane and respectable goatee and mustache (ala Shakespeare), and kicked back in the dry freone-incensed motel room air.
    After a bit of relaxation we ventured out to Subway for dinner at 5:00.  You can always count on Subway, even when it is connected to a gas station.  Dinner was pleasant, and we went back to the Sleep Inn quite happy with life.  The rest of the evening was spent viewing the quality programming of Roller Jam (a marriage of roller-skating with pro-wrestling), Candid Camera and the Avalanche-Stars hockey game.  The Avs won 3-2 in overtime.  GO AVS.