Out here the map is mostly blank and the horizon is mostly rock. Highway 95 crosses the southeast of Utah through country that feels deliberately unfinished: slickrock benches, red-and-cream canyon walls, thin stands of juniper, and a sky with nothing to do but stay enormous. Hite Overlook sits above the old crossing of the Colorado River, where the river, drowned by Lake Powell, widens into a flat green-grey arm among the cliffs. The name comes from Cass Hite, a prospector who worked the river sands for gold in the 1880s and helped lure a trickle of others into this remote country.
The Bicentennial Highway was built in the 1970s, which tells you how recently this was one of the most isolated corners in the lower forty-eight. Before it, you needed a ferry, a four-wheel-drive or a lot of patience to get from Hanksville to the southern side. Today the road is a pleasure on a motorcycle: wide, well-surfaced, with long, rolling curves, big views opening at every crest, and so little traffic that you can ride half an hour without seeing another headlight. The long distances are the real hazard. Wind can be fierce on the open benches, and summer heat on the pavement is serious, so carry more water than looks sensible.
Lake Powell itself is a story. The reservoir was created by Glen Canyon Dam in the 1960s, flooding a labyrinth of side canyons that some people still mourn, and its level rises and falls dramatically with drought and snowmelt. At the overlook you can see the pale bathtub rings along the walls, the high-water marks of earlier years. The view is the point: broad, still and slightly eerie, with the Henry Mountains standing far away to the north.
Plan your fuel and food well before you get here. Hanksville, to the north, has petrol, a few motels and a famous burger place, and Blanding and Bluff to the south have more. Mobile signal comes and goes, and help is a long way off, so tell somebody your route. Late afternoon, when the low sun lights the canyon walls orange, is the best hour to be standing here.