This Remote Utah Desert Town Is So Surreal, It Looks Straight Out Of A Movie
I still remember the first time I rolled into Hanksville, Utah, squinting at the landscape and wondering if my GPS had accidentally routed me through another planet.
Population hovers around two hundred souls, but this tiny Utah settlement punches way above its weight when it comes to otherworldly scenery.
Sandstone formations twist into shapes that seem lifted straight from a Hollywood backlot, and the silence is so thick you can practically hear your own thoughts echoing off the cliffs.
Filmmakers have been sneaking out here for decades, and once you see the rust-red rocks and endless sky for yourself, you will understand why cameras love this place as much as I do.
Hanksville: A Dot On The Map With Mars On The Horizon
Population barely cracks a couple of hundred, yet Hanksville sits at a crossroads of wonder, where SR-24 meets SR-95 and empty horizons run to the Henry Mountains.
Desert light washes over stone and silence, and you feel farther from everywhere than the mileage suggests.
I pulled into town one afternoon with half a tank and zero expectations, only to discover that sometimes the smallest places leave the biggest impressions.
Every direction you look offers a different flavor of desolation, and the lack of noise is almost jarring if you are used to city hum.
Hanksville does not try to be picturesque. It simply exists in the middle of magnificence, a humble gateway to landscapes that directors dream about.
Goblin Valley: The “Alien Planet” Next Door
Drive north from town on 24, turn west at Temple Mountain Road, and the desert suddenly sprouts thousands of red-rock goblins.
Filmmakers noticed long ago – those knobbly hoodoos doubled as an off-world battlefield in Galaxy Quest, and they keep stealing scenes for other productions.
Walking among these mushroom-capped pillars feels like trespassing on a movie set, except the set is real and has been sculpting itself for millions of years. Kids scramble over the formations while parents snap photos that need zero filters.
I spent an hour weaving through the maze, half expecting a camera crew to yell cut. Goblin Valley earns its cinematic reputation one sunset at a time.
Barbed Blue Badlands: Factory Butte & The Moonscape Overlook
Just west of Hanksville, the land slips into grayscale, a ripple of bentonite and ash where cliffs fall away to a panorama that looks lunar.
Locals call the rim “Moonscape Overlook,” a perch above the Factory Butte badlands where wind writes new stories every hour.
Standing at the edge, I felt like I had stumbled onto the set of a space western, all texture and shadow with not a single tree to soften the view.
Factory Butte rises like a fortress made of clay, and the badlands stretch in waves that shift color as clouds drift overhead.
Bring a wide-angle lens and plenty of memory cards. This place photographs like science fiction but tastes like pure Utah grit.
Mars, For Real: The Research Station In The Hills
Seven miles from town, domes and labs hunker in the dust at the Mars Desert Research Station, a working analog where crews practice living off-world. It is an active facility, not a tourist stop – respect the gates and view from Cow Dung Road as requested.
I parked at a respectful distance and watched through binoculars as figures in simulated spacesuits moved between modules, rehearsing routines they might one day perform on another planet.
The contrast between ancient desert and cutting-edge science is startling, and the setting could not be more fitting.
You will not get inside, but seeing those white domes against red rock is enough to spark your imagination. Mars training happens right here in Utah.
Slot Canyons That Swallow Sunlight
A short hop beyond Goblin Valley, Little Wild Horse, and Bell twist into cool, amber corridors where footsteps echo and time slows.
Beauty comes with rules out here: watch the weather, mind flash-flood danger, and treat the San Rafael Swell’s remoteness with care.
I squeezed through passages so narrow my backpack scraped both walls, and the temperature dropped ten degrees the moment I stepped into shadow. Sunlight filters down in shafts, painting the sandstone in shades that shift from honey to copper.
Check the forecast before you go, pack water, and let someone know your plans. These slots are stunning but unforgiving when storms roll in.
Where Rivers Meet And Disappear
Right by Hanksville, the Fremont River and Muddy Creek shake hands to form the Dirty Devil, then vanish south into lonely canyons before reaching the Colorado. Maps show the line in blue, but on the ground it reads as solitude, sandstone, and sky.
I stood at the confluence on a breezy morning, watching two ribbons of water merge and then snake away into terrain so rugged that roads give up trying to follow.
The name Dirty Devil suits the color and the wildness, and the silence around the junction feels almost sacred.
Few people pause here, but those who do get a front-row seat to desert hydrology in action.
The Bicentennial Highway To Nowhere (And Everywhere)
Point your hood south on SR-95, and the road unspools through country so empty you hear the tires think. This 121-plus-mile byway – Hanksville to Blanding – crosses Lake Powell at Hite and serves nothing but views, so fill up before you go.
I made the drive on a tank and a half, windows down, radio off, letting the landscape do all the talking. You will pass natural bridges, slot-canyon turnoffs, and stretches where another car feels like an event.
SR-95 is not about getting somewhere fast. It is about savoring the space between points, and Hanksville sits at the perfect starting line for that kind of journey.
A Gas Station Inside A Rock
Even the pit stop feels cinematic: Hollow Mountain is a convenience store tunneled straight into sandstone, a miner’s blast-born idea turned roadside icon. Step inside for snacks; step back out to a set that looks built for science fiction.
I grabbed a cold drink and wandered through the carved chambers, marveling at the rough walls and the sheer audacity of blasting a shop into solid rock. Tourists line up for photos, and every angle looks like a still from a dystopian thriller.
Hollow Mountain is quirky, practical, and utterly unforgettable. Fill your tank, grab your provisions, and soak in the weirdness before hitting the road again.