Utah.
Utah is damn pretty. And full of Mormons. And, they have a town called Panguitch.
Please take a moment to say that aloud: Panguitch. I know, right?
So by the time Utah rolled around, I was starting to relax a little bit about The Beast and its Damocles’ sword called “limp home mode.” I was able to enjoy the scenery, watch the green start to creep back in to the world, appreciate the warmth of summer, and keep a keen eye out for wild Mormons.
The goal this day was to make it to Denver. There had been a discussion with the Redmen in regards to meeting up in Colorado and caravanning back to Minneapolis together. This plan ultimately fell through — the allure of car-to-car walkie talkies isn’t what it used to be in this age of cellular telephone technology — but my driving map hadn’t changed. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that driving through literally the highest mountain range in the US in The Beast, which threatened to start limping or overheating without any provocation, might be a good idea. Nevertheless, we pushed on!
Right in about Grand Junction we started chasing a storm. Uh-oh. However, a magnificent double rainbow presented itself. (Do I even need to post the meme? Didn’t think so. Just trust that there was much “What does it MEAN???” happening.) We stopped for diesel and dinner, and I snapped a picture:
Now, this is probably the most unflattering picture of Scott ever to be committed to pixels, and I’m sorry to him for posting it. But I have to please draw your attention to the sign in the background. In case you can’t see it, it says “Outlaw Ribbs.” That’s two b’s, and no irony. Kathleen, everything you ever said about Grand Junction is true.
So we made it to the mountains, just in time for it to start raining when it became my shift to drive. Picture: steep mountain passes, stiff Beastly suspension, rain, and the biggest menace of all:
The Wal-Mart truck.
The Walton’s have crap taste in delivery drivers, I’ll tell you that much. This mf’er was speeding, careening through construction zones, forcing me to cut over some rumble strips multiple times, pushing me right up against a pre-harvested granite countertop, and tailgating like his life depended on it. I’m double (rainbow) not shopping at Wal-Mart now. Do people really need polyester and plastic that quickly, you a-hole?
Next: Nebraska. Lord help us, Nebraska.
