A Mad Mission

Outside the Homestead Crater.

This last week of the trip is bookended by the race last Sunday in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, and one on Saturday in Layton, Utah, just north of Salt Lake City, a distance that doesn’t require five days’ worth of driving, so I’m basically stuck bounding around a small area in northern Utah, killing time and wishing I were home. I’m tired, on the edge of homesickness, and bored. My truck is filled with dirt and dog hair, the NapCamper is coated with a paste of bug carcasses, and the inside is a clustery jumble of dirty clothes, more Frida fur, and the whine of mosquitoes.

Floating in the Crater.

I spent one day traveling from Steamboat to Vernal, Utah, stopping at the Homestead Crater , a 10,000 year-old, 55-foot-high limestone dome with a hollow core naturally filled with water.  It is 65 feet deep, and apparently a common scuba destination. I don’t dive, so I just floated around in the mandatory PFD, enjoying the warmth and the experience. 

I was able to snap this picture
before we were booted.

In Salt Lake City, Frida and I visited Temple Square and saw the temple, the Beehive House, the flower beds, and the Joseph Smith Memorial Building before an exceedingly tidy man emerged from one of the buildings, approached us, and informed me primly, “We don’t approve of dogs in Temple Square.”  I was tempted to ask him if he thought Jesus  was a dog-hater, but I didn’t have the guts, and I didn’t really want to get into it with him. But in MY version of things, dogs are welcomed everywhere, even big, dirty Bernese Mountain Dogs who may or may not have peed on the grass just outside the tabernacle. The Jesus I’m familiar with wouldn’t judge, and he wouldn’t value the perfection of a lawn over the joy and companionship of a dog and her human. Just saying.

One of the many, many billboards I encountered in Utah.

Anyway, the Mormons kicked us out, so we left Salt Lake City and settled in yet another KOA south of Brigham City, a forty-minute, billboard-enhanced drive from the holy land. I’ve seen more billboards in Utah than anywhere else on the trip; eerily mingled in with the usual ads for phone service and chain restaurants are a strange number of ads for breast enhancement, liposuction repair, and one that asks, “Tired of Being Normal? Bioidentical Treatments for Men and Women!” There are also those with the occasional LDS-themed messages: Missionary Mall, a supplier for those going on their two-year proselytizing trips and something called Daily Bread, which advertises “25 year food storage” and is recommended by Glenn Beck. “WHOA” and “WTF?!” all rolled into one URL: http://www.dailybread.com/. Buy some now for your next apocalypse.

Deer Feeders! On sale now at your local grocery store.
I suspect the feeding of the deer isn't necessarily for
their own good, however.

Scarier still are the bumper stickers, but not just those in Utah. Everywhere I go, I’m reminded that I live in a liberal community, work in a liberal profession, and surround myself with furry hippies pretty much all the time. So I forget that much of the country is a hunting ground, stuff you don’t see on Glee or American Idol or even CSI (although, CSI: Backroads would introduce a host of intriguing new storylines). On I-40 between Steamboat and Vernal—also know as Brontosaurus Highway—I spotted a sticker that said DITCH THE BITCH—LET’S GO HUNTING! The same truck was outfitted with the classic mudflap décor: silver naked women silhouettes. In this case, however, their heads of flowing hair had been replaced by heads with antlers, making the whole image both deeply disturbing and scientifically inaccurate.  It did, however, remind me that I need to get busy with my plan to patent mudflaps for women featuring a naked man with an erection.

My co-pilot, looking a little cranky.
Probably because of my singing.

So I’ve been all Amelia-Earhart-of-the-Open-Road, or whatever, but despite my peaceful, joyous solitude, I’ve discovered some disadvantages to the solo voyaging, besides the previously documented Carlsbad Meltdown. Besides the lack of backrubs and a sliver on my right middle finger I’ve been unable to extract since Amarillo, one big issue is my lack of a navigator. It’s borderline impossible to read a map and maneuver through traffic. Even in a feel-good city like Santa Fe, for example, where almost everyone was driving from their shaman’s hut to their appointment with their chakra re-alignment guru, there was still a Lexus dealership in town, and its customers were out there, driving the streets, shaking their fists at the crazy lady in the weird camper swerving wildly from one lane to another.

Driving and photography don't mix.

Also, there’s not much to do when driving alone for say, 6000 miles. If I had a co-pilot who could drive, as opposed to a giant furry turdmaker, I could nap, read, space out on the scenery, study the map, and relax. At this point, I’d even welcome someone to argue with. So I’m stuck entertaining myself, which mostly means singing aloud, laughing to audiobooks, talking to Frida, trying to snap photos of landmarks as I drive past (not recommended, and also not very successful, see photo) and attending to minor grooming that can be conducted one-handed and without a mirror. I have just about used up the Chapstick I got in the swag bag at the Austin race. It smells like a urinal puck, but it tastes delicious!

It occurred to me,much later than it should have, that Mr. We Don't Approve at Temple Square didn't just happen to notice that a woman and her dog were strolling the sacred territory.I've seen enough episodes of CSI to know that. He had been notified by someone else, someone who had been watching the bedraggled woman being yanked around by a giant dog--YES! THAT DOG! THE ONE WHO JUST URINATED NEAR THE TABERNACLE! ELDER BRIEFSINABUNCH, THAT'S YOUR DETAIL!--on one of what were probably dozens, if not scores, of hidden surveillance cameras in the bushes, under the eaves, in the bugle of that gold guy on top of the temple. Somewhere in The Joseph Smith Tower of Power, there's digital footage of me and Frida strolling through the square, exploring the country and its history, leaving our mark, no matter how small or smelly. Just two independent gals, fulfilling our mission.