nellie ball

No doubt you noticed that last Saturday I wasn't around. I turned my phone off and went invisible on google chat in an attempt to shrug off the digital world I have become so enmeshed in. It felt like time for me to return to nature. To completely surround myself with vast desert terrain, a place where survival is anything but guaranteed.

I called all my banners to see who would join me, and it turns out only Lee and Scott were hearty enough for this journey. Rugged men, both of them. More rugged than I, in fact. I was never any kind of boy scout at all.

I think Lee and Scott have already blogged about this, so if you're an avid blog reader you'll get three different interpretations of these events. It's up to you to decide which is true.

The day started as any adventure day should. Several hours after sunrise, and at Burger King. I've never noticed but the downtown Burger King is decorated with faded Georgia O'Keefe prints. Weird. I think some Burger King manager must have thought that it would subliminally make people think that eating at Burger King was sexy. Let's see if their subliminal efforts worked. "Whopper." Nope, didn't make me think about sex. Well, no more than usual.

Wait maybe I did that backwards. "Sex." Aha! That made me think of Whoppers. It does work.

We're getting way off track here. Off the road as it were. Here's a picture, taken from a pull off in Spanish Fork Canyon.



A lot of crazy stuff has happened in this very spot. In 1897 noted racing enthusiast Butch Cassidy stole $8000 worth of gold in this area. In 1924 a terrible mine disaster killed all sorts of people. Here's part of the monument to those that gave their lives to the coal.

It's a weird memorial. I cropped out the part sculpture with the screaming, half buried miners. Seriously. It was a little too disturbing.

Bandits? Explosions? Yeah. And this spot still isn't without danger, unless you don't think bottomless pits are dangerous.



We went to gather some coal and half the world disintegrated.



I got myself a chunk of coal, which will come in handy if I need to warm myself during the upcoming great depression.


I wouldn't settle for just any piece of coal. I climbed up there to get it.


We stopped in the town of Helper. I've written about that place before. It's an odd place, because it feels like a ghost town but it's full of people. People in trucks.

The famous Helper Greeny Torch Lady statue. Did you know that there's almost an exact replica of this in New York City.


If you stay at this motel, you'll probably be murdered. That was the impression I got anyway. Also it's name is The Murder Motel.


The goal of this adventure was to drive through Nine Mile Canyon. How long is it?

78 miles. For real. Here's some trivia: why it called Nine Mile Canyon if it's more than nine miles? Nobody knows.

It was going to be a long time before we reconnected with civilization. In case of the worst I was prepared with a spare tire, a few gallons of water, and a case of these:


In a land of amazing rock formations (Utah), Nine Mile Canyon doesn't get a lot of play, but it's not without its own wonderments.


Well hello. Someone hung a dead fox up in front of a Jackson Pollack painting.

Yeah, we were on a dirt road, several miles away from the middle of the nowhere, the air painfully silent, with no other people around. Spooky.

Also spooky, this ranch. No sign of people, and it seems that the cows have taken over. It was like Night of the Living Dead, but with cows.


Amongst the dead trees and dead foxes and dry beds of long dead rivers, we found a dead settlement.


There's something so disquieting about the remains of a house in the wilderness. Someone decided to just up and leave, and no one really cared.


But let us celebrate the living. Like these two hombres who totally conquered that there ridge.


Huh. Scott has a skull on his hoodie. I guess that means we should talk about the dead again. Like the long-vanished Fremont people, who vandalized everything within reach.



Nine Mile Canyon has the largest collection of Indian rock art in the world. A lot of the petroglyphs are over a thousand years old. Wild. Too bad they weren't better artists. What are those supposed to be even? Cows? Goats?

(kidding)

I wondered why a People would choose to live in the middle of nowhere, then realized I was stupid because since they were they were the only people around, wherever they lived was in fact the middle of where. And I can see why this would be a good place. Lots of natural bowls and shelters formed by the sandstone.

This was the most stunning sight in a trip full of stunning sights. The picture doesn't adequately capture it. You round a corner and then whoa! this huge stone amphitheatre is standing before you. Anyway. Check it out yourself. You can find it on mile 62, or hour five.



Scott (geologist) spent most of the time with his head out the window. I was trying to figure out who he reminded me of in this picture and finally it hit me. Ulysses Everett McGill from O Brother Where Art Thou.

Six hours of bad road later we emerged into the "town" of Myton (rhymes with Bryton). This is oil country.


A lot of option after this. We could have driven over to Skinwalker Ranch, headed to Roosevelt to visit Suzanne and Jed, or stopped for a quaint meal in a quaint place. But I was so eager to get back home I didn't even entertain those ideas. I don't think anyone else minded. It took us another two and a half hours to get home, making this the most brutal, endurance-challenging adventure day yet. Not that that's a bad thing.

See you next time.

Adventure Day: Highway 89

I had a four day weekend. It was great. I got so much done. So much sleeping. Mostly sleeping. I pretty much wasted the whole thing. Sigh.

No, it was good. I really really needed this break. Now I just need to power through the next four week of Body Worlds and then I can celebrate unemployment. I tried to make plans to skip town but nothing came together. Luckily for me (but not so much for him) codename Terrence needed a last-minute early-morning operation and ended up taking Monday off, so Adventure Day was born.

I've long held a fascination with US Highway 89. Not really sure why. Before the interstate freeway system 89 ran from the Mexican to the Canadian border. It's the road less traveled now, with lots of old/interesting/beautiful/ugly sights to see along the way. It exists in fragments now, but someday soon I hope to drive the remaining 1250 miles. When I accomplish that I'm going to get a tattoo to commemorate it.

Adventure Day started with breakfast at the Left Fork Grill. It's decorated with a subdued nautical theme which is good because many of the patrons look like old timey sea captains.

Next, the Army-Navy Surplus to gear up because on Adventure Day you need to be prepared for anything.

Surplus packs and bags. The one in the middle must have belonged to Corporal Klinger.


After an ugly incident with a Filipino gang that resulted in a mouth full of broken glass for Terrence, we were back on the road. 89 through Orem is more depressing than not, so we took I-15 and hooked back up with 89 in the Springville area.



89 breaks up and requires a trip through the deadly and dangerous Spanish Fork Canyon, each turn shrouded in a cloud of white.


Normally I would have been nervous driving in those conditions but we were both doped up on Vicodin so it was totally fine.

Pulled over to do some adventuring and crossed the frozen highway.



A short time later we made an amazing discovery: the lost city of Thistle! Like Jamestown, no one really knows what happened to Thistle. According to legend it was drowned in a flood in 1983.

The much receded "Thistle Lake" was frozen solid which made for better exploring.


Wisdom:


He's been in hiding for a long time, but now he's getting sloppy.


Terrence has a friend named Zina. She lives in the heart of Pigeon Valley, a few miles outside of a small town at the end of a long dirt road. I saw a bald eagle on the way there, but I couldn't tell if it was crying or not.

Zina's lifestyle is much more rugged than mine, as evidenced by these neato bone chimes.


She has three cats, and two of them are especially noteworthy. Like this hairless fellow, Ruben.

He looks mean but his personality kind of reminded me of Charlie Brown. And petting him is just like petting microsuede.

Hans, the bengal cat. Probably the prettiest housecat I've ever seen.


An Icelandic artist named Inga left this behind. I like it.


The bathroom is tiled all crazy-like.


Zina knew I was coming so she turned on some glowing green lights so I'd be comfortable.


We ventured back out, Ephraim bound. But the road was blocked, by sheep!


Lots of them! A river of sheep! I haven't spent much time in the country.


A Sheepman wrangling these wooly cattle.. waitaminute, that's a Sheepboy.


To Ephraim, in search of the final resting place of Ed "Big Daddy" Roth. Ed Roth was a counterculture/hot-rod icon in the pre-Beatles days. You might be familiar with his creation Rat Fink.

He's buried in Ephraim, in this cemetery.


Or so we thought. He's actually buried one town over in Manti. Manti has some rich sights. Like this, a Temple to the Lord erected by an ancient peoples.



The view from atop shows the cemetery we will soon explore.


Edbigdaddy Roth's grave is not easy to find, and the internet was little help. Cool cemetery though.



After hours of tromping around in the snow Terrence found pictures of Roth's funeral (thanks, iphone!) We were finally able to pinpoint the location through the background in the photos.

The inscription reads "We gave the world our two cents."

Back to Ephraim for some eats. Zina listed off the options: "A Chinese place, a couple of pizza places, the Satisfied Ewe - "

Clearly, when in Ephraim one must eat at the Satisfied Ewe.

We met up with English and his family. I've never met English but I have various connections to him. Gatsby has been good friends with him for years, I'm friends with English's brother TR, and I used to listen to English's public radio show, Huzzah for Ska. I'd even call in with requests sometimes. And I read his blog, so it was cool to finally meet him.

Ewe.



The drive back was something. So dark. So icy. So snowy. So isolated. I had to take too Vicodins just to get through it.

Stopping for gas, and who should I see on the front page of the paper, partying with the Governor? My new friend Zina. How about that.


Also, Sheepman of the Year.

apropos of nothing, i don't like this speech i'm watching right now

"... when the iron beasts rolled by Ricky didn't see progress, or the continent coming together. He didn't hear the sound of capitalism and industry in the chugging steam engines. All he saw was the shrinking of the Great American West; the end of the last era that a man could truly be free..."

Saturday I wanted to see Boulder, because I love hip and happenin' college towns. We didn't get going until late in the afternoon, since we are nothing if not late sleepers. I needed the extra sleep though as I was stuck on an air mattress that wouldn't stay inflated (due to user error).

"Hey Mike, I get to sleep on the couch tonight."

"No! The whole way down you insisted that I would take the couch and you would sleep on the 'comfortable' air mattress."

"Yeah but... I changed my mind."



"Sean, B.'s trying to steal the couch."





"Hmmm. Then we shall cut the couch in half, and divide it equally."




"No no, I'd rather see B. have it then destroy the couch."





"Problem solved! Alright."

Boulder? Boulder. Check this out.

Mustard's Last Stand! Ahahaha. Get it? I haven't seen a dining establishment that cleverly named since Humphrey Yogart.

Do you like hippies? Do you like street performers? If yes, then you will love Boulder. Actually it's a nice little town. I quite liked it. It's very pedestrian friendly and there is ample parking.
I think this is city hall or the court house or something. It reminds me of Tetris.

Neath here lies buried a time capsule from 1977. To be opened in 2075.

I'm guessing that inside is a Star Wars poster, Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, an 8x10 of Jimmy Carter, Mork...

No Pete! Didn't you learn anything from Tax-Evasion Charlie's?

Huh. I've always wondered what those things were for.

Wait, neon is near. I can hear it humming. Also I can see it.

While taking these pictures I learned that in Boulder people get very upset if you don't know the answer to the ages-old question, "Where da party at?" Apparently "I'm not from here, I just want to look at this sign" will earn you nothing but scorn.

Check out this photo segue.



Back to Denver to see the Rockies of Colorado take on the Cincinnati Redlegs. Remember last year when I was all into the Rockies? Well I'm still a big Rockies fan, helped largely by the fact that I can watch their games on basic cable. It was only two days before the DNC started so we had to run a blockade to get into the city, but we got there reasonably on time.

Great view from the park.


The Reds are one of the most storied teams in baseball. In fact, they're the oldest still-surviving team. They're not doing very well this year, and I can see why. These guys need to grow up.

"I'm not moving until you reverse that call. I'm not moving!"

The Reds are like the Bad News Bears but without the heart. These jokers don't even care enough to get in position!


Great game! Last time I went to a Rockies game the crowd was dead and the game was boring. This one was close and the place was full of energy. The Rockies even have a shot at the playoffs, no doubt thanks to me.

One of my favorite players, Troy Tulowitski. Look at the ball flying off his bat!

He grounded out to the shortstop.

"Yeah, I work for Major League Baseball."

"Oh? What do you do?"

"Whatever the commissioner needs. The team couldn't take the field without me."

Laser eye!


The Boys!

Yep.

WTF? It's bad enough that they're destroying Beatles songs, but now the Jonas Bros. are pro-fur too?

The important thing is...


...somewhere on this block is a 420 High Street.

Ah, the bachelor life. The contents of Sean's fridge (all of the boxes are empty):

Sunday morning, er, afternoon, time to go. Sean was sad.


But probably not as sad as he would be when he saw what Mike left in the tub.

Someone dropped some Midwest in northern Colorado.


The stormy plains of Wyoming.


Home!