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.

microsuede for beginners

Today's post is a good jumping on point for new readers. It has almost all of the classic Microsuede staples (cliches), but you won't be confused by all the back-continuity. I think you can pick up the story right from here without having to consult the wikipedia page or go hunting for past entries.

Weekend! A series of happenstances between Emily and Tracy led to a plan to visit Heber City in pursuit of a corn dog. Legend has it that this corn dog is the best corn dog around.

I was excited to go because I've never spent any meaningful time in Heber. Aside from a recent night-time raid I've only ever passed through. It's a nice little burg, a true small town nestled within the Wasatch Moun'ains.


To the right you can see the corner of The Dairy Keen, home of the corn-dog. This apparently is the place to be on a Friday night. It was packed, and there were at least thirty high school kids working behind the counter.

The paging system seemed a little too complicated for a one-dollar corn dog. can't they just yell out "97!"?

When the dog is ready the pager beeps, vibrates, and a robot voice says "Your order is ready. Please return to the counter to pick up your order." Weird. Oh, the dog was pretty good by the way.

Post corn-dog plans involved a stop by the cemetery. I like cemeteries aesthetically, for the stories they can tell, and because they remind me of the circle of life and all that junk. The cemetery in Heber is particularly interesting though.

There's this guy:

I'm a wannabe WWII buff so I was fascinated by this one. I've researched Sgt. Edwards' division, trying to see what steps he took. From what I gather he would have gone from Heber to Camp Barkley Texas, Fort Dix New Jersey, England, Wales, Normandy, and finally back to Heber.

Presuming this guy was in combat, he would have landed on Utah Beach two days after D-Day, and been involved in some pretty fierce battles while trying to retake northwestern France. Again, presuming he was killed in combat, he would have died while the 357th liberated the prefecture of Mayenne. I don't know if this is interesting to anyone but me... I dunno. This twenty-three year old from sleepy Heber City, going halfway around the world and meeting his end to free people he'd never meet, then making the long journey back to Heber. It's something.

While we're talking long journeys, I like this headstone. "Died in this city."

Here's this.

Same stone from the other, spookier side.

Three children from the same family, all under the age of two.

Can you even imagine? My biggest struggle on any given day is deciding where to go to lunch or dealing with the hassle of my wi-fi not working.

[pause for dignified reflection]

Here's someone walkin' around.

At first I was pretty excited that I'd captured a ghost on film, but it turns out it's just Emily. I guess I should have been tipped off by the fact that the ghost was dressed just like Emily.

One more cemetery pic and we're done.

Okay! Time to see what the Heber night life has to offer, starting with a stroll down Main Street.

This is posted in the doorway of a sewing machine store.

Ken's a great guy, willing to accommodate an after hours sewing repair emergency.

Neon. This place carries parts for all cars.

This restaurant saloon is called the Spicy Lady.

It claims to be the oldest building in Heber, and the oldest bar in Utah. It was only refurbished recently though and made into a mostly family friendly affair.

My attempts to hit on the waitresses were unsuccessful.

"Are you a spicy lady? Did they name this place after you, caliente chicadilla?"

The important thing is that they serve kangaroo meat. I was almost going to order it even though it was $22 and I wasn't hungry, but luckily I could get my kangaroo fix in a more economic quesadilla format.

Tastes like marsupial.

Finally we ended up at a place called The Other End. Had there been a piano player he would have stopped playing as soon as we walked in, as every sleeveless shirted cowboy hatted head turned to glare at us. Not my usual scene, but it was a friendly enough place. At one point I found myself alone on the patio (not uncommon at bars/restaurant/social functions) breathing the fresh country air and looking up at the big orange moon (likely a product of the California wild-fires). Just over yonder a bull was grazing. It was nice.

I didn't take too many pictures as it didn't seem like a picture takin' kind of place, but I had to get my neon.

And that's that. So long Heber.

Nothing happened on Saturday that can be considered more noteworthy than this.

A long time ago someone thought that mixing clam juice and tomato juice would be a good idea. Then someone else thought that mixing this clamato with beer would be a good idea. Guess what? It's not. In fact it might be the worst idea anyone has ever had. I took a swig and reflexively spit it out. Yich.

Unlike Budmato, there's one thing that's always a good idea. Watching the Wire. Here's a B's eye view of that affair.

Sunday was the boringest day ever, the end.

3/7-3/10

How many days was your weekend? How many apes did you befriend? Huh?

I had a three-day weekend because I just wanted an extra day off. No occasion for it. Friday night... nothing worth reporting. Oh, I cleaned out my freezer. There was stuff in there from when I first moved in three years ago.

Saturday night, big party in honor of Lee moving into Damian's house (both those guys are linked over there) and Danny H.'s birthday (he will be linked soon but isn't yet due to laziness).

Lots of good folk there. I almost found myself in a quagmire of a political argument but luckily Scott showed up with his new sword and distracted everybody.


You might remember that last week his old sword was stolen. This sword is way better. So much more honorable.

Some little girl put a dinosaur on my head. Kids have the worst jokes.


Also, black velvet painting of a temple.

I wish I had more pictures of the party but I'm sure someone out there in the blog-o-sphere has some.

On Sunday I got really confused and thought it was still last Sunday so I drove for hours to visit an old mining town and cemetery. My life is reruns, man.

Actually, my mom up and adopted herself a cat. She spent weeks researching pet adoption sites and finally found one she liked in Rifle, Colorado. The foster parents agreed to meet halfway in Price, Utah so my mother and I had ourselves a little road trip.

The early morning got off to a bad start when the fowl conspired to block my egress.



They wouldn't move! I inched closer and closer and honked the horn, and more ducks would come sit in the road. So we didn't end up taking my car.

Morning sure is pretty. I wish I could see it more often.


Before we get to the journey, how about you meet the new cat.


She's a very regal thing, but still quite skittish. Haven't decided on a name yet. The final candidates are Sushi, Maneki-Neko, Wasabi, and Ricky.

The drive to Price is on the perilous Highway 6. Old school Microsuede readers will remember that I wrote about this last year. Sunday morning was great though. No traffic, clear skies. It's actually a nice scenic drive.


We had some time to kill so we stopped by the old mining town of Helper. It's aged much better than Eureka, and people still live there since the coal-mining industry hasn't dried up yet.

Old signs, yep.


The streets were empty because I guess everyone was in church. Or working the mines. Or dead.



Lies! Piggly Wiggly only operates in seventeen U.S. states.

On the way back I wanted to stop at an old cemetery just off the Highway. It's called Mill Fork, and the graves there are very very old but it's still maintained by the descendants.


This section contains fourteen unknown travelers that were killed by Indians in the 1800s.

Leaving the cemetery some IDIOT was overconfident in the four-wheel drive and got us stuck in the snow. That same idiot had to crawl around on his hands and knees digging snow with an empty water bottle between intervals of pushing and lifting the car. Luckily another wayward traveler happened by and helped out. Thanks, whoever you are.


Sunday night: THE SERIES FINALE OF THE WIRE!!! - 30 -


Monday, the third day. Now look, I complain alot about that goose that's alway hassling me. You might think I'm just goofing around but it's a serious problem. This is the view from my bedroom window Monday morning.


Nothing on my plate Monday except for going to the zoo to look at orangutans. Kind of ridiculous that I watch them on TV all the time but haven't bothered to go see them in real life when four of them are only minutes away.

The zoo has a two year old named Acara, and she's awesome.

Here's the father, Eli. He's like a big ball of chewbacca.



Eve, the mother. She seemed to be in some distress today and Eli and Acara tried to comfort her to no avail.


This cool customer is Talukan. He's in a separate area from the other family, all by himself.

He yawns alot.


The best part is when Acara came over to say hi.

I almost always have my laptop with me, and I pulled it out to try to take a picture with the Mac-Cam. That's when she first came over. She was fascinated with my computer. Every time I pulled it back out she came over to take a look.



Finally, here's a gorilla reading the paper.