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.

as seen in space

Saturday morning started way earlier than usual as I woke up before 10am to meet some folks for breakfast. Up the canyon we went, to Ruth's Diner, an up-the-canyon institution.

Look at this napkin.


Kind of sad that Ruth didn't realize that Betty Crocker was a fictional character. She also has napkins signed by Captain Crunch and the Headless Horseman.

After breakfast I wasn't even sure if I was really there or not, so I was going to go home and catch-up on my missed sleep. But then I got a better idea. What about going to the mine?

The Salt Lake Valley is more than just Dee's and neon signs and the zoo and places to shoot. It's also home to the world's largest excavation. The Bingham Canyon Copper Mine.

The usuals gathered and we pointed the car due west. Y'see, the entire western half of the valley is owned my the mining company.

Scott brought a basketball because he wanted to see if he could drop it all the way to the bottom of the mine.

Interesting country as you get closer. Lots of greenery and unsettled land.

Here's a huge pile of tailings (the stuff they've dug out of the ground). It's known affectionately as Mt. Doom.

Behold, the mine!

Not impressive? Let's put things into scale for you. This is one of the tires used on the mine trucks.

Now take a look:

It's a big damn mine! 2.5 miles wide, almost 1 mile deep. Full of copper.

It was a mountain once, but a little over 100 years ago some guys looked at that mountain and said "let's just tear that sucker down."

Interesting experience, gazing into the depths. This guy approves.

Do you even know how important copper is? Without it we'd have no golf trophies, no tv/vcr combos, and no miniature ovens.

I always thought the richest hole on earth was this guy:

ZING!

Odd that the gift shop would sell Kanchos, and that they would spell it wrong.

This is one of the best souvenirs I've ever gotten. And for only 51 cents.

I love my Beehive logo stretched penny. Seriously.

After our mine visit we sought out the tiny burg of Copperton. A bucolic oasis isolated out in the middle of nowhere.

The only place to eat there was The Best Little Ore House in Utah (get it?) but it was kind of intimidating.

We still had the desire to eat in a strange place so we went to a place on State St. called Jim's Diner (not to be confused with Jim's Family Restaurant).

This place was really eerie, and after a while we began to suspect that we had died and this was some sort of after-life waiting room.

Charon's boat, perhaps?

This perverse fry didn't help anything.

Later that night a few of us got together at the Bud, which was fun until Lee lost his temper and got all stabby.
Somehow we ended up taking turns reading from Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark and the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe. You ever heard this poem Annabel Lee? Man, that Poe could really spin a word.

Much to everyone's delight Scott read aloud a passage from his memoirs. The story of The Enterprise Mug that is Huge. I think it's the finest thing he's ever written, and to hear him perform it is really something else. If your lucky you'll hear it sometime. If you see him you should bug him to put it on his blog.

Also I wrote and performed some impromptu slam poetry. Pretty great.