An Ultimatum

 Dear Weather,

            If a proper snowstorm doesn’t roll through Utah before the end of 2011, I’ll kill myself. I hope you read this newspaper, Weather, because otherwise I’ll make a fool of myself. Nevertheless my message will be crystal clear: this life isn’t worth living without snow. I’ve passively stood by as global warming has slowly decreased the snowfall and increased the temperatures, and it’s high time that I put my foot down in opposition. I cannot remain inactive while Utah becomes just another California. So, Weather, if you’re out there, be prepared to have innocent blood on your hands should this week pass without a good blizzard.

            Now, just to make sure we’re clear, the snowstorm needs to happen by midnight of December 31^st. That would really suck if it snowed at 2 am on January 1^st, and I was already dead. Come to think of it, I don’t want to die at all. I’m too young. Let me rethink this deal.

            Okay, Weather, if there isn’t any snow by the end of the week (the American week, not the French week; the French week ends on Sunday instead of Saturday), I’ll break my legs. It’s a price I’m willing to pay to prove to you that there are humans who truly care about receiving snow. Sure, you may hear a lot of people complaining about how ugly it is after a plow shoves it to the side of the road and how difficult it makes their commute, but I am one of many who loves the snow for its beauty and its fun-factor. We’re just a little less annoying and loud than the complainers, which is probably why you think everyone hates the snow.

            Hold on a minute, though – if I break my legs and then it does snow, how will I enjoy it? I can’t imagine trying to ski or ice-skate with two legs in casts. Perhaps I could compromise by breaking a toe or two. That wouldn’t hinder my activities too much if I have to follow through with my ultimatum and then it snows shortly afterwards. I could easily go tubing or have a snowball fight with a couple splints on my toes.

            Listen, Weather, I know you think I drive a hard bargain, but this whole painful situation could be avoided if you simply herd some clouds our way and shower us with snow. Think of the children (and the adults who never could grow up). The only way winter is even remotely fun is if the prospect of playing in the snow exists. No one wants to go on a hike or water ski or go hang gliding in the cold. It is impossible for the cold to be fun without snow.

            Weather, you may believe that you possess full control of the elements, but Japanese scientists are weeks away from creating a computer program that puts the control back into human hands, I swear. Soon we’ll be able to make it rain exactly where it needs to rain, or create tornadoes in our enemy lands, and then you’ll be useless. But you can prove your usefulness and gain an anti-human-controlled-weather ally by granting my simple wish: Let it snow! Once again, if you do not meet my demands by midnight of December 31^st, I think we agreed that I would have to take a hard slap to the face, so get snowing!

The Twelve Years of Christmas (Part III)

*Part Three of a Three-Part Series*

Popcorn and Apples

            Animals need love during the holidays too, and that is why my mother has often taken it upon herself to make sure the deer and rabbits that live near my parents’ house are taken care of for Christmas. When I was still living with my parents, my mom would let me and my siblings help her decorate the trees just outside the house with popcorn strings and apples. One year we even covered pinecones in peanut butter, rolled them in birdseed, and hung them for the few birds that had nowhere to go for Christmas. It was always a pleasant surprise to wake up Christmas morning and find a few new friends snacking on the items we had placed on a tree for them.

Ice Skating

            What boy or girl didn’t want ice skates at one point or another for Christmas? Well, unlike a dog, I never received skates, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying the sport during the holidays. It’s especially fun to skate outside with brightly lit trees encircling the rink. Funny thing is, I’m terrible at ice-skating. To my credit, I’ve at least learned to not fall on my rump as long as there is a nearby wall. Once again, that never stopped me from loving every second of it. The simple fact that I have blades on my feet that allow me to slice across a sheet of ice is exhilarating. I like watching people who actually know how to ice-skate. It gives me hope that by the time I’m 60, if go at least once a year, I might be able to acquire a few skills.

Old World Markets

            Being male, shopping is at the bottom of my list of favorite things to do. Especially Christmas. All the sale signs confuse me and before I know it I’ve bought a bunch of crap that I instantly regret and suffer intensely from “buyer’s remorse.” The only enjoyable Christmas shopping experience I’ve had was ten years ago in Germany, home of the “Christkindlmarkt.” These markets combine the splendor of Christmas gifts, décor, and treats with the beauty of the winter weather, all with an old world flair: wooden shop stalls, lanterns, etc. Imagine browsing over a tiny shop chock full of nutcrackers as thick flakes of snow slowly drift down to the cobblestone streets. When you’ve had your fill of ogling nativity scenes and ornaments, you wander over to the bratwurst cart and warm up with a cup of cocoa and a searing hot frankfurter. The Germans may not get everything right, but shopping outdoors during Christmas is pure genius.

Dreaming of a White Christmas

            My younger brother is in Peru right now. He’s sad because it’s summer down there. I can’t even imagine Christmas without snow. My parents have decided to take a road trip down to Arizona and New Mexico for Christmas this year. I think they’re crazy. Christmas without snow is like a peanut butter sandwich without the peanut butter. Crazy. I suppose some people would think it weird, though, to have snow on Christmas, like the Peruvians. This year is threatening to offer a relatively snowless holiday and it’s making me appreciate all the years we’ve had a blanket of white on Christmas morning. I remember, after all the presents had been opened and all the eggnog had been drunk, my siblings and I would spill outside to build snowmen and snow caves and eventually have a snowball fight that would end with someone taking a snowball to the eye. I really hope that the weather pulls through this year with Santa’s help and we receive a few inches of white powder for Christmas.

            I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about my twelve Christmas memories as much as I’ve enjoyed sharing them. Here’s hoping all your Christmas wishes come true and that you create a few new happy memories this year. May the peace and love of the Christmas season surround you and keep you warm while you spend time outdoors! Merry Christmas!

The Twelve Years of Christmas (Part II)

*Part Two of a Three-Part Series*

The Après-Christmas Party

            One year I made the big mistake of visiting a ski resort the day after Christmas. I knew I was in for trouble when traffic came to a standstill three miles from the parking lot. For a moment or two I considered heading back down the canyon because there were so many people and the resort was sure to be crowded, but I had planned a day of skiing and the obstinate German side of me was determined to do exactly as I had planned. Forty-five minutes later I found a parking spot and began my day on the slopes. After a half hour run of constantly dodging teenage skiers and boarders, I realized that most of the crowd on the mountain was completely inept at the art of navigating the snowy trails. The ski slopes were crawling with kids who had obviously received their first snowboard or set of skis one day ago. That’s when my German side kicked in again and I decided to turn a bad situation into an optimistic opportunity. I accepted the challenge presented that day after Christmas and gained some invaluable experience learning to expertly dodge clumsy teenagers. I also learned to stay away from the ski resorts on the 26^th of December.

Discovering the Sky

            When I was nine I received a toy telescope for Christmas. It doubled as a microscope, which I thought was cool. Sure, the tele- and microscopes weren’t exactly professional instruments, but they blew my nine-year-old brain away. I never really used the microscope part much, mainly because the toy only came with six slides to view, but the telescope part was truly revelatory and amazing. I could see the moon at ten times its normal size. Stars were so much clearer and mysterious. Airplanes proved a worthy challenge, as I would try to view them as they jetted through the air. I loved discovering a new world in the sky and ever since then I have always felt a sense of wonder and excitement when I look up at night and see the twinkling darkness, waiting to be explored.

Traveling at the Speed of Obsolete

            Technology will forever delight and enrage. Delight because it makes life so much more fun and interesting. Enrage because two months after I received a GPS navigational unit for Christmas, I bought a phone that already had a navigational app installed on it. And the phone was cheaper. When I got the GPS device, I thought I had finally entered the upper echelons of gadgetry. My smartphone quickly dispelled that notion. The only advantage the GPS unit still has over the phone is that I can plug it into the cigarette lighter, thus saving the battery on my phone, and it mounts nicely on my windshield. I still use it from time to time to entertain myself on a long drive; I like to see how much farther I have to travel to reach my destination and it’s sometimes fun to take a different route than the lady tells me, which makes her recalculate everything. Now I make sure to ask Santa for things that won’t be replaced within a couple months, like world peace and food for everyone.

The Only Way to Travel During Christmas

            Everyone knows that a train set around the Christmas tree is the only way to truly celebrate this wonderful time of year. The Polar Express has immortalized the train as a staple of Christmas nostalgia and the Heber Valley Railroad even has a North Pole Express that captures the combined magic of trains and Christmas. Ten years ago when I was living in the land of trains (aka Germany), I fell in love with the sight of a train snaking its way through a snow-filled countryside. I have never felt more comfortable and safe than the nights when I was on a train and the wind and snow were beating at the windows. My list of “100 Things to Do Before You Die” includes a wintry train ride, preferably at night. If you do so, make sure to take some hot cocoa and cookies with you for the ultimate Christmas experience!

            Join me next week for the culmination of the Twelve Years of Christmas. Until then, keep it merry and bright!

The Twelve Years of Christmas

            Over the next three weeks I will be musing over twelve Christmases past. Some of the gifts I’ve received or traditions I’ve observed have made an indelible mark in my mind and I’d like to share the memories with you. Many of my Christmas memories are related to the outdoors and the beauty of the season, so sit back, relax, and reminisce with me.

The Best Present Ever

            Every boy wants a dog for Christmas at some point in his life. After not receiving a dog for seventeen years, I had slightly given up hope. My 18^th Christmas Eve, as I was preparing to go to sleep, I decided to enjoy some eggnog before calling it a night. As I approached the basement stairs to go up to the kitchen, I noticed a light on in one of the storage rooms. I slowly pushed the door open and was surprised at the sight of a living snowball rolling around in a makeshift cage. My parents had finally given in to my wish! Needless to say, the next day I had to act extra surprised so my parents wouldn’t know I had found the puppy the night before. I quickly taught the little American Eskimo dog I received that year to follow me in the snow by hopping from footstep to footstep. He was my most faithful hiking companion.

My Father, the Clever Procrastinator

            My father seemed to always wait until three or less days before Christmas before “buying” a Christmas tree. I don’t remember ever being sad that we didn’t have a tree until later in the season, but I do remember the excitement of finally searching for our tree. By the fourth time I participated in a “late” tree hunt, I was beginning to catch on to what my dad was doing. It usually went something like this: Our big, old van would park in front of the tree lot and four or five of us children would spill out along with our somewhat frazzled father. We children would all promptly disappear among the sparse trees. Our father would begin talking to the salesman, who would observe the multiple children and say something like, “Well, it’s almost Christmas, and I probably won’t be selling too many more trees, plus you’ve got all these kids that have waited so long for a tree, so have one on me.” We would then pile back into the van after the tree was secured and ride home singing carols, imagining how we would decorate the tree. And my father still had $20 in his wallet.

The Sledding Tradition

            I grew up in a neighborhood with a giant sledding hill in the nearby park. The hill was a good 40-feet high and it was a few hundred feet long, allowing plenty of people to sled at the same time. One year I got a sled with brakes. The sled was long, plastic and orange, and it looked sleek and fast, but it bugged me that it had brakes. What self-respecting daredevil would even think about using brakes while sledding? My first run down the hill with that sled ended up in a nasty collision with a rock. After that, I used the brakes. But very discreetly.

The Coldest Christmas

            One year around Christmas my dad organized a service project in connection with an organization that provided aid to the homeless. He came home and told us kids that we would be helping serve breakfast to a few hundred homeless people outside. I was in charge of the French toast. As I would place a couple slices of toast on each person’s plate, my feet got colder and colder, but I quickly learned not to complain, because I realized the people I was serving had to be freezing. I watched as one of the men ate sausages with his fingers, which were poking out of his threadbare gloves. I saw children about my age huddling close to their parents, grateful for their own plate of food. Every year since, I have thought about that experience and know that there will always be people who want to make a difference and help those in need.

             Stay tuned next week for four more memories and until then, get out there and make your own!

Snow + Roads = Disaster?

            Snow will soon overtake our streets and highways, which means tow truck companies are going to be very busy hauling vehicles out of ditches and medians. If your vehicle were to hit a patch of black ice and slide off the road into a small gorge, how prepared would you be? Take this quick test to find out:

1.     Is your gas tank above half full?

2.     Does your heater work?

3.     Do you have spare water somewhere in your vehicle?

4.     Is your vehicle equipped with flares or some other attention-grabber?

5.     Do you keep extra items of warm clothing in your vehicle?

If you were able to answer “yes” to all of these, you are free to stop reading this article and move on to something more interesting. If you answered “no” to at least three, though, there is one final question in the test:

6.     Is your last will and testament in order?

            This test comes in handy not only after you find yourself at the bottom of a ravine, but also if you’re stuck on a freeway during a whiteout blizzard. Quickly falling snow can easily bring freeway traffic to a standstill, especially if an accident is already blocking one or two lanes. Throughout the past few decades, storms across the United States have shut down whole sections of highways, stranding motorists, and making it all but impossible to clear the roadway. Emergency crews have had to brave icy conditions to reach motorists who are in desperate need of more gas to keep their cars running and warm, as well as water and other necessities.

            Do yourself a favor and be prepared for that scenario. Sure, your quarter-tank of gas may last you five to six hours idling, but what if you’re stranded for 24 hours or more? And besides water, you may want to have a snack or two tucked away somewhere, just in case. Luckily for me, my little boy drops bits of his graham crackers and other treats in the back seat of my car. The best-case scenario for a winter slide-off or freeway stranding would be that you are returning from a grocery-shopping trip. You wouldn’t even have to worry about the ice cream; you would simply place it right outside your door.

            I’ve only been worried once in my life that I wasn’t going to make it home during a blizzard. I was nearing the top of Parley’s Canyon, slightly past the Jeremy Ranch exit. Traffic was moving at about an inch per minute and all I could see ahead of me was a sea of snowflakes and steadily blinking taillights. Even though I had a vehicle that could have probably made it up the hill in less than five minutes, all the semis and vehicles without chains or snow tires were completely clogging the road. Suddenly a 20-minute trip down to Salt Lake was turning into a potential overnight debacle. All I could imagine is that it was gridlock the whole way down the canyon.

            I wasn’t prepared at all for that blizzard. Fortunately for my passengers and me, it only took two hours to reach our destination, but if it had taken longer, I’m sure we would have quickly run out of gas and any sort of food or water that we had had in the car. The amazing thing is, we were on a roadway with 200 or more other people, and most of us were more than likely ill prepared for the little blizzard that struck with a big fury. 200 people and not enough resources spell disaster. Be prepared this season and make sure your vehicle contains the necessary elements for survival. Hopefully you won’t have to use them, but you’ll be happy you have them if you do.

Interview With a Bear

            As you begin to slip into a turkey-induced mini coma this Thanksgiving, allow me to help the process by offering you this mind-numbing interview I conducted with a native Utah black bear about hibernation. If you aren’t fully unconscious by the middle of the interview, eat more turkey and hope for the best. Enjoy!

GE: Tell me, what is it like to hibernate for five months or so during the winter months?

BB: Well, first, if I may, let me dispel a common misconception you humans have about us bears and our behavior. Most of us bears wouldn’t lump ourselves in with common rodents and say we hibernate. We call it denning.

GE: What is the difference?

BB: Most hibernators experience a drop in body temperature that is close to freezing. We bears only lose maybe 12 degrees, leaving us ready to spring into action if danger presents itself. One does not simply walk into a bear’s den in the middle of winter and poke it with a stick. Also, our metabolism doesn’t decrease quite like hibernators experience. In essence, we are entering a period of prolonged deep sleep, from which we can easily awaken if necessary.

GE: Forgive me for sounding dumb, but I always thought hibernating was just that: deep sleep.

BB: (Laughs.) An animal’s body undergoes several small changes during hibernation to ensure that the animal can survive months in below-freezing temperatures. The process does not only entail sleep. Hibernators often wake in order to raise their body temperatures, eat, and dispose of waste. The most effective way I can describe the difference between denning and hibernation is denning bears are like lethargic humans sitting in front of their televisions: conserving their energy and only moving when absolutely necessary. Hibernators are technically frozen and have short spurts of activity in-between sleeping bouts.

GE: OK, so now that we’ve specified the main difference between hibernating and denning, what is it like to “den?”

BB: Imagine curling up next to a fireplace after eating an extravagant meal. You’re warm, comfortable, without a care in the world. It’s like that, except without the fireplace.

GE: Since you can’t curl up next to a fireplace, where is the next best place for you to den?

BB: In my many travels, I have come across caves that have provided me with suitable accommodations during the winter months. I prefer exceedingly cramped quarters, which I like to call a “nook.” I can’t stand sleeping sprawled out.

GE: What do you tend to dream about?

BB: For the past three years I have had a recurring dream. I guess you could call it a nightmare. I’m walking out in the forest during the summer enjoying the warm weather when I suddenly become very self-conscious. At first I can’t put my finger on it, but then I look down and I’m wearing pants! It’s awfully embarrassing and I quickly look about to see if any elk or moose are snickering at me. Instead, thousands of rabbits appear and demand that I give them horsy rides. Without waiting for my approval, they begin climbing on my back and I am rapidly crushed under their weight. That’s about when I wake up.

GE: Well, black bear, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me. I wish you luck in finding the perfect nook this winter season.

BB: Thank you and it was my pleasure.

Shaking the Cold

            The alarm is going off and my recently unconscious brain is trying to figure out which direction the noise is coming from. Once located, the real ordeal begins: How do I turn it off without exposing my arm to the cold air outside the toasty cocoon of blankets enveloping me? I lower the thermostat in my bedroom at night to save on utility costs, but it definitely makes getting out of bed a difficult task. Finally the desire to stop the annoying beep-beep-beep-beep wins out and I reach over and silence the alarm.

            Mornings for me are always a fun experience, mostly because the decisions that I made the night before seem so distant and irrelevant and/or silly after I wake up. Like the decision I made last night to go running this morning. I usually run at night, but I’m trying to wake up earlier so my mornings aren’t rushed. This morning the idea seems inane. I can barely stand the thought of uncovering one arm, let alone dragging my whole body out of bed in order to go exercise outside where it is guaranteed to be 30-40 degrees colder than my room.

            At this point, the guilt-trip side of my brain is finally waking up and it begins reminding me that I promised myself I would go running this morning. It asks me to think about what people would say if they only knew that I couldn’t even hold true to promises I made to myself. That thought pattern is luckily interrupted by the macho part of my brain; the part that says, “Man, you can do anything. Shoot, a little cold isn’t going to keep you from kicking some royal butt out there this morning. You’re a winner. Those sidewalks and gravel paths don’t stand a chance against you. Come on! Get up! Let’s do this!” Nothing like a pep talk to yourself.

            So I get up. I creep over to my closet and grab my running shoes, socks, sweat pants, and thick hoodie. After dressing I do my stretches inside. Sure, I’m pumped up to go running outside, but why be out in the cold longer than I have to? I open the front door and breathe in the crisp, frozen air. It sends a thrill through my body and I jump off the porch and hit the sidewalk running.

            I’m glad I got up this morning to do this. The last time I went running in the morning was over 14 years ago, when I was still in high school. Before I know it, the warm, fuzzy memories of my cross-country running days slowly work their way down the back of my neck and spread downward into my whole body, warming everything. The smell of the untouched morning air is exactly as I remember it, and the haloed street lights are just as cheerful and happy to light my way as they were back in the day.

            Running in the morning isn’t as bad as I imagined it would be as I laid there earlier deciding if I should hit the alarm or let it run its course. My fond memories are soon joined by thoughts about the rest of the day, and for the most part they are optimistic and invigorate me. I’m really looking forward to checking items off my to-do list today. Within a few minutes the cold is nothing but a relief to my burning lungs. Looks like I’ll be doing this more often.

Poachers Beware!

            Before you read this article, do yourself a favor and search the keywords “Chuck Testa” on the Internet. I promise this article will make 23% more sense if you do.

            Hunting season is well under way, which means Utah’s mountains are crawling with bright orange people in search of an animal to kill. Humans are braving cold temperatures, wild beasts and uncomfortable air mattresses in exchange for a chance to take home a pile of meat and a trophy for the man cave at home. The hunting experience is an exciting break from ordinary life and offers people the chance to use that gun which is normally locked in a glass case, which sits in the hallway, for most of the year.

            Imagine waking up at 5:30 am in order to bag the perfect buck. An hour later you’re wedging yourself between a pine tree’s trunk and a jagged boulder when you hear a noise and look up. In the little bit of light that is available, you’re able to make out the shape of a deer about 25 yards away, and by the looks of it, it’s at least a 4-pointer. Surprisingly, the buck wasn’t scared off by all the noise you made trying to get somewhat comfortable among all the branches and rocks. Without hesitating you level your rifle, take aim, and pull the trigger. There is no way you’re going to let this one go. Amazingly, despite the fact that the buck remained completely still while you aimed, it is right where it was before you took the shot. At first you think your sight is off, but then you realize that the buck is still standing there, even after all the noise your rifle just made.

            It’s then you hear another noise from a few yards to the right of the buck. A man all dressed in orange steps out from behind a tree and says, “You probably thought this deer was alive. Nope! It’s not. Just Chuck Testa.” Slowly it dawns on you that you’ve been had by a master taxidermizer, perhaps the best the world has ever known. You shake your head and begin laughing, but then Chuck continues in his monotone drawl, “You should have waited another half an hour. Official sunrise isn’t for another hour. You shot too soon. Now I have to take you in for poaching.”

            This may sound like a complete work of fiction, which it is, but it has happened to real people. Not the Chuck Testa part, but the part about shooting a deer that is simply a decoy to nab poachers. The Division of Wildlife Resources sometimes uses lifelike, robotic deer that can help them catch people that are not playing by the rules. So poachers beware! The next deer you shoot could be full of wires and made of plastic, but it will cost you a fleshy arm and leg (not literally, of course, but close).

            Even if you have a tag, there’s a chance you could still become a poacher. Trespassing, shooting from your vehicle, using a prohibited weapon, and hunting between a half an hour after sunset to a half an hour before sunrise are all illegal and will earn you the label of a poacher. The point of having hunting rules and regulations is so that the hunting experience is as fair as possible for everyone involved. Watch out for the next time you come across a buck that seems too good to be true. Could just be a Chuck Testa taxidermy special. 

The Perfect Costume

            CONTINUATION FROM PREVIOUS WEEK

            The darkness I had fallen into was all-consuming. Time stopped. I was numb all over. Silence reigned. I couldn’t move my arms or legs, and my jaw seemed to be clamped shut tight. After remaining in this state for a substantial amount of time, I was convinced I was dead. I must have misjudged how wide the stream was and smacked my head on a rock. For all I knew, I was simply a collection of thoughts and nothing more. Maybe that’s how death was: only your thoughts survive and even they eventually dissipate over time. Soon I would be nothing more than small bits of energy floating about the universe.

            When I first heard the other voices, I was sure it was just my thoughts mingling with other dead people’s thoughts. I don’t remember what the voices were saying to begin with, but after the incessant interruption of my thoughts, I focused on them. Two things surprised me about the voices: one, they were two distinct voices, not a bunch of random ones that I would have expected in the spirit-thought realm; and two, they were German.

            Now, I’ve seen enough WWII movies to know a little German, and I’m pretty sure the voices were saying something like, “…maybe he’s dead.” “Well, if so, we should eat him.” “I’m not going to eat him, I’m just going to rifle through his pockets and see if he’s got any old collector’s stamps on him.” “Forget the stamps, I’m hoping he has some moon rock dust in his hair…” As the voices continued, pain started to seep into my thoughts, increasing until it was too much. That’s when my jaw unlocked and the most horrible scream I’ve ever heard issued forth from my very throat.

            My shriek drowned out everything around me, and I must admit, I put those howling aspen trees that had frightened me to shame. I certainly freaked the Germans out who had happened upon me, because I could hear them yelling and panicking, trying to figure out what to do. Then everything went black again, thank goodness.

            When I came to again, I felt pain, but it was subdued. I could hear a beeping noise and there was a thin blanket covering my body. Eventually I opened my eyes and saw mostly white. Once again I wondered if I were dead. It didn’t take as long for the voices to start up, though: “His eyes are open.” “Oh, good! How do you feel?” “There you are. You took quite a spill, didn’t you?” After hearing them, I knew I was among family and friends, and most likely wasn’t dead.

            Over the next few days, as I lay in a hospital bed, I was slowly able to recall to others the events that led to the present moment. Many of my visitors seemed to have difficulty believing most of my explanation of how I wound up smacking my head. They all seemed incredulous when I detailed the howling trees and the mysterious apparition. The only proof I had from the whole experience was the injury on my scalp. Fortunately for me, Halloween is just around the corner, and the stitches keeping my head together provide me with the perfect gruesome costume. No makeup necessary.

            Moral of this part of the story: Life is a game of chance. Sometimes you get lucky. Oh, and not all Germans are bad.

            This story and the previous three were all inspired by mostly true events. Happy Halloween!

The Ghost Light

            CONTINUATION FROM PREVIOUS WEEK

            Something was rising out of the bushes on the other side of the small stream I had found in the dark nighttime forest. A voice that sounded like empty tin cans and discarded newspaper blowing down a vacant street said, “Lost, little boy?” I didn’t know how to respond, mostly because I was scared speechless and my body was numb. I had had ghostly encounters twice before in my life, but the first time I was too young to be truly frightened and the second time I was a teenager and oblivious to what I was seeing. Now I was well aware that the being before me was neither flesh nor blood and that it was addressing me.

            Despite my terror, something about what the apparition had said bothered me. I finally hit upon the offending bit and spoke back, somewhat defiantly, “I’m not a little boy. I just turned 30 a couple of months ago.” The nebulous shape before me shuddered slightly and retorted, “I’m technically over 150. You’re a little boy in my book.” I couldn’t argue with his cold logic, so I shrugged and went back to being scared. After visibly trembling for a bit, I eked out the only thing I could think to ask the ghost: “What do you want?” The ghost’s desolate voice responded, “I only want to know if you’re lost. I know these woods like the back of my hand and can help you back to safety.”

            My mind was full of questions at this point: Who was this ghost when he was alive? Could I trust him? Why was he so willing to help me? Was it a trap to kill me so he could have a friend? Why was his voice so creepy? Did he possibly have anything lying about that was edible? As I wondered all of this my brain began to function more and more normally. I remembered how much I enjoy a good adventure, and that I needed material for the next week’s column. Before I knew it none of my questions seemed important in the face of the epic adventure standing before me. A 150-year-old ghost was going to lead me through a creepy forest in the dead of night!

            The ghost hadn’t tried to harm me yet, so I figured I could trust him. I looked at him and said, “Yes, I’m lost. I would be extremely grateful if you could help me.” The flickering mass of air in front of me seemed to smile and bow and then proceeded to bend down and retrieve something from beneath the thick bushes. As he straightened back up, the area around him was immediately illuminated with a pale glow, like a subdued fluorescent light. I could now see the ghost’s features a little better. He had a stubbly beard, thick eyebrows, a sort of furry top hat, a long, dark wool overcoat, and gray trousers. He was holding an old metal lantern in his left hand, but I couldn’t perceive where the light was actually coming from. There was no flame or intense point of light, but somehow light emanated from the lantern all the same.

            “You’re going to have to cross the stream if you want my help, boy,” the ghost said as he began to turn to lead me through the forest. I looked down at the small flow of water and suddenly had a pang of trepidation. After a moment’s hesitation, the desire to experience a grand adventure quickly quelled any misgivings I had, and I nimbly hopped over the two-foot-wide streamlet.

            And plunged into the blackest void imaginable.

            Moral of this part of the story: Intuition and gut instinct are the most reliant tools humans possess. Don’t ignore them.

            TO BE CONTINUED…

Darkness Descending

            CONTINUATION FROM PREVIOUS WEEK

            Once my gasps for air turned into semi-normal breathing, I looked up and took in my surroundings. I stood at the edge of a large meadow full of low-lying shrubs and thick grass. All around the perimeter were the yellowing leaves and white bark of aspen trees. If it weren’t for the dark clouds moving in and my recent run-in with a bunch of all-seeing, shrieking aspens, the scenery would have been somewhat idyllic.

            When I had started my hike earlier in the day, I had followed a well-marked trail for a few hundred yards until I came across a small, inconspicuous path – most likely used by deer – and followed it. Eventually the path disintegrated into the vegetation and I blazed my own way through the forest. I had a compass and the sun at my disposal, and I wasn’t afraid of getting lost then.

            Now I had no idea where I was, the sun had all but disappeared, and my compass was obsolete because, at this point, I truly didn’t know if my vehicle was east, west, north or south of me. I couldn’t even see any trails leading in or out of the meadow that might have given me some sort of hope. No one knew where I was; I had decided to enjoy the beautiful fall day on my own. My cell phone was back in my car. My backpack only had a few odds and ends: small first aid kit, penknife, bottle of water, and crackers. No light source at all…and the daylight was fading fast.

            My best bet was to head downhill. Thanks to my compass, I at least knew that the Heber Valley had to sit almost due east of my location. The only thing between it and me was a few miles of mountain and a few man-eating beasts.

            Traveling in the twilight without a flashlight or lantern is always an eerie experience. I have an overactive imagination and the descending darkness wasn’t calming it down any. After crossing the meadow I had to face another grove of sinister-looking aspen trees. All I could do was tell myself that my previous encounter with the howling trees was completely in my head.

            The wind was steadily blowing down the canyon I was navigating through. The constant rustle of leaves overhead was slightly unnerving and it was all I could do to keep from imagining skeletons or ghosts creeping up from behind me. The white trunks and branches of the aspens certainly weren’t helping. They created a series of creepy, silent sentinels in the last little bit of light. I could feel their eyes on me.

            After an hour of traveling downward and restraining the panic and terror within me, I hadn’t crossed any paths or seen any lights. The sun had surely set, as it was now extremely dark. Luckily my night vision is pretty good and I had finally found an almost imperceptible path leading through the trees. I had a feeling I would reach a bigger trail and maybe even a roadway soon.

            The noise of the wind was joined by the sound of water up ahead. I had to be close to a stream. For some reason the thought of a stream calmed me down. As I neared the flowing water, the aspens thinned out and the ground became covered in thick bushes that were hard to push through. Right before I reached the small stream I stopped short. On the other side of the water, in the midst of more thick bushes, there was a shape rising out of the vegetation. At first I was startled, thinking it was an animal. I stretched my arm back to grab my penknife out of my backpack, but sheer terror quickly halted all of my movement when I realized what was on the other side of the river. My penknife would do nothing against the horror I had just stumbled upon.

            Moral of this part of the story: Sometimes it is impossible to be prepared. Especially for the unlikeliest of circumstances.

            TO BE CONTINUED…

The Trees See All

            An aspen grove is one of the most serenely beautiful places to visit in the early autumn. The vibrant yellow leaves sound like waves on some distant shore as the wind calmly weaves its way through the trees’ branches. A couple weeks ago I sought the soothing effects of an aspen grove at the top of American Fork Canyon. As I began hiking through the labyrinth of pale white trunks, the constant clamor of the city’s heartbeat faded and was replaced with a Zen-like “ohm” that radiated out into the trees. The trees returned the mantra, filling me with inner peace and calm, dispelling the stress that weighed upon my shoulders and chest.

            The aspen trees had made such an impression on me that I wanted to leave my mark on them. I pulled out my penknife and found the perfect white space of bark to write a loving message to the trees. While I carved “G.E. + A.T.” (for Gabe Eberhard + Aspen Trees) into the soft, papery flesh of the tree, a sudden sense of danger came over me. There was a disturbance in the “ohm” within my chest, a slight aberration like a record skipping or the thump of a large rock hitting the ground after falling 100 feet.

            And then the low groan started. It was clearly audible, not like the spiritually silent sound of inner peace. At first I believed the guttural noise was possibly a dangerous animal, but after surveying my immediate surroundings, I determined that the sound was emanating from the tree I had just sliced open! In fact, it was coming from the very gashes that I had but moments before executed. Surprised, I took a step back and tripped on a low-lying bush. I fell onto my backside and sat there for a few seconds, attempting to gather my wits. But the groaning was becoming a howl. How could this be? How could a tree make such a horrid noise?

            Sitting on the ground, stunned, I watched the grove darken as a large cloud passed in front of the sun’s random shafts of light. The shadowing effect of the cloud brought something to my attention that I had previously taken for granted. Black markings that had seemed to be scars were now eyes menacingly staring down at me. The tree I had engraved was glaring at me! I pushed off the ground and stood up. In a fit of desperation and panic I jammed my penknife into one of the tree’s eyes and twisted it about. As quickly as I had attempted to cut the eye out, though, I stopped. I tried to convince myself that my eyes and ears were playing tricks on me. The whole situation had to be due to some phenomenon caused by the odd light and the cooler weather.

            The tree I had sliced into was freaking me out, despite the whisperings of my rational mind, so I turned around to get away from it. To my horror every white trunk in the vicinity was staring at me. Some trunks had a couple of eyes and others had ten or more, and they were all riveted on me! I wanted so badly to chop each and every eye out of the trees. I wanted to cover up what I had done to one of the trees that had, minutes earlier, shared my inner peace.

            The persistent howl behind me crawled up my spine and I could feel my strength waning as my legs began to tremble ever so slightly. I felt like the trees were bearing down on me like a pack of starving wolves. Other trees soon took up the maddening, never-ending howl and the cacophony of noise swirled about me. I knew I couldn’t face the sheer numbers that the aspen grove possessed and so I mustered all my strength and ran back through the maze of deathly white trunks and black, all-seeing eyes until I reached a clearing where the unearthly howl was drowned out by the wind. I had no idea where I was, but at least I could gather my breath and my senses.

            Moral of this part of the story: Don’t carve into trees. They’re watching you.

            TO BE CONTINUED…

Changes

            In a quiet grove, far, far away from any road or building, a tiny oakling twisted and curved its trunk back to peer up at its giant father oak and inquire, “What’s happening to me, dad?” “You’re changing, son,” was his simple reply. “But why?” The papa tree didn’t really know what to say, so he said, “Because you have to prepare for the future.” The oakling relaxed his miniature trunk and looked down at the ground, thinking. He had no clue what his dad meant with such a fuzzy answer. “But why can’t I just stay green, dad? Why am I all orange and yellow?”
             The big oak was silent for a moment as he thought of the technical reasons of why his little boy was turning odd colors: the air was becoming colder, the sun was staying less time during the day, and the chlorophyll inside each of his leaves wasn’t able to produce as much food as it was during the sunny summer months, therefore causing the bright green pigment of the chlorophyll to die out and give rise to other pigments present in the leaves. His son wouldn’t understand any of that.

            The father oak’s deep voice was steady and reassuring, “All of your leaves are going to fall off your branches soon, son. It’s a sad time, because leaves are what make us so beautiful and elegant. Our leaves turn different colors to give us one last bit of joy and beauty before they fall.” “So I’ll be naked?!” the oakling squeaked out as he brought all of his leafy branches closer to his trunk. “Yes, you’ll be more naked than the jaybird that made a nest in my topmost branches, but has now gone away for the winter months.”

            The oakling shuddered as a cool breeze blew through his leaves and then turned back to his papa. “But why aren’t you turning all funny colors, dad?” Despite the massive oak’s understanding of how his leaves were closer to the sun and that he was actually capturing the precious energy before it could reach the tiny tree residing in his shade, he still didn’t know how to properly explain it all to his little boy. After a couple minutes, he softly touched the top of his tiny orange-and-yellow boy with his bright green leaves and said, “It is going to get extremely cold in the coming weeks. So that you don’t have to feel the cold, you’re going to go to sleep soon, for a very, very long time. Longer than you have ever slept before, or can even imagine. Many of the animals you have seen in the forest will do the same, too, like the bears and squirrels. My leaves will not change and fall until you are deep in slumber, because you will need me to watch over you and shelter you while you are so naked and cold.”

            The little oakling became very solemn and he widened his eyes as he whispered, “Will it hurt to be so naked and cold?” Without hesitation, the father replied, “Son, I will cover you and keep you warm until I have to go to sleep. The next thing you will remember is waking up to birds chirping, a cool breeze, the sun shining, and a new set of beautiful, gorgeous leaves budding on every one of your little branches.”

            Smiling at the thought of the promise of new green leaves, the oakling looked down the length of one of his branches and admired all the different colors. A breeze blew and broke one of the leaves at the tip of his branch free. The little oakling watched as the gust of wind carried his leaf a few feet away from him and gently placed it on the ground. With a big yawn, the oakling gazed at his dad and said, “I love you, dad.” The father oak shifted his branches to shield the oakling from stronger gusts of wind and said, “I love you, too, son.”

Pacifying Paranoid Passengers

            What makes a good driver? Snazzy gloves? The ability to drift around a turn at 50 mph? Someone who can beat everyone else off the line at a traffic light? The loudest exhaust and/or stereo system? All these qualities and more may or may not indicate a good driver. The true test of a vehicle-operating guru is his or her ability to keep the other passengers in the car calm and quiet.

            No one likes a backseat driver. There are two types of backseat drivers: those who are just plain annoying and those who are truly concerned about their safety or don’t want to get lost. The first type can’t be helped; these are your little brothers, teenagers in general, and friends that you will never take on a road trip again. The second type of backseat driver can actually be helpful. Sometimes we are unaware of our driving habits that may make other people nervous, such as cutting closely in front of cars or always braking too quickly.

            I recently went on a mountain drive with a friend. The late summer air in the mountains was so cool and inviting. As we drove toward Midway Reservoir, she turned to me and said, “I like how you drive. I’m not paranoid that you’re going to drive off a cliff or anything like that.” I asked, “Are you normally concerned that the person driving will just fly off a cliff?” She responded, “No, but I can tell that you are in control of the vehicle and that you’re not going to let it get out of control.” That made me feel good, because that is how I try to drive – in control. Later, as we drove back down the canyon, though, I swerved to avoid a hole in the road. I was only going 25-30 mph and felt in complete control of the car, but my passenger gasped and said, “I didn’t like that at all.” I apologized, promptly slowed down and kept an eye out for unruly road wrinkles.

            There are a lot of accidents that occur because the driver was not in control. Whenever I hear about an accident that could have been prevented, I think about the passengers and what they must have been thinking before the accident happened. Had the driver been exhibiting any odd behavior like swerving for fun? Do they wish they had said something to the driver? Could any of the passengers say, “I told you so,” after the accident occurred, or, “Guess you owe me five bucks… knew you couldn’t do it”?

            Steering wheels and pedals give a driver an odd sense of security and control, but the truth is, cars can be unpredictable. Sometimes the best driver in the world is victim to a pure accident. A tire can blow, a screw can come loose, a light can burn out, or a deer can jump out in front of the vehicle. You can rarely be ready for such occurrences, but you can certainly practice safe driving habits that may reduce the effects. Two hands on a steering wheel during a blow-out is much better than one, or a knee for that matter. A foot that tends to favor the brake rather than the gas could prevent a bloody animal mess. Defensive driving is about expecting the unexpected. And saving yourself the stress of having to listen to unwanted driving advice from the peanut gallery.

            

Determination

I’ve been thinking a lot about something my friend Pierre encourages in a presentation of his. His presentation promotes taking care of yourself in order to be the best you can be, and in turn you will be much better at helping those around you too. The thing that interests me most about his discourse is a section about determination. He says something to the effect that if you want to take a jog every evening at 7 o’clock, don’t let anything get in between you and your 7 o’clock jog. The reason I’ve been pondering this point is because just when I think life can’t get any more complicated and busy, it does.
 I’ve been meaning to hike Mount Olympus this whole summer, but I haven’t yet. I keep telling myself I will, but last weekend I had a tree come down and I’m still cleaning it up, and the weekend before that I had an early morning work meeting on Saturday that threw off my whole weekend, and the weekend before that I had to clean my house, and the weekend before that…
 My resolve is often weak. I’m not a planner, except for when it comes to far-away vacations. I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of guy, and I usually go with the flow and do whatever seems fun or necessary at the moment. There is relatively no stability in my life outside of my work schedule. So how do I do what I want to do without not doing it because something else comes up?
 One old person I know would say, “Grow a spine!” After hearing this, I would normally bristle and counter with a prideful statement to indicate that I do indeed have a spine, but the image is nonetheless accurate. I feel like a jellyfish, being pushed this way and that in an endless ocean of possibilities and opportunities. The only way I’m going to reach any of my destinations with any amount of surety requires the help of evolution: I have to grow a spine, along with fins and a powerful tail in order to cut through the powerful currents that lead me to, well, wherever they want to take me.
 So this weekend, I’ve got a date with a mountain. I’m not going to let anyone or anything get in the way. What’s that you say? What if a whole tree falls on my house? It’ll have to wait until I’m done hiking. What if there’s a work emergency? I’m turning my phone off Friday night and not turning it back on until after the hike. What if my house is so cluttered that I can’t find my hiking boots? I’ll hike barefoot (or maybe at least with some socks on).
 The fact of the matter is I will never do anything as long as I allow other things to interfere with my plans. Determination, like any other skill, requires practice. It’s not one of those things that you either have or you don’t. It’s a learned trait that everyone can exercise. So if there’s anything you’ve been putting off because other things keep getting in the way (i.e. camping trip, Grand Canyon visit, moose hunt), discover the determination inside of you and grow a spine!

A Force To Be Reckoned With

Today is my birthday and I’m turning 30, so I’m going to write about what I want to write about. Then again, I always write about what I want to write about. I really just wanted you all to know it was my birthday. Despite the fact that I’m finishing off my third decade, I’ve recently been watching a Nickelodeon series on Netflix called “Avatar: The Last Airbender.” It’s a cartoon and the characters are mostly young, but it’s charming and full of life lessons for children and adults alike.
The reason why I’m bringing up “Avatar” is because the main character, Aang, can manipulate the wind and air to cause sometimes devastating effects, much like the storm we experienced late Sunday night. Because of a strong wind, a 500-pound branch snapped off a tree in my backyard and crashed to the ground. Unfortunately the branch didn’t crush my house (most homeowners should be able to relate with this sentiment), but it did come down on top of a power line. Amazingly, the branch got wedged between my shed and the tree it came off of, taking the slack out of the power cables, not breaking them. No real damage was done other than to the tree. Wind can be brutal at times.
Aang is able to create strong winds to knock his opponents back and block their elemental attacks. Imagine being able to create a windstorm so strong that it turns into a hurricane (which Aang can do), destroying everything within its path. If you’ve seen any recent pictures of Hurricane Irene, you know that hurricanes can turn buildings into big piles of toothpicks. A huge, swirling mass of air has enough strength to pick up boats and cars and houses and throw them miles away, and it still has the power to continue raging across the landscape.
One of my friends, who is also familiar with the “Avatar” series, once asked me what kind of a “bender” I would be. There are four types: water, fire, earth, and air. I really thought about it and eventually responded that I would be an airbender. One, I would love to fly without using an airplane. Two, I like to think that I am relaxed and friendly and air is generally very soothing and calm; there is nothing like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. And three, the wind is invisible, which makes it easy to forget that it can be a force to be reckoned with; air has the element of surprise.
Don’t let the wind surprise you on your outdoor adventures. There have been too many sad news stories revolving around a sudden wind storm: a harmless campfire turns into a raging forest fire; a group of boaters is missing after their boat capsizes due to a strong wind; a rogue current of air knocks a plane out of the sky; a stage collapses during high winds and crushes a crowd of people; a kite flies too high and is ripped out of a screaming six-year-old’s hands. Okay, that last one wasn’t in the news, but it should have been. The point is, don’t count the wind out when you’re planning for an activity. Wind is like a ninja: invisible, deadly, and seems to be in multiple places at once, which it actually is. Don’t underestimate the power of the air and remember that I like mint chocolate cake!

Saving Summer

Don’t let school get in the way of enjoying the last days of summer. Summer technically doesn’t end until the 23rd of September this year. Now I’m not condoning parents taking their kids on last-minute trips to Disneyland instead of sending their children off to school, or teenagers playing hooky to go fishing before the rivers freeze. What I want to encourage is using the last few weekends this summer to enjoy the outdoors. Weekends. You know, the parts of the week that most people aren’t working and children aren’t in school. The parts you sometimes don’t know what to do with because you’ve got so much to do and only two days to do it in.
Speaking of time management, summer seemed to get a late start this year with all the snow and rain that wouldn’t quit. Actually summer almost started right when it was supposed to, that is on the 21st of June, but most kids had already been out of school for a few weeks at that point. It feels like we were shorted one whole month because the weather was prohibitive of outside activities, like camping or hiking. Everything was either buried under 30 feet of snow, caked with mud, or being carried down a raging river.
I love to camp and hike, but I hate campgrounds and trails full of other humans. I’m okay with lots of deer and rabbits. Not bears and cougars, though. Anyway, nature appeals to me because of the solitude and peacefulness that it affords. The distant mountains seem to become a small town with all of the noise and activity going on in the summer. And the amount of precipitation we received this year in the late spring season forced everybody closer together into easily accessible camping areas and hiking trails and kept more remote places like the Mirror Lake area closed until mid-summer. There was no chance of real isolation without the risk of becoming stuck in the mud or snow or flooding river. The months of July and August have thankfully offered a bit of a reprieve from the negative elements, and things now are a bit less soggy and more conducive to a good night’s sleep in the forest or a meandering wander through the canyons.
Now is the time to go camping and hiking. It’s still relatively warm in the mountains, the snow isn’t prohibitive, the rivers have died down, and there will be fewer and fewer people crawling around the mountains as the weeks go by (except for the upcoming Labor Day weekend). Think about it: you really only get maybe 60 to 70 chances in your lifetime to truly enjoy the outdoors during the dying days of summer. That may seem like a lot, but talk to a 90-year-old and see if he or she doesn’t wish for a few more camping and hiking trips. Of course, make sure you’re talking to someone who actually enjoys the outdoors; otherwise you’ll probably just elicit a response containing the words “Fool darn” and a phrase beginning with “Back in my day…”
Help save summer and get in a couple more outdoor adventures before the sun heads south. Your kids will love you for it. And if you don’t have kids, I’m sure your neighbors will be just as thankful for the short break.

Salvation

*Continuation from previous week*
A highway trooper had pushed Martin more than a mile down the freeway, I was standing with a full 5-gallon gas can in my hand, and it was hot. Oh, and my phone was in my backpack, which was in Martin’s Suburban. I took my time walking back to the gas station, knowing that it could be awhile before Martin would come to pick me up.
All happy thoughts of our recent trip to Southern Utah had fled as I trudged back and found a shady spot near the intersection so I could watch for Martin’s return. I had my doubts, though, that I would see Martin anytime soon. You see, I had his wallet and driver’s license. My wallet was with my phone, and I hadn’t had time to rummage through everything because we were in the middle of a freeway and death was only one inattentive driver away. I was pretty sure the trooper would want to see Martin’s license, and upon discovering that Martin was lacking his license, the trooper would in all probability cart Martin off to jail. It never occurred to me that Martin’s 11-year-old son also being in the vehicle might throw a wrench into that whole scenario. Maybe the trooper would take both of them to jail. Then, I thought, maybe Martin’ll tip them off, and they’ll come back and haul me off to jail. But I hadn’t even done anything! I was just in the car with the guy who ran out of gas on the busy freeway. A panicked mind is rarely rational.
Now most people would have said a quick prayer and left the situation in God’s hands at this point. But I had too much faith in Martin. I gave him one hour. After one hour, I would call the police to see if they knew of his whereabouts, and then maybe say a quick prayer that I would make it home.
Time went by extremely slowly. Everybody knows that a watched kettle refuses to boil, and the kettle I was trying to watch wasn’t even anywhere in sight. The truly ironic part of the whole experience is that I had no way to tell time, unless I wanted to reenter the gas station, but the cashier had looked at me funny when the PIN to Martin’s card had failed four times and then I signed his name like I had just learned how to write cursive. Anyhow, every ten minutes I kept telling myself that only five minutes had passed, and so Martin’s hour really could have gone on for multiple hours and I probably wouldn’t have made a move until the sun started to set.
When I was little, I had gotten lost at the county fair, and my parents had taken the time beforehand to instruct us to return to our van if we became lost. Thank goodness for that, because within five minutes of being lost I was found. Scouting had taught me to stay where I was in the event of becoming disoriented. While standing in the shade of a traffic light pole, I knew that the only chance of seeing Martin again was staying right where I was. Right where he knew I was stranded.
After what seemed like forever, a disembodied voice rang out through the noise of the endless traffic: “Gabe!” I looked all around, but nothing. When somebody yells my name, it can sound a lot like, “Hey!” or, “Jake!” After seeking for the source of the voice for a few more seconds, I decided that my delusional brain would only begin to make matters worse for my over-hopeful heart, and I turned to walk into the gas station and place a call to the local police.
And there, in front of me, in all its glory, was a white Suburban, mud-spattered and beaten. And yet, it was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen in my life. Well, at least on that day. Martin had come through and saved the day. It was the perfect ending to the most epic adventure I’ve had in a while.

Left Behind

*Continuation from previous week*
Martin, his kid, and I were coming home from a Southern Utah adventure. Our vehicle was stranded on the freeway just outside Spanish Fork. I was on a mission to procure a gas can and gas. The advanced technology at the gas station had finally decided it had taken a long enough break, it came back online, and I was able to pump five gallons of fuel into my newly acquired container. I breathed a sigh of relief as I began making my way back to the forlorn Suburban blocking a lane of traffic on I-15. This was the second time on this trip that the Suburban had made me believe that I wasn’t going to make it home.
The first morning we woke up in one of the most beautiful canyons I had ever experienced. It wasn’t so much the landscape that made it amazing; it was the serenity. And the way the canyon made me think about life and how complicated things become in the city, but that nature can always put things back into perspective. That morning Martin decided it would be fun to teach his 11-year-old boy the ins and outs of off-roading, so he put him in the driver’s seat. Within two minutes we were six inches deep in a wash that had recently seen a lot of rain. I immediately thought the worst and decided that we might as well choose now which one of us would be eaten first. In all reality we were only a few miles from the nearest highway, but the human mind has a way of instantly kicking into panic mode at the first sign of trouble. After taking the wheel, Martin had us out of the wash in mere seconds and I was able to breathe easy again.
Walking back to the Suburban, I wasn’t as panicked as when I initially jumped out of the window and ran toward the gas station. As I thought about my waning panic, I realized the whole trip had been full of moments of short-lived terror and long sighs of relief. Like when Martin’s foot slipped in some mud on the edge of Lake Powell’s shore, and I couldn’t do anything but observe from the top of the rock where I was perched, 200 feet away. Martin’s six-foot-six-inch, 350-pound frame went down like a sack of potatoes, and I knew there was no way I could drag his drowning body back without drowning myself. To Martin’s credit, he got out a good yell before becoming enveloped by the thick, chocolaty water. It sounded like a war cry. Like, even though he knew the lake was going to kill him, he would show his defiance until the bitter end.
Five seconds of shocked silence went by before I heard laughter. From Martin’s kid. I was confused. Until I saw Martin’s face emerge, sputtering. Again he let out a great shout, and then a chuckle of relief that he wasn’t dead. All I could do was lie down and let my tense muscles relax. Relief is one of the best feelings in the world. As if a ton of weight has been lifted off your shoulders.
Cresting the off-ramp to the freeway, the ton of weight I had just shrugged off moments before came right back down on me, full force. The Suburban was not where I had left it ten or fifteen minutes before. There was a line of traffic, though, and I followed it northward about a quarter of a mile beyond the on-ramp. A set of flashing blue, red and white lights was pushing a great, white behemoth down the freeway to the next exit, which was probably a mile away. Panic mode set in and I began running toward my ride home. After 30 seconds or so, reality hit and I knew there was no way I would catch them. I set the full gas can down and reached into my pocket for my phone. The weight on my shoulders increased dramatically as I remembered that my phone was in my backpack. In the Suburban. Which had just disappeared from my sight.
I had been left behind. TO BE CONTINUED…

Stranded

As we sat there, stock-still on the freeway near Provo, with all of the people passing by, I realized that we were completely alone. Yes, people were honking and hurling endearing epithets at us and our vehicle, which was blocking one whole lane of high-speed traffic, but we may as well have been alone and stuck in a Southern Utah canyon, from whence we were returning. No one was trying to help, and I don’t blame them. We were in a construction corridor and there were barricades on either side of the road. I had to crawl out of the passenger side window in order to run to the nearest gas station for help. Leaving my editor, Martin, behind with his 11-year-old kid, I struggled to find the strength to hurry. My recent stomach sickness had left me weak and I had only eaten a few crackers that morning. Plus it was hot. Despite the hundreds of cars coming and going on the roads, I felt like a man out in the middle of Monument Valley on his belly, reaching out with one hand hoarsely whispering, “Agua!” Except it wasn’t water I needed, it was gasoline.
It’s funny that we ran out of gas when we did. We shouldn’t have, but the last gas station we had visited was having “technical difficulties” and none of its pumps were online. So, we decided to hit the next exit. That never happened. The irony of the matter is that we had come from an area of Utah that is relatively devoid of civilization and life. We hadn’t had to worry about running out of fuel, because every chance we had to fill up, we had taken. None of the pumps in Hanksville or Goulding had been offline, and they were several miles from any sort of metropolitan area. But somehow, perhaps because the importance of providing the necessary items for survival in such far-flung places is very high, every little town and convenience store along our Southern Utah adventure route had gas. I had to laugh to myself as I walked into the air conditioned gas station off the South Provo stretch of freeway: they too were offline and nobody in the gas bays could pump gas.
Searching for the perfect gas can (I had two to choose from, both of which were 5 gallons) and waiting for the pumps to come back online (which the clerk had assured dozens of people it would do shortly), I wondered how we survive in a world of technology that seems to only work when it wants to. And when it breaks down, it requires a team of highly specialized technicians to fix. I was actually more comfortable with the notion of becoming stuck in some river bottom near Capitol Reef with a vehicle that weighs a couple of tons than feeling like I was at the mercy of a computer program. With a little ingenuity and hard work I could at least find a way to pull the vehicle out of the mud. I know nothing about a gas station’s computerized pumping system, not to mention the employees at the station probably wouldn’t let me anywhere near it anyway.
On the first night of our adventure, I found simple pleasure in watching the full moon rise above the silent hills surrounding our campsite. Technology had almost no place there. I say almost because a vehicle had transported us there. And because some Led Zeppelin was spilling out of my iPad. But other than that, we were encircled in the arms of a land that reveals its secrets to those who are willing to surrender their complex thoughts and complicated theories. Life made so much more sense there in the middle of nowhere than where I currently found myself: sick, tired, worried about Martin and his son on the freeway, and still trying to decide between two 5-gallon gas cans. TO BE CONTINUED…