Back From Zion

I just took a trip out to Utah for memorial day and let me tell you, going through Vegas on Friday afternoon was not cool. And by not cool I mean hot. We drove past the Baker thermometer and it was up at 99 at around eight at night.



I was with my old Dad and friend Jet, all piled in to the front seat of Deddy's '72 Chevy pickup. So sweet. Green and Cream.



After many sintillating rounds of twenty questions, we found ourselves in lovely Springdale, right outside the entrance to Zion. Lots of art galleries, and home of some of the best pizza ever, at Pizza and Noodle. We all liked that it said Noodle and not Pasta.



We all three slept in the car due to lack of campsite availability. We had the carpet kit in the back set up with about fifteen comforters on it to make it extra-comfy. Those cars are wide, but not THAT wide. I was in the middle. Oh Yes. In the morning it got very hot, and we had to get an early start for Angels Landing aka the scariest hike out there.



I had done it three times before, and man, I have never seen it so crowded. Never underestimate the power of a holiday weekend. I must have heard people speaking every language on earth climbing that rock. Anyway, my dad and I found that Bridget's nickname of the Jet really does not suit her, as she was always lagging behind and saw no need to attempt to keep up. I may be the only person that day crazy enough to have attempted to RUN up Wally's wiggles, the 13-level hill of switchbacks, the lombard of the Sierra Club circuit. The valley floor is at 4,000 feet already, so shortness of breath is inevitable. I made it up about eight of the wiggles before feeling like death. And I'm in pretty good shape.



Our favorite tram driver of the week was Bob, who entertained us by asking if we wanted silence or "slightly irritating, somewhat boring commentary" like all the other drivers talk about the geology and all. He told a story about how a passenger of his came up and asked if they were going to see a Morman. A real live Morman.



The Jet complained about everyone after that, saying, "Howard's all right, but he's no Bob."



We fed the elk at the farm in down. Right in the middle of main street Springdale , across from tha Panda Garden Chinese restaurant, is an elk and bison ranch. They sell bags of pellets you can feed them, and last time I was there an elk swallowed my whole hand.

But it was totally worth it because I had a band aid around my finger for a week, and when someone asked what happened I got to say, "I got bitten by an elk"

No one bit me this weekend, save a few mosquitos.