The Southwest - Part 10

August 25 - Can you say "Viking Funeral"?

We awoke (against all odds) the next morning to the sun rising over the canyon wall of the Colorado River.  Little did we know we had set up camp in a National Geographic photograph.  Alright Utah, we're even.

There's something you should know about camping in Utah: it is an almost capital offense to urinate in the desert.  Seriously, these guys aren't messing around.

Now before you start wondering what the Mormons could possibly have against urinating, it turns out there is actually a good reason for this.  Evidently the desert ecosystem can't process the nitrogen in urine, so that if you pee your name in the desert it will stay there, permanently.  And they tell you this to discourage you from doing it.  Silly Mormons.

Now, normally this would be a problem except that you never, ever have to pee.  The rule of thumb for desert camping is that if you are not drinking water (note I said drinking, not sipping) right now, you aren't drinking enough water.  And still, you never have to pee.  It's actually a real time saver.

Our first day in Moab we decided to hit the Colorado River rapids.  We rented two inflatable kayaks, deceptively referred to as "Duckies" (ducks don't float upside down), and launched a few miles upstream.

"Duckie" is actually spanish for "Death Trap"

From the road, the Colorado appears very calm, even tranquil.  This is a trick, designed to lure unsuspecting mariners to their doom.  The current is very, very strong. 

This being my first experience with white water rafting, no one had bothered to inform me that, once the rapids take you, your paddle becomes little more than a placebo.  Clutching my (at this point purely ornamental) paddle in a death grip, I flew (usually right side up) all the way back to Moab with all the grace of a piece of jetsam. 

Heading back into town  to explore my options for legal recourse  for a much needed, if barely qualified, beer (or ten) we found one of the few restaurants with a highly coveted "liquor" license.  As you can likely guess, getting a liquor license in Utah is a Herculean task, making such establishments very popular indeed.

Long story short: getting drunk in Utah is not just a chore.  It is an accomplishment.

Mission Accomplished.

I just got my ass kicked by a blind guy

When I was 16, my mom and I raised a black lab to be a guide dog.  It was hard to give him up but we were happy to hear that our pup, Viscount, had graduated and was now leading some lucky blind person around.  (yes, lucky and blind.  Viscount is a kickass dog!)

For the record, we did not name him Viscount.  We called him Noosums.

Well while I was in line for my coffee at Bridgehead (where else?) the man behind me happened to be blind and lead by none other than a black lab.

I ventured some small talk.  My exact words:

"Hey man!  What's your dog's name?"

At this moment he turned and stared (read: glared) right into my eyes (which is impressive for a blind man) just long enough for it to become uncomfortable - then he stared some more.

Finally, mercifully, he broke the silence with this:

"I don't give her a name while she's working."

Sorry man, I didn't mean to ruin your whole day like that...

His tone was somewhere between "Pistols at dawn" and "I have mace."

Before this battle of wills descended into fisticuffs* I decided to politely disengage  tactically retreat  grab my coffee and run.  I did not want to mess with this guy.  The man clearly had beef.

*side note: there is no way to beat a blind guy.  Even if you win, you lose.

Now reflecting over my small* cup of Ethiopian Harrar, I can't decide if I feel guilty or offended.

*Take notes, Starbucks.  "Tall" is not a denomination of volume.

So I'm taking a poll: guilty or offended?  You guys decide.

Alternate poll: would I have won?

Tomorrow's post:
Grady actually beats up a blind guy.  For science.

The Southwest - Part 9

August 24 - I am the night

So not the type to waste time (you can sleep when you're dead) and clearly making good decisions on account of dehydration, we decided to go night hiking in Arches National Park.

Arches, at least the small cone of it illuminated by my headlamp, was beautiful.  Also, headlamps are a truly amazing invention, except for one flaw: they attract bugs.  To your face.

As it turns out, Arches is very aptly, if not creatively, named.  There are dozens of naturally-formed arches scattered throughout the park, some of which you can walk right under.  One in particular, the Delicate Arch, is a beautiful and precarious formation cleverly hidden away up a mountain.

With the last rays of sunlight we read the sign describing the route to Delicate Arch: four miles.  Ha! we thought, ain't no thang.  However, as it turns out there is a world of difference between miles hiked horizontally and miles hiked vertically. 

Determined to catch the moonrise at the Arch (because we are  going to get ourselves killed one of these days  hardcore) we took off at a march for the summit.  The "trail" was marked only by rocks, cleverly hidden among other rocks.  Our ascent turned out to be not so much a "hike" as some kind of penitence for our sins.  And evidently our sins had been numerous and flagrant.

Reaching the summit (totally worth it guys) we found a number of other similarly suicidal foolish hikers.  In particular a family of Belgians who had found themselves stranded atop the mountain without  a horde of flesh-hungry insects around their face  headlamps.  The daughter approached me in the earnest hope that we could escort them to back to safety.  Spitting in the face of Darwin Because I'm a gentleman, I agreed.  (Okay, she was totally cute you guys.  We're facebook friends now!)

The hike back was quite pleasant.  We chatted, en français, with the Belgians (who by the way speak much better french than us Canadians, sorry guys).  The daughter was really quite  patient with us while we bastardized her language  charming, while her father was somewhat less charming (but considerably more racist).

Getting back to the car in the twilight hours, we took off for a nearby campsite because we're cheap crazy.  For those of you that don't know, setting up a tent in the dark is like running through a forest lathered in honey, in that it should never be attempted again.

It was also around this time that I discovered that mankind's greatest invention is not the wheel, the alphabet or even penicillin, but rather the pillow, and if you don't believe me try laying your head down anywhere in the state of Utah without one.

Also, do not travel with perfectionists.  Don't even befriend them.  They're bad for you.

The Southwest - Part 8

August 24 - Yoo-TAW!

I know you were all worried, but yes, we survived.   Evidently the highway we wanted was a few miles past Cisco (still unmarked, what the hell Utah?)

While it was still two hours to Moab, and my father felt compelled to take photos of every bend in the road (urge to kill... rising...) we made it without having to refuel.  Hybrids, guys.  They're a thing.

You guys remember the roadrunner and coyote show?  Utah actually looks like that.

We pulled into Moab just as the sun was setting.  I thought I'd seen what a sunset looks like.  Evidently, I was wrong:

Some things you guys should know about Moab, Utah.  First off, Moab does not belong in Utah.  It is a glaring cartographical error.  Moab is filled with trendy shops with anti-establishment slogans like "Coffee: Still Legal in Utah".  It's the one place in the state where dreadlocks outnumber cowboy hats (though both are equally unfashionable).

Now some things you should know about the rest of Utah.  Not only are the people of Utah very friendly, they are related.

And you know all those jokes about American beer?  À la "What do American beer and sex in a canoe have in common?  They're both fucking close to water."  (Canada, I love you.)

Well in Utah it is actually true.  It is state law that no establishment can sell beverages above 3.2% alcohol.  The effect being that a beer in Utah has the potency of watered-down baby formula. 

So between the wedding and the mormons, I have not had a real drink since the airplane.  I know, I'm scared too.

Making Faces at Vodka (and Babies)

UPDATE:  There is a shout-out that is long past due.  E3 has time and again been the one to keep me accountable.  She's like the mom of this blog.  Only she doesn't hit me.  As hard.

Anyway, you guys owe her.  Big time.

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming

---------------------------

Dear pie lovers.  I must apologize   again  reluctantly  sincerely.

I have once again dropped the ball.  It's not that I don't love you (you know you guys are my only), it's that this last week I have been inundated with school/work/family related things. 

My brother's family was in town (how cool is it that he has a family?) so there was lots of visiting with my   first   only   favourite nephew.  He still won't remember me, but he totally dug hanging out on my shoulder.

In other news, I delivered a big presentation on monday, followed by an application meeting for military intelligence.  Then today I handed in a french project, and attended a career fair  where I got myself a shiny new CSIS water bottle!  I'm like, totally James Bond y'all.  (Except I still make a face when I drink vodka.  Working on it.)

Before falling off the face of the Earth, I had entered a writing competition to be the Billings Bridge Blogger.  Billings Bridge being the local mall and me being the starving artist type.  Well, as it turns out I didn't win (I want a recount!) so I will be  drowning my sorrows (and making vodka face)  bitterly complaining  posting my entry here.

Since the contest called for a "unique approach to shopping" and I am a heterosexual male I decided to go with the private eye "gumshoe" angle.  Evidently, they were not impressed:

When I heard about the Blogger contest, I knew I was the one for the job.  And not just because I used to work at the Tim Horton’s.  But because I know stuff.  I’m gonna give you guys the down-low.  I’ll be your man on the inside, giving you tips on sales, deals, in-store romances, you name it. 

For instance, did you guys know Billings Bridge is the first Green Mall in Ontario?  Cause it is.  Stick around; I’m full of all sorts of useful information.  Take notes. 

So this morning I decided to do some research.  Scope the place out.  Sniff the air, as it were. 

I started at Little Critters where Oh Em Gee you guys!  They totally let me play with the ferret!  You know, for research.  The ferret had no name, and so he will henceforth be known as Mr. Wigglesworth (can I keep him?  PUWEEEZ!).  Also, did you know there’s such a thing as a lion-headed rabbit?  It’s a thing.  Google it.

My next stop was Laura Secord, where the lovely Hannah and Natalie made it their personal mission to make me fat.  Seriously, they thrust free samples at me as if they would be personally offended should I refuse.  Not one to be impolite, I indulged of their many chocolaty treasures.  Choice favourites included the Orange Cream: “A duet of orange mousse and decadent dark chocolate.”  Read that again.  Now tell me you don’t want one.

Natalie then told me all about the return of the “Buttermallow” – which is exactly what it sounds like: delicious – all the while showering me with samples in a way that was starting to approach Sin.  This went on until I literally had to ask her to stop (bless her heart).  I ended up buying a box of truffles.  What?  It was a gift!  For myself.  Don’t judge me you weren’t there. 

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “I’ve seen Blow.  I know how this works.  The first one is always free.”  But seriously guys.  Go there.  Thank me later. 

Next up was Grand and Toy.  I bought a box of pens – I’m a writer; you can never have too many pens – and was asked if I’d like to donate to Kidsfest, a charity to buy school supplies for underprivileged kids.  After donating a dollar (on my two dollar purchase) I got to put my name on the wall for my “generous” contribution.  And guess what?  There’s another Grady out there!  And he’s charitable.   Grady, if you’re reading this, we should totally hang out.

My last stop was McDonough’s Independent Grocery.  Did you guys know they deliver?! I know what you’re thinking: “All this time I’ve been shopping for my own groceries like a sucker!” 

Stick with me, guys.  I’m going to dig up the deals for you. 

Future Investigations:

Grady gets a mani-pedi at Trendy Nails

                         

Grady blows his whole gift certificate at Il Paradiso Salon and Spa

Grady abuses the LCBO’s free sample policy

The Southwest - Part 7

August 24 - Road Trippin'

With the wedding concluded, we packed up our gear and drove up to Grand Junction, which, while it is a junction where I-70 meets hwy-50, it isn't "grand" as such.  But we shouldn't hold that against it.  The people of Grand Junction are actually very friendly and helpful.  In fact, it recently occurred to me that people are very friendly and helpful pretty much everywhere and so I should stop remarking on how friendly and helpful they are.

One local was a little too friendly and tried to recruit me into a pyramid scheme.  Having already had two run-ins with cults (seriously, is it me you guys?) I could smell the scam coming a mile away and politely but forcefully refused.

After an afternoon getting supplies/experiencing the inevitable time sink that is an outdoors store ("you know what, I could use some ice-climbing shoes!") we checked into a quaint little motel which had all the charm of an ashtray (minus a few amenities).  There was a pool which my dad bravely took a swim in, whereas I opted for the shower.  Unfortunately, the shower only had one setting: sandblaster.  It wasn't so much exfoliating as it was literally flaying the skin from my bones.

The next morning, we took off for Utah, land of cowboy hats, pick up trucks, and teeth that play by their own rules.  Flipping through the radio stations, you inevitably come across a number of religious broadcasts (or as we came to refer to them "Godcasts") featuring a hilarious line-up of unwitting comedians, including my personal favourite: Glenn Beck*.

*you know, if you listen to Glenn Beck long enough, he totally starts to make sense.  This is when your driving companion must, literally and forcefully, smack some sense back into you.

Before leaving Grand Junction, the locals informed us of a "scenic" route into Utah that was not on the map, but definitely worth taking.   And totally, unmistakably real.  So amidst a sea of four-wheel drives, pickups and semis, our little Prius took a little-marked exit off I-70 and into... nowhere.

Seriously, this lonely road was unmarked, unpaved and utterly unimpressed with our paltry little hybrid.  Think Cormac McCarthy here.  And these seasoned vets forgot to bring a map.  Or water.

The thing about dehydration is that it does more than just make you thirsty.  It makes you cranky.   By this point, our respective crank meters had moved from tantrum, to "this town ain't big enough for the two of us" to "if I have to, I will eat you".

A few miles further on we saw signs for a town called Cisco.  Relieved, we figured one of the undoubtedly friendly locals would take pity on us and point us back to the highway.

Well we found Cisco.

Evidently so had Father Time.  Not only did Cisco lack residents, most of the buildings lacked roofs.

It was at this point that the fuel light came on.

The Southwest - Part 6

August 22 - The Big Day

This was it.  The wedding had finally arrived.  However, seeing as how it wasn't until 4:00, we had most of a day to kill.   So my aunts and I headed off to the nearby town (read: tourist mecca) of Telluride.

This place has a tourist info "center" (sic) the size of a city block.  Inside is a woman who knows everything about Telluride and is determined to prove it to you. 

For the record, Telluride was beautiful.  We took a free gondola ride up into the Mountain Village -- a town so artificial you half expect to round the corner and see a pack of munchkins breaking into song.  You know, like in those strangely erotic dreams you keep having.  Just me?  Nvm.

Narrowly escaping an immediate return trip, we leaped from the gondola and were immediately handed a fistful of coupons for various drink specials at the local pub.  Telluride, you just get me.

Being a devout Adventist, my one aunt doesn't drink, smoke, or even talk loudly.  The other, being our driver, had to maintain at least the semblance of sobriety.

I was not so burdened.  That day I learned a valuable lesson: wine at 10,000 feet is considerably more potent than wine at sea level.

On our way back we decided to stop by the nature centre, because what the hell, I like nature.  Also, I could feel some "nature" stirring in my insides and desperately needed to answer that call.

Ignoring the fact that the nature centre is inside, we entered, optimistic. 

Now, it would be impossible to describe the whole nature centre, without vowels.
But here goes: Fckng Smll.

Seriously, the "nature" centre consists of a map, a man, a concession stand, and some baggies of authentic animal droppings which, being situated way too close to the Mars bars, could only be hurting their profit margin.  Did you see a bathroom in that list?  Neither did I. 

Needing a place to make some "authentic" droppings of my own, we hightailed it back down the mountain. The rest is between me and the Telluride septic authority.

Now the part you've all (both?) been waiting for: the Wedding.

After "suiting up", we drove up the same mountain from my fateful run the day before.  (The llama farm was real you guys!)

The wedding took place on this plateau called Top of the Pines, which had a beautiful, panoramic view of the mountains.  Simply stunning.  This was nature; the kind you don't find in "nature" centres.

It was a lovely ceremony.  The reading from the bible (there was a lot of this) was made significantly more dramatic by the rumblings of the storm brewing in the distance.

Luckily, the weather held out.  Rachel didn't show up to tell Ross she still loves him.  To the best of my knowledge, there were no shotguns involved. 

We finished the family pictures (wow we have a lot of family) as the first raindrops fell.

I'd call that endorsement from on high.

Update: Yes I did end up writing and performing a song.  I was drunk inspired.