(Click on shitty pics to see them in their full shittiness)
Okay, so onward to Salt Lake City. On the way, Jesus descended from heaven and guided us:
Ok, not really, it was just a cool picture opportunity. To get to SLC from Denver, you have to drive up to Wyoming and cut west. So getting to see much of Wyoming was a cool little bonus, depending on your definition of cool.
I've mentioned before that people from the East Coast who have never been to California assume we're all surfers or movie stars. Well, I had a similar stereotype about Wyoming. My mental image of Wyoming is cowboy country, and it would be filled with cowboys. And of course, reality would be a lot different.
Of course there aren't really a bunch of cowboys in Wyoming.
Wrong.
First image upon crossing the Colorado-Wyoming border:
That my firends, is a big ass steer with big ass horns. The shitty zoom on my shitty camera doesn't do it justice. But I began to think maybe this was true cowboyland after all.
Confirmation came when we took a piss break at a truck stop, where we saw cowboys. Not boot scootin' boogie cowboys. Not achy-breaky cowboys. Not friends in low places cowboys. COWBOYS. The real deal. Spurs and everything. It made me wonder what they think of California cowboys, who play dress up and call themselves country. In California, you might as well dress up as a pirate, because for the most part, that's all it is; a costume.
We also saw some Hell's Angels, and Mark was too chickenshit to take my advice and flip them off. Hell' Angels probably think of those accountants and lawyers who dress up as bikers on the weekend in the same manner Wyoming cowboys view the line dancing crowd.
(Tangent: ENOUGH WITH THE GODDAMNED CHOPPERS & HARLEYS. You set off every car alarm on my street every 15 goddamned minutes with your insanely loud “I'm not gay” mobiles. You have a tiny dick, we get it. Unless you have an extensive criminal history and some scars (Dude, tangent within a tangent: This dude in the coffee shop next to me just ripped one, and everyone's pretending it didn't happen.], you have no business being on these bikes.)
Southern Wyoming, just like Eastern Nevada, Southern Utah, and Western Colorado, is pretty barren. Notice the unpaved road leading away from the freeway:
This was pretty common in Wyoming, and complete culture shock to a Californian like me who complains about every pothole.
During this trip, I realized how incredibly empty the Western United States is. That's not a complaint, just an observation. But then, out in the middle of nowhere, you'd see road signs like this:
Which just seems sorta dangerous to me when the speed limit is 75.
We hit the Utah border pretty late. Can you tell that I'm pretty tired and road weary at this point? And I wasn't even driving. Poor Mark.
Can you tell I left my razor back in California?
We rolled into SLC after midnight, so we didn't get any dramatic introduction to the city. We would have to wait until the morning to see how beautiful the city of Mormon was.
Turns out, it's not beautiful at all. Yeah, the mountains are pretty, and I guess the useless lake is pretty (or eerie, since it's pretty dead), but the city itself looked like Fresno. Warehouses and trucks everywhere. Nothing exciting downtown. Just boring, boring, boring. We managed to find a coffee shop downtown, and since Mormons don't drink caffeine, I imagine a coffee shop is sort of like a refuge to the non-Mormons of SLC. There aren't Starbucks on every corner like the rest of the U.S., which I thought would be cool, but it's actually sorta creepy. Also, it's true, SLC is WHITE. Saw an asian girl (shut up), but that was about it. But it's not like we went around hunting for ethnic minorities, it was just a casual observation. Oh, and I expected the Temple to be a lot bigger than it is. It was still pretty, though I find the
San Diego temple prettier, even though it lacks the historical aspect.
So, disappointed with SLC, we headed to Reno, another long drive. West of SLC is the Great Salt Desert, which is a great desert that is made of, guess what....SALT! It's neat for about three minutes, and then you're fucking sick of it. Plus trying to read the messages people had made out of rocks in the salt gave me a headache. Southern Utah is a thousand times more scenic than Northern Utah, so it was nice to see the Nevada border. Eastern Nevada was (shock) also barren, but it was actually pretty, in it's own barren way. I was expecting a lot, lot worse.
And there were still fences. The entire drive, no matter where we were (the one exception being the Great Salt Desert), no matter how many miles in the middle of freaking nowhere we were, there were fences along the highway. For what? To keep the tumbleweed from escaping? I also got to see Mark in all his pyro glory when we went here:
It was like Rush Limbaugh at The Oxycontin Store.
Reno was just Reno, a little gambling, a little Mexican food at El Michoacana, some more Mexican food at Michoacana in the morning, then back to California. And that was that.
So to recap:
I like to eat Pink Taco.
Southern Utah is barren yet beautiful.
Denver is awesome.
Salt Lake City is not.
Wyoming has cowboys.
Mark is a pyromaniac.
Outside of California, Arby's reigns supreme.
Fart jokes are funny no matter how old you are.
Next year: Seattle. If you like fart jokes and burritos, start making plans.
Ok, not really, it was just a cool picture opportunity. To get to SLC from Denver, you have to drive up to Wyoming and cut west. So getting to see much of Wyoming was a cool little bonus, depending on your definition of cool.
I've mentioned before that people from the East Coast who have never been to California assume we're all surfers or movie stars. Well, I had a similar stereotype about Wyoming. My mental image of Wyoming is cowboy country, and it would be filled with cowboys. And of course, reality would be a lot different. Of course there aren't really a bunch of cowboys in Wyoming.
Wrong.
First image upon crossing the Colorado-Wyoming border:
That my firends, is a big ass steer with big ass horns. The shitty zoom on my shitty camera doesn't do it justice. But I began to think maybe this was true cowboyland after all.
Confirmation came when we took a piss break at a truck stop, where we saw cowboys. Not boot scootin' boogie cowboys. Not achy-breaky cowboys. Not friends in low places cowboys. COWBOYS. The real deal. Spurs and everything. It made me wonder what they think of California cowboys, who play dress up and call themselves country. In California, you might as well dress up as a pirate, because for the most part, that's all it is; a costume.
We also saw some Hell's Angels, and Mark was too chickenshit to take my advice and flip them off. Hell' Angels probably think of those accountants and lawyers who dress up as bikers on the weekend in the same manner Wyoming cowboys view the line dancing crowd.
(Tangent: ENOUGH WITH THE GODDAMNED CHOPPERS & HARLEYS. You set off every car alarm on my street every 15 goddamned minutes with your insanely loud “I'm not gay” mobiles. You have a tiny dick, we get it. Unless you have an extensive criminal history and some scars (Dude, tangent within a tangent: This dude in the coffee shop next to me just ripped one, and everyone's pretending it didn't happen.], you have no business being on these bikes.)
Southern Wyoming, just like Eastern Nevada, Southern Utah, and Western Colorado, is pretty barren. Notice the unpaved road leading away from the freeway:
This was pretty common in Wyoming, and complete culture shock to a Californian like me who complains about every pothole.
During this trip, I realized how incredibly empty the Western United States is. That's not a complaint, just an observation. But then, out in the middle of nowhere, you'd see road signs like this:
Which just seems sorta dangerous to me when the speed limit is 75.
We hit the Utah border pretty late. Can you tell that I'm pretty tired and road weary at this point? And I wasn't even driving. Poor Mark.
Can you tell I left my razor back in California?
We rolled into SLC after midnight, so we didn't get any dramatic introduction to the city. We would have to wait until the morning to see how beautiful the city of Mormon was.
Turns out, it's not beautiful at all. Yeah, the mountains are pretty, and I guess the useless lake is pretty (or eerie, since it's pretty dead), but the city itself looked like Fresno. Warehouses and trucks everywhere. Nothing exciting downtown. Just boring, boring, boring. We managed to find a coffee shop downtown, and since Mormons don't drink caffeine, I imagine a coffee shop is sort of like a refuge to the non-Mormons of SLC. There aren't Starbucks on every corner like the rest of the U.S., which I thought would be cool, but it's actually sorta creepy. Also, it's true, SLC is WHITE. Saw an asian girl (shut up), but that was about it. But it's not like we went around hunting for ethnic minorities, it was just a casual observation. Oh, and I expected the Temple to be a lot bigger than it is. It was still pretty, though I find the San Diego temple prettier, even though it lacks the historical aspect.
So, disappointed with SLC, we headed to Reno, another long drive. West of SLC is the Great Salt Desert, which is a great desert that is made of, guess what....SALT! It's neat for about three minutes, and then you're fucking sick of it. Plus trying to read the messages people had made out of rocks in the salt gave me a headache. Southern Utah is a thousand times more scenic than Northern Utah, so it was nice to see the Nevada border. Eastern Nevada was (shock) also barren, but it was actually pretty, in it's own barren way. I was expecting a lot, lot worse.
And there were still fences. The entire drive, no matter where we were (the one exception being the Great Salt Desert), no matter how many miles in the middle of freaking nowhere we were, there were fences along the highway. For what? To keep the tumbleweed from escaping? I also got to see Mark in all his pyro glory when we went here:
It was like Rush Limbaugh at The Oxycontin Store.
Reno was just Reno, a little gambling, a little Mexican food at El Michoacana, some more Mexican food at Michoacana in the morning, then back to California. And that was that.
So to recap:
I like to eat Pink Taco.
Southern Utah is barren yet beautiful.
Denver is awesome.
Salt Lake City is not.
Wyoming has cowboys.
Mark is a pyromaniac.
Outside of California, Arby's reigns supreme.
Fart jokes are funny no matter how old you are.
Next year: Seattle. If you like fart jokes and burritos, start making plans.
I think it was a good idea not to flip off the Hell's Angels. Might piss them off slightly....
ReplyDeleteVery well written and colorful. Sounds like a wonderful trip. Thank you. I hope to see Wyoming some day.
ReplyDelete