I’m in Utah and, to be honest, I am a little uncomfortable. I have never been around so many white people since that time Trixie and I were on the set of “Friends” when we took the Warner Bros tour. It is unfamiliar, therefore scary.
I feel conspicuous; like everybody is staring at me. I’ve taken to using drive-thrus and eating my meals alone in the EM-50 Phantom Rambler.
Yes, I know…I am white. But, the people here seem used to it. I’m not. And, I’m not kidding – when I say “everybody”, I mean “EVERY. BODY”.
Cab drivers, convenience store clerks, kitchen staff at restaurants, hotel and liquor store owners, high school athletes, bad drivers…LANDSCAPING CREWS…
Ignore me if I’m being racist. I blame the government.
I started the morning cussing race relations in America. Well, not exactly. I was cussing well-meaning, but utterly misguided officials.
I was ranting because I couldn’t get to the interstate to take my wife to the airport because the access ramp to THE 15 was part of the route for an MLK parade in downtown Vegas. I cursed our duly-elected representitives and state and municipal employees for being so clueless in that they are the only ones who get to take the holiday off and they fail to consider the impact of road closures. And, they do not set up detour routes. They just close the roads without warning or option then pat themselves on the back for being evolved.
But, it is 2016 and they were having a parade. A PARADE! You know, like it is NINETEEN16. Where seeing a motor vehicle duded up to be a float and rolling down the road followed by groups of people from various civic organizations zombie-walking while engrossed in conversation, completely oblivious to on-lookers, who consist entirely of people standing on tiptoe, peering to see if the end is in sight because they just want to cross the street, is a big deal or something. It is not. It is TWENTY16. Enough with the goddamn parades already.
I would have cussed them if this had been St. Patrick’s Day. But, now I get to feel guilty because it is MLK and I am complaining. You know what…fuck the Irish, too. No offense.
I am back on the road after almost 2 weeks of constant companionship with my bride. I never get tired of her company.
We had a ball! We drank, gambled, partied, talked, smooched, drove out to the desert and looked at rocks and were never not with each other. And, when I dropped her off all I could think of were the things we didn’t do and how it ended much too soon.
I even made friends while in Vegas. Not just people I met and had fun with. Actual FRIENDS! I hadn’t done that since the third grade. It was cool.
But, the quest calls and I respond.
There is a great challenge in the American Southwest. Buried treasure. 20 lbs. of gold. Somewhere in a 5,000,000 square mile area a rich kook hid it. Whoever wants it has only to read his book for clues then help themselves.
So, I drove to St. George, UT to the closest Barnes & Noble (I didn’t know there were any left). It is a big store. 20,000 sq.ft. I searched until I was exhausted but couldn’t find the book. I’m sure I will do much better with the treasure, though.
I finally resorted to Google and learned that the book is sold only in one store. In Santa Fe, NM. 600 miles away. I was there in December. Drat!
I don’t know if $3.5 million in gold is worth driving all the way back there. I will have to sleep on it.