This is my first shot at blogging. Bear with me—or not. It’s possible that this is the only post I’ll be able to make. Cell phone technology in Martin’s Cove, Wyoming, is still at the smoke signal stage.
Tribune religion writer Jessica Ravitz, photographer Rick Egan, and I left Salt Lake at 4 p.m. today. Much as we intend to experience the trek, getting up at 4 a.m. tomorrow to ride a bus filled with teenagers wasn’t the sort of experience we needed. We elected to leave the night before and get rooms at a motel in Rawlins.
We met at the Tribune and loaded our gear into my SUV—sleeping bags, cameras, canteens, a tent, laptop computers, and several sacks of food, including a bag of jerky made from old golf shoes.
At the Tribune I got the highly unattractive picture taken of me that you see above. I look like Jethro Bodeen and Walter Brennan got married.
In the event that our cell phones didn’t work in the desert, we were given a satellite phone and detailed instructions on its use. Another reporter unzipped the case, pointed at the “On” button, and said, “That’s it. Don’t hurt yourselves.”
I took it up on the roof of the newspaper and tried phoning Sputnik. Nothing.
During the four hour drive, we constantly checked our cell phones for service. Rick’s phone managed four bars the entire way. Jessica’s phone got three bars. My provider is Mega-Fone, so I lost service completely on Foothill Boulevard.
There were plenty of bars in Rawlins. We counted 14, all of them open and serving.
We checked into the motel and ate a late dinner at Sanford’s Grub & Pub. The food was good but we couldn’t order milkshakes because they “have a new dishwasher and he’s slow.”
Trek hasn’t even started and it’s weird already.