Whine-oming
12:11, Thursday, July 31
Sixth Crossing, near Sweetwater Station, Wyoming
There isn’t a cell phone signal or a tree in this entire *&$#@! state. It doesn’t matter if I die of sunstroke now because I’m probably already fired.
The families picked up their handcarts here at Willie Station. It’s also where Jess, Rick and I part company. Rick needs to accompany our family in order to take pictures. Jess, who is crazy from the heat, wants the experience of a genuine Mormon trek. That leaves me driving the 4-runner loaded with the gear. We argued.
Jessica isn’t a Mormon. I said she should leave the wilderness to Mormons like Rick and me. After all, we’re descended from professional wanderers. Jessica reminded me that she’s Jewish. Compared to her people, Mormons are rank amateurs when it comes to getting into jams like this. If there’s a professional is the entire trek, it’s her. That left me driving our useless computer and sat phone gear to the next stop.
The handcarts were loaded with buckets. Before setting off from Willie Station, the rules of the road were explained. The handcart trail crosses Bureau of Land Management terrain. Because they’re a government agency, they have a longer “Thou Shalt Not” list than God. Here are the ones I remember:
1. Stay on the trail.
2. Going to the bathroom must be done in a chemical toilet or one’s own pants.
3. Do Not Litter.
4. Leave artifacts in place.
5. No flower picking.
6. No rock picking.
7. No fires.
8. Leave all animals alone.
9. No burying babies.
I didn’t make up that last one. Previous trek companies had apparently issued plastic dolls to their families as overwrought object lessons. The baby had to be cared for and protected and lugged the entire way—until it died. Then it was buried alongside the trail. The experience had a mixed effect on the mostly teenage families. Some tossed the babies about like footballs. Others got attached to it and actually cried when it “died” and was buried along the trail.
The BLM wasn’t keen on the idea and put a stop to it. The object lesson risked catching on with all trek companies, and the last thing even the butt end of Wyoming needs is 40,000 plastic babies buried in makeshift graves along a trail. Future trekkers would be digging up babies just to bury more babies.
I stood by the truck while the companies took up the march. Soon Jessica and Rick are lost in a cloud of dust in the burning distance. The Sage night camp near Rocky Ridge is seven miles away, all of it a wagon-dragging trudge across a flatiron stove.
I don’t care anymore if there’s no cell phone service. The 4-runner has air conditioning.
TREK TIP: Single-serving Crystal Lite flavor packets. The taste of well water gets old.
Sixth Crossing, near Sweetwater Station, Wyoming
There isn’t a cell phone signal or a tree in this entire *&$#@! state. It doesn’t matter if I die of sunstroke now because I’m probably already fired.
The families picked up their handcarts here at Willie Station. It’s also where Jess, Rick and I part company. Rick needs to accompany our family in order to take pictures. Jess, who is crazy from the heat, wants the experience of a genuine Mormon trek. That leaves me driving the 4-runner loaded with the gear. We argued.
Jessica isn’t a Mormon. I said she should leave the wilderness to Mormons like Rick and me. After all, we’re descended from professional wanderers. Jessica reminded me that she’s Jewish. Compared to her people, Mormons are rank amateurs when it comes to getting into jams like this. If there’s a professional is the entire trek, it’s her. That left me driving our useless computer and sat phone gear to the next stop.
The handcarts were loaded with buckets. Before setting off from Willie Station, the rules of the road were explained. The handcart trail crosses Bureau of Land Management terrain. Because they’re a government agency, they have a longer “Thou Shalt Not” list than God. Here are the ones I remember:
1. Stay on the trail.
2. Going to the bathroom must be done in a chemical toilet or one’s own pants.
3. Do Not Litter.
4. Leave artifacts in place.
5. No flower picking.
6. No rock picking.
7. No fires.
8. Leave all animals alone.
9. No burying babies.
I didn’t make up that last one. Previous trek companies had apparently issued plastic dolls to their families as overwrought object lessons. The baby had to be cared for and protected and lugged the entire way—until it died. Then it was buried alongside the trail. The experience had a mixed effect on the mostly teenage families. Some tossed the babies about like footballs. Others got attached to it and actually cried when it “died” and was buried along the trail.
The BLM wasn’t keen on the idea and put a stop to it. The object lesson risked catching on with all trek companies, and the last thing even the butt end of Wyoming needs is 40,000 plastic babies buried in makeshift graves along a trail. Future trekkers would be digging up babies just to bury more babies.
I stood by the truck while the companies took up the march. Soon Jessica and Rick are lost in a cloud of dust in the burning distance. The Sage night camp near Rocky Ridge is seven miles away, all of it a wagon-dragging trudge across a flatiron stove.
I don’t care anymore if there’s no cell phone service. The 4-runner has air conditioning.
TREK TIP: Single-serving Crystal Lite flavor packets. The taste of well water gets old.
posted by Robert Kirby @ 4:24 PM |
7 Comments:
My son was in your "Trek Family". He came home with the opinion that your colleagues from the Trib are great and that YOU are "Freakin' Amazing." You must have done something right because the only other person upon whom he has bestowed that lofty description is himself. My thanks to you, Jessica and Rick for adding to the whole experience.
My son was in your "Trek Family". He came home with the opinion that your colleagues from the Trib are great and that YOU are "Freakin' Amazing." You must have done something right because the only other person upon whom he has bestowed that lofty description is himself. My thanks to you, Jessica and Rick for adding to the whole experience.
Jessica is right, Jews have it all over us as recipients of prejudice and extermination orders. Good for her joining the trek.
Your insight into the overwrought thinking of trek planners was much needed fresh air. When did the Mormon church become a bunch of nutcases? It must have happened when I was out of state the last 30 years.
"40,000 plastic babies..."
That has to be one of the funniest things I have read in a long time!
I'm wondering where in the ward and/or stake budget the cost of buying all those babies would be factored in. And who would allow it.
I liked my midwest church history treks better--regular clothing, motel rooms, and being driven around Illinois and Missouri in coach buses.
Sheesh! You are turning into a grumpy old man!
your photo is scary.
I went on the same trek several years ago in August and it was a good time for all, but the one thing that I brought back from the experience was an intense dislike for the smell of diaper wipes that everyone used to clean with. Can't stand them anymore. I mean, I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY CAN'T STAND THEM.
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