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June 29, 2005 
Early this month, Travis and I packed up and drove to Yellowstone. Only 8 hours from Salt Lake City, we’d talked about going since we moved here. Six. years. ago. Given Trav’s family’s fondness for pretty much anything involving tent spikes, Nalgene bottles and hiking boots, it was something of a mystery as to why we hadn’t gone yet.
It might have a little to do with the fact that the closest my family gets to wilderness is the Holiday Inn. That and the Adams Annual 4th of July Jemez Valley Picnic, which consists of driving an hour and a half into the middle of New Mexico where we serve a four-course lunch next to the river and stop by my Great Uncle’s house to gab, watch TV and shoot arrows across the interstate.
But it was my babe’s 30th birthday this June, so we decided to have a big-ass party in a big-ass park. We had friends from Seattle, Jerry and Steph, meeting us there and all the animals and hiking we could handle. We had junk food and poker chips and alcohol above .3%.
But best of all, we had rooms at Lake Yellowstone Hotel.
4:30 AM, the alarm clock goes off. I don’t remember what the hell we were doing last night besides laundry and…laundry, but it definitely wasn’t PACKING. Apparently, it is physically impossible for either of us to throw some freaking clothes in a bag and get our asses into bed BEFORE 2 AM the night of a trip.
Jules: …mmpf?
*CLICK*
Jules: …zzzz…
Travis: …scchnaaauuuzz…
5:00 AM, alarm clock, part deux. Chunga & Mister’s morning show blares to life, screaming the “The Muppet Show” theme song and a severe weather warning into our cozy, comfortable, DARK bedroom.
Jules: …zzzz…shut it!
*CLICK*
Travis: Ready to go?
Jules: …to la-la land, maybe.
5:45 AM, the alarm clock. AGAIN. In a last ditch effort to keep my eyes OPEN this time, I reach out from under our comforter for the remote and turn on the Weather Channel.
Travis: What’s the forecast?
Jules: Rain.
Travis: For here?
Jules: For EVERYWHERE. Everything between Seattle, us and…whatever’s in North Dakota…is supposed to get pounded. All. Week.
Travis: That’s ok, I’m sure it won’t be that bad.
7:00 AM, our bag and the mini fridge have been tossed in the trunk, packed to the hilt with all the essentials for surviving the elements. Warm clothes, check. Full tank of gas, check. Video camera, poker set, Frappachinos…check, check, check. Loading duties complete, Trav calls out from the garage door.
Travis: Are you ready?!
Jules: Do you want your heavy jacket?
Travis: Oh yeah. Grab that.
Jules: What about your Indiana Jones hat?
Travis: Got it.
Jules: Does the cat have his collar on?
Travis: I don’t know.
Jules: Where is the cat?
Travis: I don’t know!
Jules: What CDs do you want?
Travis: We GOTTA GO!
7:30 AM, after a second and third pre-flight check, our little Mazda Tribute hits the nearest northbound off ramp into the madhouse known as Mormon Motoring. We are immediately set upon by BLINDING RAIN.
Jules: The HELL?!
Travis: Welcome to my world.
Jules: It’s like this every morning?!
Travis: Except for the rain? Yeah.
Jules: Are these people psychotic or just…
Travis: Idiots?
Jules: Seriously! That guy just cut off five lanes of traffic CROSSING THE ENTIRE JUNCTION and only missed the split by about a foot and a half. There’s been about 15 different signs for it - does he need a lamp and a magnifying glass?
Travis: Only if he’s looking for his butt. Oh, sorry. I mean his “bum”.
Jules: Hee.
8:15 AM, Petering along I-15 between a Wal-Mart semi and the Partridge Family wagon train, Trav and I listen for traffic reports. Chunga and Mister go off on a 20 minute rant about a local entrepreneur who was chased down by an actual posse. As intellectually stimulating as I find listening to a man named “Chunga” discuss proper gun etiquette and the finer points of the Utah mindset, at the moment, I’m finding it much more interesting to investigate the insides of my eyelids.
Jules: zzzzz…
9:30 AM, speeding along the highway to nowhere, somewhere between Limbo and Idaho.
Travis: What are you doing?
Jules: …long division. What does it look like I’m doing? I’m SLEEP…are we still in Utah?
Travis: Nope. We’re in Idaho - getting close to Pocatello. We’ll be out of the network soon. Speaking of which, I should give Jerry a heads up.
Jules: THIS is Idaho? It’s so…green. And…pretty.
Travis: What did you think it would be like? [He looks down from driving to dial Jerry’s number.]
Jules: I guess I just imagined the map of Idaho, completely colored brown. Plus, it’s next to Wyoming. Driving through Wyoming was as dead and boring as HELL.
Travis: [Looking at me not unlike my 5th grade social studies teacher, peering over the edge of the red-inked tragedy of my latest exam.] Wyoming is a TOTALLY DIFFERENT STATE! And we only saw the bottom half. It’s not ALL like that!
Jules: It was mind-numbing. NEVER TAKE ME THERE AGAIN.
Travis: Hello? Jerry! DUDE! We’re in IDAHO…uh, we should be in Pocatello in like, an hour. So when do you think you guys will get to the hotel? 2-ish? Yeah, we shouldn’t be much longer than that - probably 3:30. Dinner reservations? Yeah, that sounds good – what time…CRAP!
Jules: We just went out of network?
Travis: We just went out of network.
10:30 AM, Pocatello. We pull into Emery’s Café, an older restaurant just across the street from the college.
Jules: There’s a COLLEGE here?
Travis: Yeah. You didn’t know that?
Jules: You are talking to the girl whose mental image of Idaho is a big cardboard cutout under which grow enough potatoes to feed the world. I just wonder what kind of selection process someone went through to arrive at Pocatello, y’know?
“Where should I go to college? Havard? Too hard. UCLA? Too expensive. Baylor? Too Texas. Where can I go that will has absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to go? I know! Pocatello, Idaho!”
Travis: Oh I see. So you picked New Mexico State University because of its sophisticated cultural scene and nationally renowned professional programs. It had nothing to do with in-state tuition.
Jules: Shut up.
11:30 AM, Idaho Falls. In the midst of yet another wave of heavy rain, we almost miss the junction. However, my Out-Of-Utah-Alcohol radar apparently still works, because it takes all of five seconds to spot the Budweiser plant.
Jules: Hey LOOK! It’s a Budweiser factory!
Travis: WHERE?
Jules: Right there! We have got to get a picture of THIS. Pull over! Pull over!
*CLICK*
Travis: That is so cool. We should take the tour.
Jules: Wouldn’t that be awesome if it was like a Willy Wonka wonderland – except on beer, instead of acid?
*CLICK*
Travis: You mean candy.
Jules: No, I mean acid. Whoever wrote that mental freakshow was CLEARLY on acid, or using candy as a METAPHOR for acid. Cuz dude, that shit just ain’t right.
Travis: Have you even READ Willy Wonka?
Jules: Are you kidding? CrackMan Gene Wilder and his creepy oompa loompas have scarred me for life. If I read the book, I think I’d have freak-ass nightmares of a chocolate bunny sitting on my chest and beating my creme-filled head with a giant candy cane or something.
*CLICK*
12 PM, The rain has turned to hail. Golf ball hail from hell. It beats on the roof like the hooves of Satan’s little helpers dancing at a Bat Mitzvah. Four long minutes later, we get a slight reprieve. Driving by the “Tornado Preparedness Store” and “Rain for Rent” shops, we now find ourselves plowing through a FREAKISH WALL OF TORRENTIAL RAIN.
Jules: [Starting to get a little freaked out, I try to think of a diplomatic way to say, “Look, I’m not trying to tell you how to drive or anything, but this is straight up crazy rain, and it’s freaking me out.] Do you think we should stop for a few minutes?
Travis: It’s so thick that I think someone could hit us if we stop. I want to get through the front - then things will get better. Mostly, I don’t want to hydroplane.
Jules: Good plan. I like that plan.
Travis: And we definitely don’t want to do it in this, ‘cuz we’re top-heavy and we’ll flip for sure.
Jules: [Immediately picturing our little Mazda spinning across the interstate, stopping to flip and bounce through the pretty, rain soaked fields of Idaho like a two-ton Spalding, mashing itself into a compacted, junkyard brick. I think to myself:]
I SO did not need to know that.
To be continued…
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