So I sit in my shithouse of an office, listening to my newly hired housecleaners (a.k.a. angels in sweats) and wonder how I got to this point. How did I let the rest of 2008 just go unnoticed? How could I possibly allow myself to let the ENTIRE last 6 1/2 months of the year just blow away like a fart in a whirlwind, going unwritten, not even a “Hey! We’re still here but ya, gotta jet…”? How?

Life. The mass amounts of shit that consume our everyday existence. The inability to give in, let go….and I tain’t gonna say “let God” for all you thumpers in the room. Wait, let me roll back a few frames. For those who don’t know me personally, I am a Type A personality. I must do things my way, all the way, any day. I never give up. I never ask for help. I never admit defeat. Hell, I can’t even admit the stomach flu! But something happened during those first couple of days of 2009. I realized something, an epiphany of sorts if you will. First, 2008 was a very odd, odd year. I allowed myself to be swayed by people who seemed genuinely interested in my abilities, yet mistook my kindness for weakness. And I almost got taken. But I didn’t. That’s the key. Second, I put many others before myself, making sure all were taken care of, fed, had enough for themselves and their families. While my family ALWAYS, ALWAYS is my #1 priority, I never made myself #2. Hell, I don’t even think I made the Top 20. Third, there was a car accident, injuries, illnesses…a full vat of personal wretchedness. Fourth, I just can’t give up control. I hold the reins tightly. My hands will bleed before I admit defeat. Well, guess what. I’ve been taken from the dark side and not willingly. During my months long “intervention”, I was told by those who love me that I need to give up the juice and allow others to help me. What was the drug for which I had to give up? Yes, I finally had to admit that I’m a control, “I can do everything and STILL write” out and out freak. I had to hire a housecleaner. But I can do everything, right? I CAN clean the house, run the dog, train for races, work in Jack’s class, do the laundry, make home-cooked meals, shop for the household, coach little league, host parties and pack for a 3-day motorcycle adventure. I CAN! I CAN! I CAN! No, Sandy, you can’t. Those who are of the same alphabetical ilk know how hard it is to wave the white flag. I have failed. My family? Nah. They were the major cheerleaders in this “give something up, dammit” rally. Terry reads the blog over and over, pressuring me daily to just start writing again! I guess I have failed the image I’ve had of myself for, well, my entire existence. Never admit defeat. But asking for help is NOT admitting defeat. In fact, not asking for help is inserting defeat in another part of your life. Not being able to do what I love injects negativity into my family. Always playing catch-up means never moving forward. I don’t want a dark cloud hovering as part of my ensemble. I know gray is in, but…

And I must move forward. We all must move forward. Existing is not an option. Admitting I can do it ALL is existing. There is no room for improvement, only a set-up for failure. Failure may not happen today or next week, but it will happen. And maybe then it will be too late. One should never live according to what may never happen. So I had to choose to change and now. I don’t want another low year. More peaks than valleys, right?

So here we all are, once again. How ARE you doing? How have you been? What’s new? I can tell you what’s old. The next several entries will recap some of the highlights from the last 6 1/2 months of 2008. They are news worthy and they need to be written. Some of the verbal details may be lost, but I promise you a full return of the Adventure Trio. It needs to be written. It needs to be shared. And I need to enjoy giving up at least one of my chores…but I refuse to hire and gardener.

WARNING: If any reader is easily offended or nauseated by religion and/or my views regarding freakish hyper-religious sects, please stop reading and I’ll see you back at the next post. If you’re curious, go right ahead. You have been warned and, therefore, it’s your own fault. I’m not responsible for your reaction, only mine.

Even before we turned the key on the Yukon to begin our two week journey, I knew of one place I just HAD to visit – Colorado City. Like a bad car accident, I had to slow down and look. If you’ve been watching the news these past couple of years or been in a bookstore as of late, the polygamist society has been at the forefront of discussion in every facet of the media. I alone have been extremely fascinated with the why’s, what’s and practices of this icky, bizarre religion for many, many years. Hey, for some it’s the Amish; for me it’s the polygamists. And many of my friends have the same strange fascination (yes, Ixchelle, I mean you). Having educated Terry on the history of the FLDS, he, too, was more than willing to take the journey into the unknown. But first, we had some very cool country to ride through to get there…and a 6 year old who would rather have been in the hotel pool all day. Sorry, Jack, but we feel we must expose you to strange America. And no, you can’t bring a couple o’ bitches back to the room with you in the name of religion. Leave that up to the creepy white dudes for which you are not one of.

You could imagine how we looked riding around Colorado City in brightly colored motorcycle gear with, God forbid, only one child strapped on the back! Having read several books relating to the FLDS, I knew the area was teeming with wrong-doing’s and a general sense of ickiness, like a cold shiver that runs down your back. As we rode in, I spotted various compounds of mobile home communities against the hillside. We turned left into a neighborhood of sprawling mansions. Yes, MANSIONS! There were wings built for the growing number of wives and children. Dozens of childrens’ bicycles littered the yards and various wives were outside watering or tending to the garden. I’m sure the husbands were out conquering the world. Yet oddly enough, all these mansions looked unfinished and still under construction. More on that later, I promise. I swear, when I spotted the first wife, I couldn’t help but scream, “Oh my fucking god! Oh my fucking god!” inside my helmet. It’s kind of like seeing a platypus for the first time. You know it exists. You know that they’re out there, but you never really believe in its existence till you see it for the first time. Ya, kinda like that. I craved more.

We turned left back onto the highway and headed into the main area of town. We found the Mercantile in the center of town. Yes, the Mercantile. We parked the bikes in a slot and kind of sat back and watched. Vans and beat-up cars dotted the lot with a rare new car pulling in every so often. I assumed that the head wife was allowed the new ride. The women stared at us, half in fear, half with a desire for us to leave them alone. They wore the full dress, obviously hand-made, and were covered in long sleeves and jeans or pants under their dresses to cover their religious undies. Like “special underwear” are going to keep you from sinning and having sex! The hair was done in full frontal feather with a long braid trailing down the back. The shoes were large and quite clunky. The mother’s cuddled their young offspring while the older children were back at the compound tending to the other kids. One of the funniest fucking things I saw was a female midget polyg woman. (I already know I’m goin’ to hell, so I’m going to say what I want.) I swear, her braid was almost as long as she! One of the saddest, most vile things we saw was a pregnant teenage girl. Terry thought she was around 19 or 20. She was more like 15 or 16. And this probably wasn’t her first child. Terry was shocked. I was completely speechless. We were outsiders in their bizarre world. We pretended to be there for a break in the ride, but they knew as well as we did that we were there to stare. We sure as hell didn’t blend in! I did my best to capture a few digital memories without being noticed, but that was impossible. And we were noticed. And we were approached by one of the males.

While taking our helmets off for a breather (and a good stare), Terry found himself in the presence of one of the husbands who began commenting on our gear. He dared not speack to the woman in the group. He was more than friendly (and supremely odd) and asked where we were off to. Doing our best to be friendly and unassuming, we chatted with the suspicious male. We told him we were doing a loop around the area and were staying at Zion. He said that he, too, rode motorcycles (uh huh) and wore a bright jacket to be seen. It was a short and very unnerving “interview”. After a couple of minutes and some water, we geared back up and boarded our bikes for another tour around the hood. We passed yards filled with children, at least 14. The boys wore their long sleeved, button-up shirts and the girls the traditional dresses and braids. Even the young sprouts wore the get-up. Some children are allowed to go to school, others are not. It depends on who is leading that particular sect at the time. After Warren Jeffs was named the new son of the prophet, he stopped the flow of any outside influences including TV, newpapers, toys and books. Anything that went against their teachings was banned. Hey, you can’t lose any of the flock if they don’t know how good it is outside the religious walls, right? Many of the young teenage boys were forced to leave the city as they were seen as a threat to the higher powers. Why should these 14 year old girls be forced to marry someone their own age when there’s a perfectly good 80 year old man in the wings? Sick. Disgusting.

As we passed more houses and more families hanging around, I couldn’t help but think about all the brainwashing that is done in the name of religion. The women and children (and the weaker males) are told they are the chosen one’s and will be the only one’s to go to heaven, as long they obey and stay sweet. Like the Mormon religion, they are to have at least 6 months of rations at the ready for when the world as we know it ends (maybe be only a couple of months for the Mormon’s). This I have a very hard time believing. (Like I said in the beginning, turn your head if you don’t want to read what I have to say.) Like Scientology, the Mormon religion is one of the newest religions to be recognized. Why is one able to do some creative writing, make up some loony proclamations and ideas, and call it a religion? Are there really that many people in search of a direction who are willing to believe almost anything? How about going out and searching for answers yourself instead of being told what you should believe? I’m not a fan of any organized religion. Can you tell? Any sect who asks you to give, give, GIVE while sitting in a magnificently expensive house of worship listening to a Cadillac-driving preacher tell them how they should live so they can get into heaven ahead of the rest of us is complete bullshit. I’ve had friends who were barely able to put food on the table and instead of the church saying, “Hey, we understand your predicament and will gladly help you get back on your feet as you’ve been giving to us for years.” they were told, “You just need to learn how to budget better so you can still pay your tithing.” What the FUCK is THAT about? You can’t eat yet you’re STILL expected to make the preacher’s car payment?!? Call me a bitch. Call me a heartless asshole. But, I have a very hard time believing in any religion that still expects me to give till it hurts. And the idea of having food and water at the ready for when apocolypse happens is ludicrous. I don’t have time to prepare for the end of civilization. There are too many cool things I have yet to do. And if I’m wrong, you don’t have to share your rations with me.

So how do these people get their money? Well, Terry got the low-down from the locals in Springdale. First, their marriages aren’t “real”. The families get Medicare, food stamps and welfare from the state for each child. The wives are seen as single mothers. Second, many of the men own businesses that contract with the state. There are several polyg’s in the state government that see to it the polyg companies get the contracts. Third, in the state of Arizona, as long as your house is still under contruction, you don’t have to pay property taxes. Fourth, they are master grant writers. So, when the city needed new medical equipment, they studied the loopholes and began writing. They have the most state-of-the-art ambulance and medical services in the nation. Most contruction in the state of Utah is polyg labor. They can pretty much underbid any other company. These people are not stupid. They are conniving and defrauding the government. The men are raping young girls in the name of “religion” and the “prophet”. They are being forced into a lifestyle they do not want all because they are told some pasty, skinny, foul white guy had a “vision” from the prophet. It’s all bad. It’s all vile. When you see it for yourself, you want to scream and grab every last child to try and save them from their future. But it’s not a future. It’s a sentence, one they did not choose. Some are fortunate enough to escape their sentence, others are too scared of the unknown. Remember, they are taught that the outside world is bad and they are the only good one’s on earth. Hard to fathom, isn’t it?

This is going to be one of the few times that I will be a girl of a few words. I know, I KNOW, I tend to be a bit wordy (just a tad), but it’s the only way I can convey/describe/spew forth what’s rolling around in my brain. Those of you who know me well know this to be true…and then some… Having said (typed?) that, I’d really like to show you a shitload of pictures with some descriptions on the side. Though I do have one neat-o story about our first day in Zion.

So we really wanted to camp rightoff, but the weather was not cooperating (see previous post), we decided to spend a few days at the Best Western Inn in Springdale, approx. 1 1/2 miles from the park entrance. It was a great hotel complete with pool, hot tub and lots of climbers and foreigners making for vivid conversation. And because I/we were so, oh so exhausted from the first couple of days, my heart decided to go into A-Fib, aka Atrial Fibrillation. Nice. What does that mean exactly? Well, I’m tired, my heart feels a little thumpy, I drink something cold and BOOM!, my heart goes out of rhythm. And what do we do now, you may ask? Terry called the on-call doc (of course it happened on a Sunday and of course half of Utah is closed on Sunday), the on-call doc called a prescription into the big-ass WalMart in the town of Hurricane, about 40 minutes away…and they were going to close in about and hour. Fine. Okay, Jack outta the pool. Mama’s needs her pills! So we loaded up into the Yukon and sped our way to Hurricane. And how fast were we going? Well, fast enough to get pulled over 5 minutes away from our destination. Yes, boys and girls, we were able to talk our way out of a ticket. When we explained our situation to the officer, he just shook his head and said, “Man, I HATE medical emergencies.” Thanks again for letting us go. We got to the big-ass WalMart just in time. I got my meds and my heart got back in rhythm by the next morning. Moral of the story: Sleep is good.

Hey kids! Sitting here in hotel room enjoying some Peet’s made with the JetBoil (Yes, I know the hotel has its own coffee and coffee maker, but you know it sucks!). Terry left at deer-thirty this morning for a 4 hour motorcycle dirt venture, Jack is beginning to stir, and I’d better spew forth some words before I’m hit by Hurricane Jack.

Saturday afternoon we took the motorcycles out for the maiden journey. We’re only about 6 miles from the Nevada/Utah border, so we headed east to check things out. But before we left Great Basin N.P., we signed up to tour the Lehman Caves (You remember stalagmite’s and stalactite’s from school, right?) at 1PM. Now, if you think you’re going to stock up on supplies at any of the small towns surrounding the park, you’re are oh so sorely mistaken. The town of Baker resides at the base of Great Basin. There are a handful of homes, some with cars out front, some actually inhabited. There are several businesses that closed up shop years ago and no real industry to speak of. So you’d think that a town such as Baker would have the feeling of desperation. Not so. The people that live here are friendly, upbeat and stuck in 1985. The 2 business that are open (a store/restaurant/bar and coffee shop/bakery/4-cabin hotel) are home to some very proud people. The restaurant/bar seems to be the hub of the town as they were preparing some BBQ for the Saturday evening rush.

After crossing into Utah and back into Nevada, just to say we did it and for the photo-op, we headed back up the mountain for our Lehman Caves tour. While we waited for the tour to begin, Terry met a guy (driving a semi with a 5th wheel attached, KTM motorcycle strapped onto the back and a yellow lab as his co-pilot) who was from, you guessed it, Auburn! Small world. Chatted it up with him for a while until it was tour time. The inside of the caves were completely awesome. Tom, remember touring the Shasta caves? These have them beat by several miles. The entire tour lasted about 1 1/2 hours and was full of very cool sites. Our tour guide, however, was such an ODD little dude. He was for sure the love child of a Star Trek fan and the kid that got shoved into the locker in high school. He did try his best with the jokes, I’ll give him that. There actually was a couple (dressed as cave-husband and wife – NO JOKE!) who lived in the caves in the early 1900’s. Also, several weddings were performed inside as well as a Hollywood movie shot in one of the sections. If you’re passing through, I highly recommend the tour…tell the quide we said “Live long and prosper”.

We sat on the steps of the Visitor’s Center after the tour and met yet another couple from the Tahoe area. They, too, rode motorcycles but were doing the mountain bike thing this trip. It’s amazing how something like a motorcycle can link you to so many people that you’d never think to talk to. It’s weird and I like it… And as we were on the steps taking a feeding frenzy break, I noticed a very menacing cloud looming over the mountain peak that was the back drop for our campsite. Hmmmmm…. “Uh, Terry, I think we’d better go back to our campsite NOW!” We threw our gear on, loaded up Jack, and headed into the great, black unknown. As we were riding the 3 miles to our campground, it began to rain. And then it began to snow. Are you fucking KIDDING ME?!?!? We all laughed just our of sheer disbelief. Against our bodies exhausting attempts at stopping us, we knew we were going to have to pack up and head out tonight. Damn! I really, really, REALLY don’t want to pack up wet gear and leave. Our campsite was covered in a fresh layer of slushy snow. Fucking perfect. We began the packing process, shoving wet tents and chairs into their carrying cases and covering cooking gear with plastic bags. I knew the only way we were going to live through this without committing a murder/suicide was to stay calm and try to lighten the mood. Didn’t work. I finally had to have a heart to heart with Terry. (Earlier in our trip, we promised each other that if the other was acting like a whiny brat, we would tell them to knock it off and stay in the moment, that moment being that we were away from home, on an adventure into the unknown and lots of things, good and bad, were going to happen. At least we weren’t home doing laundry or dealing with employees.) I finally broke through the icy persona and we got everything shoved into the truck. Though a little soggy and a lot muddy, we made it out just before the next ‘Cloud of Terror’ passed over. We were fortunate we got out in time.

Where were we headed? Well, seeing as there’s nothing, and I mean NOTHING, between Great Basin and Cedar City, Utah, we headed for Cedar City, one of the Mormon capitals of the world and just a motorcycle ride away from the polygamy town of Colorado City. We arrived in Cedar City around 10:30PM (add an hour for the time change) only to be awakened at 5:30AM by one of the 5 screaming children next door. I know, I know, I have a kid, too, but dammit, people, I gotta get some sleep!

And did we head into that cute little family environment of Colorado City where the men rule and the women sport those snappy little outfits? Later, my friends, later…

Moral of this day’s events: Perspective is everything. Just when you think you’re having a bad day, take a look at the guy in the wheelchair or the child going through chemo….how do you feel now? It’s not so bad, is it? Cheers.

Morning…OW! Where IS that 800 mg. Motrin bottle? A long night in the tent with only 1 ½ inches of foam between you and the ground can make one a little bit bitchy. Not to worry, though, we’re barely into our trip. It can only get better, eh? Not so fast there, snack shack. Let me first update ya’ll on the past 24 hours… It was quite an awesomely beautiful ride out of Fallon. Heading east on Highway 50, we soon came upon some salt flats. This vast expanse of white film covered the entire valley. Very cool. Because the valley was so white, locals had taken to spelling out names, sayings, blah, blah, blah in black and red lava rocks. Everything from “I Love Sue” to “mormon.com” (not kidding) was written. I was itchin’ to be a part of it. But the highway is only 1 lane each way and even with almost NO ONE coming in either direction, you know that as soon as we pulled over, a traffic jam would appear. Then we spotted something called Sand Mountain to our left. No kidding, it is this hugely massive sand dune butted up against the mountain range. Now we HAD to pull over for a pic. Flashers on, head out of butt, we took our chances and squeezed over to the side as much as possible. And what are those black dots on the sand? They’re moving. Naw…are you serious?!? There are motorcycles jetting up and down the side of this sand mountain. Dude, I’m all for the thrill of adventure, it’s just the agony of defeat that scares the shit out of me. And while we were off to the side of the road, might as well check out the salt flat (I tasted it…it is indeed sodium). And how could I resist spelling out JACK using broken pieces of pavement? If you’re traveling along Highway 50 and spot Sand Mountain on your left, start looking right for Jack’s name. Our curiosity got the better of us and we headed down the dirt road to Sand Mountain. How could we not? We have no real schedule and just want to see and experience as much as we can in our 2 week voyage. As we got closer to the mountain, a plethora of quads and toy haulers came into view. Do I hear a banjo? Nope, country. Close enough. We were in awe of the balls (and beer) it took for these guys to race their quads up and down the side of this mountain. Couldn’t help but wonder what the hell happens when the liquid courage wears off and you realize what the hell it is you’re actually doing! We sat back for a while and watched the Redneck Races. Within minutes, two female park rangers came up to ask if we had a permit and if Terry was going to take his bike out for a sand spin. Sorry, ladies, but we brought all our marbles on this trip and plan on taking them all home with us. We did have a fabulous chat with one of the rangers. She’s traveled extensively and chatted it up about traveling by motorcycle. Totally dug her. What really made us chuckle was when she said there was a high “bubba factor” at the mountain. No shit! We (I) made a couple of sandwiches, bid the mountain and ranger farewell, and continued on our journey. If you ever get the chance to drive along Highway 50, I highly recommend it. Mountain ranges pierce the sky, valleys dotted with cattle and sage brush – it was all breathtaking. We made another stop at some petroglyphs. You remember those, at least if you stayed awake in any of your college anthropology classes. Having only seen them during slide presentations, I decided we should make a stop and check them out live and in person. They were tucked into the side of yet another mountain range and carved in limestone that wore shades of amber, salmon and orange. Looking at the area, you could picture Indian life way back when – men hiding atop the mountains as lookouts, women preparing meals, children running around catching lizards and snakes. It was time to get on the road again…I can’t wait to get on the road again… Stopped in Ely to grab some Jagermeister at the local liquor store. Dude. All I can say is check out the pic of the local flava…nuff said… After many hours on the road, we pulled up to Great Basin National Park. Awesome. Two out of the four campgrounds were still closed and the one’s that were open had no water. Fine. We brought our own for just such an occasion. We headed up, up, up the road to Upper Lehman Campground, elev. 7,500 feet. Ouch, my bloody nose! Seriously, we’ve all been blowin’ bloody boogers since Fallon and the skin on my hands have the texture of rough sandpaper. Soooo ladylike. We found a very cool spot near the stream that was teeming with iron as all the rocks within the flow were red. Want to know just how cold it is at night? There was still snow on the ground (with more to come…more on that later). Using my best Survivorman skills (LOVE that show!), I held my hand up to the sun and measured how much daylight we had left. Two hours. Time to light a fire under our butts (and in our fire pit) and get this camp set up cause as soon as that sun sets, it’s freezin’ time. While Terry unloaded the truck, Jack and I set forth gathering as many branches as possible. There was plenty of dry grass to start the fire, but slim pickin’s on the firewood. And DO NOT touch the poison oak!! Got the fire going (sorry, Survivorman, we had matches) and started on dinner. I’m tellin’ ya, eating polish dogs and potato salad by a campfire with your family is priceless. We were all bundled up in layers as the sun had set and were eager for our first nights attempt at sleeping in the tents. A few burnt marshmallows later, we hunkered down in our sleeping accommodations (Terry in one tent, Jack and I in the other) and settled down for a long night. The mercury was dipping well into the upper 30’s by the time Jack finally closed his eyes. He was so excited to be camping and, well, so were we. We all smelled of campfire and the outdoors with no desire to wash it away. And it did turn out to be a long night. If you’re a parent, you tend to wake up every time your child moves. I kept my headlamp on my head knowing that the night would be spent getting Jack back in his sleeping bag and putting his hat back on his head. The night did not disappoint. No worries, though, as the memories outweigh the lack of sleep. We all awoke around 7:30, a little sore from the lack of a mattress, but ready to start on some Jetboil coffee. Wait. Are those dark clouds above? Nah. It can’t rain or snow now – it’s May! Stay tuned, sports fans!