The Theory of Camping (Part 2)
Before we launch into this column I’d like to mention that one of my readers recently pointed out in a “Monopoly Money” segment that I inaccurately referred to “Carmel” in “The Venetian”; this is true. Not only is “Carmel” in “The Bellagio” but it also, in fact, possesses an additional “A” applied particularly between the double consonants resulting in the well known American pronunciation debacle of “car-mel” or “car-a-mel”? Either way, after the extent of my weekend(s), I’m just happy I managed to list a casino in the general vicinity.
But I always love the feedback; whether noticing a geography faux paus or addressing several unmarked envelopes in quick succession containing slightly unnerving compliments to my house. (Just kidding.)
Now on to camping.
After quite some time Chad and I managed to leave the house and embark on an allegedly two-hour drive to our camping spot in Utah. Ahhh, yes … Utah. Similar to Nevada but with much more polygamy. The first hour and a half of the drive went by quite smoothly and it wasn’t long before we were to exit the freeway via our directions “take highway 9, Leeds.” After driving around in a creepy little rundown village reminiscent of “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” movies, Chad made me run into a dilapidated general store to ask for directions. I was a bit hesitant. I’ve seen what happens in dilapidated general stores.
Somehow, I returned to the truck unscathed and equipped with the new information that, in fact, there is no “Highway 9/Leeds” exit. But there is a Highway 9 exit as well as a Leeds exit. No wonder this was becoming so difficult. After another lost half hour, we solicited some help from a “Leeds” police officer -- well, probably “the” Leeds police officer. I’d have been slightly alarmed had he been the Sheriff. (It’s the Sheriff that kidnaps all the victims for Leatherface, you know.)
Again, this new source of information made all our old information redundant and provided us with different directions. (Apparently Utahitarians are not directionally inclined.) And with that, we left the rundown village, the dilapidated general store, and the lone police officer. By now the sun was gone and beside the roads dry plains backed up to large mountains and cavernous spaces. But not without bringing along a slight “The Hills Have Eyes” feeling.
Precocious entrepreneur, workaholic and a rabid perfectionist Crystal Starlight is a pro right down the line. Email her at [email protected]