Where in the world is the Crash Test Dummy?

Hey ya'll, I'm in Panguitch, Utah, taking advantage of Subway's eat fresh with free wi-fi offer. Pretty cool place, even though you have to flush the toilets and turn on the water and pump the hand soap and grab the paper towels yourself.

There's a Help Wanted sign on the door, but I counted eight employees working hard behind the counter. One of them has a ginormous hickey so obviously they play hard too.

ba dum bum

I'm practicing for my Blog-Across-America tour by blogging across Utah. Starting with Southern Utah.

It's my first ever field trip all by my very own self. So much fun. I can stop as many times as I want to go to the bathroom. And I can deviate. And detour. And listen to whatever music I want. As loud as I want. And I don't have to interrupt myself every ten minutes to scream at my kids.

So far I have done all of the above.

My first pit stop was in Santaquin at the Kars gas station. What a lovely bathroom. The mirror makes you look super thin. I recommend it.

Then I hit the road and pumped up the jam with five CD's I checked out from the public library for my road trip. Lady Sings the Blues soundtrack. AWESOME! Ella Fitzgerald! Two thumbs up. Sarah McLachlan. I used to totally dig her, but my my my, she's depressing! Cheer up Sarah. And finally, The Sons of Provo soundtrack. The movie was heelarious, but trust me, those dudes are annoying on the road.

I detoured in Kanosh for my second pit stop, but Kanosh is seven miles from the freeway. And nobody drives in or out of Kanosh. It's an island unto itself. I had the whole entire road to myself for seven whole miles. By the time I reached Kanosh I felt muy awkward. Like an alien from outer space. Like an F.O.B. Like a freak of nature driving a silver Honda Pilot. Silver Honda Pilots are on the radar in Kanosh.

There's only one gas station in Kanosh. It ain't no Maverick neither. It's one of them little places where the old men sit on the front stoop in their overalls and you have to ask for the key. At least I think you would have to ask. I didn't stop to find out. I just drove into town and then turned around and drove out of town. Then I pulled over and did my bizness in the wilderness. I wasn't prepared for it though and alls I had was an old Costco receipt to assist me.

hee hee (j/k peeps! I was a girl scout so preparedness is my middle name.)

But fer reals I wasn't prepared. I didn't even have a Costco receipt. I only had a google map to Usana ampitheater.

You never know when a google map will come in handy.

I lingered on the road to Kanosh for a while just soaking up the sun and silence. Not a single sign of human life for the whole of thirty minutes I was there. And all that silence made my eyes sweat a bit.

I picked two wild flowers to put on my dad's grave.

Do you know I've never put any flowers on my dad's grave? I have, however, stolen flowers from his grave. Two roses. When they were lowering him into the ground. And then I dried them and laid them in a blue box with a silver latch.

It's about time I paid him back, don't you think?

I'm on my way there next to have dinner with him. Philly cheesesteak on Pita bread.

I haven't had dinner with my dad since I was eight years old when he took me out for my baptism and I spilled my Sprite in my refried beans.

I'm looking forward to it.

And then I'm going to visit my grandma and all my dad's siblings at the Mt. Carmel house on Tait lane. They're having a big yard sale today. I hope I get there in time to capture some photographic evidence.

Well, I best be hitting the road, Jack.

Hey, speaking of which, I still need to tell you all about the Jack Johnson concert last night.

It was sooooo good to see JJ again and he did not disappoint. He sounds exactly the same, maybe better live.

But you know what? People are freakin' weird. Especially concert people.

Especially old concert people.

Especially old, drunk concert people.

I'll be back with all the stories and the photographic evidence as soon as I make restitution with my painful past.

Hasta!

Wait, what does hasta mean again?