A big life change? Maybe.

 This road trip is different. 

It’s not about adventure or travel.  It’s not about photography, visiting national parks or about getting back to nature.  This road trip is different because it’s about finding another place to live that’s not in California.

Normally, I am well prepared, packed a week ahead of time, but this time everything was done at the last minute.  It wasn’t from lack of planning, but from my wanting to put off for as long as possible the emotions that I knew would come.  There have been fleeting moments of excitement for this “new chapter” in my life, but mostly there has been guilt and indecision. 

When most children are returning to their elderly parents to care for them, I am abandoning mine.  It seems selfish for me to want to leave San Diego, the place I was born and raised. It seems selfish to leave my parents at a time when they are needing my help the most.  I can afford to live in California, but I can’t afford to live my life in California. 

The decision to move was not one made in haste.  These thoughts have been in my mind since 2018, actually for much longer.  Moving was something my ex and I discussed doing when we retired.  I’ve been retired now for over three years; however, it’s taken me this long to get the confidence to even consider it.  It is a huge life change for me and I’m not sure if I am ready for it or if I can do it on my own.

The rollercoaster of emotion is fast and fierce.  I don’t know if I am making the right decision.  I make excuses as to why I should stay in San Diego, but then I use the same excuses as to why I should leave. The arguments within my mind are endless.   Half the time I am excited, the other half I am crying.  And then there are those rare times when I am absolutely terrified by even the thought of leaving San Diego and it takes a moment for me to catch my breathe.  I wonder if this is what a panic attack feels like?

The road to Utah is long and the severity of my mood increases with every mile.

I’m driving north on Interstate 15 when there is an accident, or so I think.  Otherwise, why would traffic be at a complete stop on the freeway?  It’s stop and go for twenty minutes, but there is no sign of anything that shows cause for the traffic, but in that time, my mood worsens. 

I am tired.  I got on the road at 6:30am, but it wasn’t early enough to beat the heat of the Nevada desert.  It’s 100-degrees when I reach Las Vegas.  I am irritated at everyone and everything, so it only seems fitting that when I cross the border into Utah, a rock hits my windshield causing a crack to snake its way across the window. 

I’m wondering if this is a sign.  Maybe I should go home, abandon all thought of moving to Utah?  Maybe I should return to the familiarity of a lifetime spent in San Diego?  But I don’t.  Instead, I check into a Motel 6 in Cedar City where the lobby smells like poop.  How apropos.

The next morning, the lobby still stinks, but now the entire hallway does as well.   The woman behind the counter puts down her spray bottle and rag that she’s been wiping everything with to give me my receipt at check-out.  I consider telling her about the smell, but then I wonder why she can’t smell it on her own?  Plus, I don’t have the energy.  I let her go back to sanitizing against COVID without saying a word.

Focusing on getting to Draper, where I have made hotel reservations at the Hampton Inn, has helped to subdue the voices in my head, but my thoughts are still heavy.  Doubt creeps in at every opportunity and I feel myself returning to the foul mood of yesterday. 

Along the freeway, I see a sign for Cedar Breaks National Monument.  I have never been, so I quickly exit.  The drive from I-15 to Brian Head along Hwy 143 is a pretty one.  My thoughts soon drift to nature and my mood improves. 

Cedar Breaks is a natural amphitheater, stretching across 3 miles, with a depth of over 2,000 feet.  The rim sits at about 10,000 feet in elevation.  The rock of the amphitheater is like that of Bryce Canyon National Park, but unlike the national park, Cedar Breaks attracts less visitors.   For the most part, I am alone.  It takes me only an hour and a half to drive through the park and back again, but it is exactly what I need to soothe my soul. 

The next day I begin my search for apartments, but it is disappointing.  I cross many off my list without even touring them because I don’t like the location.  And those in my preferred location don’t have the amenities I am looking for, like a garage, or they are older builds when I am wanting something new.  I have a long list of apartments to see, but there is white smoke billowing up from behind the Wasatch Mountains.  The air is thick and it is difficult to breath.  I cut short my apartment hunt and retreat to the air conditioning of my hotel room. 

Maybe the fire is another sign I shouldn’t move to Utah?

The Parley Canyon fire was caused by an overheated catalytic converter on a vehicle.  It is east of Salt Lake City on the south side of Interstate 80 near Park City. I am in no danger, but the air quality is horrible.  It is Sunday and the leasing offices of the apartments I want to look at are all closed.  I knew the offices would be closed, so instead, I planned on going to Antelope Island State Park to see birds and wild bison, but it is recommended that people stay indoors because of the smoke.  So I stay indoors.  It is like being at home.  I watch TV while not wearing any pants and snack on trail mix.

Monday morning is spent getting my cracked windshield replaced and then it is back to apartment hunting.  The air quality is still bad, but I wear a mask and spend as little time outside as possible.  During my downtime on Sunday, I re-prioritized my wants and have decided to add townhomes to my list.  From American Fork to Ogden I drive, identifying possibilities and eliminating others.  The next day I drive back and forth again looking at more and more apartments.

Over the past six days, I have looked at dozens of apartments and townhomes and have a folder full of literature, along with a binder of handwritten notes about each one.  It has been overwhelming and exhausting.  The internal bickering resumes as do my tears.  More questions, more doubts.  I have had a stomachache for two days.  Because of my mood and of the wildfires that are burning pretty much in all the western states, I decide to end my trip early and return home. 

The uncertainty and doubt that plagued me on my trip to Utah, stay with me all the way home.  I am even less sure as I sort through all the information I have gathered.  I ask myself the same questions, make the same rationalizations, and experience the same guilt and anxiety as before.  However, it all comes down to one simple question that I’ve asked myself a million times over the last few days:  Should I move to Utah?

And the answer is YES.  Yes, I am moving to Utah in October.

Part 2 of 2: Potatoes, dead fish and no cell phone reception

It’s 36-degrees and sunny when I say farewell to West Yellowstone.  I drive south on Highway 20 and further still on Interstate 15, but I don’t get very far.  I have my sights set on Salt Lake City, but I see a sign along the freeway that reads, “Potato Museum next exit” so I exit. 

The Potato Museum in Blackfoot, Idaho was built in 1913 and originally a railroad depot.  It was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1974.  However, in 1984 the Union Pacific closed the depot leaving the building abandoned.  It became the Potato Museum a few years later in 1988.

I’m not expecting much but I am pleasantly surprised. 

The museum is small, but full of potato paraphernalia as well as a few pieces of machinery used in harvesting.  I never thought much about potatoes, but the history and trivia are interesting.  Did you know the largest potato ever grown was 7 pounds, 1 ounce?

Welcome to Utah!  

A night of rest in Brigham City and then a short drive the next morning to Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge.  The refuge contains nearly 80,000 acres of marsh, open waters, uplands, and alkali mudflats.  It lies along the edges of both the Pacific Flyway and the Central Flyway, making it an important area for birds.  More than 250 bird species use the refuge.  It is my first time here and I am excited to do some birding.

Right away I see a Ringed-necked pheasant.  I get some decent shots and that makes for a promising day.  In the Bear River Channel, there are ducks and a few American White Pelicans, but then I see something that isn’t familiar.

It swims along the water’s surface and then lumbers briefly onto shore.  It’s a beaver! A big, brown blob and all I see is its butt.  Then it’s back in the water and swims away.  This is the first beaver I have ever seen in the wild!

I follow the auto tour route along a dirt road through the refuge.  The road and channel parallel one another, but then the water level gets extremely low.  The main channel has taken a turn and, I think, this shallow pool is overflow.  I’m not sure, but it is full of dying carp.

They flounder and float on their sides while seagull’s peck at them.  It is a carp graveyard with fish carcasses in varying degrees of decay and bones scattered along the shoreline.  The carp are an invasive species, so I’m not saddened at their demise.  Plus, I know their death is a benefit to other wildlife in the area that will feed on them.

It stinks and the seagulls squawk loudly.  As disgusting as it is, I am very fascinated and get out of my truck to take a closer look.  However, I am suddenly attacked by large flies that bite my back and shoulders through my shirt.  It hurts! 

I jump back into my truck to escape the flies, but the interior is now infested with mosquitos.  I have left the windows open!  The mosquitos cover the inside roof like a carpet.  I turn the air on super blast, but it does little to dispel them. 

I take a few quick photos of the seagull-carp carnage and quickly drive away.  The flies follow me, however.  I roll up the windows, but they keep pace with me.  They are so big that I can see them flying next to my window and when I stop, they land on the windows and hood to let me know they are still there.  It’s as if they are stalking me!

I grab a can of bug spray from my camping gear and attempt to spray both the inside of my truck, which is still covered with mosquitos, and myself.  However, the nozzle is broken, and it doesn’t spray properly, just bubbles, but I’m able to get enough on my skin to keep the bugs away.  

The flies quickly lose interest, but the mosquitos remain.  I squish a few, but they leave tiny blood stains on the fabric of the roof.  Since they are not biting me, I leave them alone. 

The bugs are horrendous and it’s scorching hot.  Apparently, the entire western half of the United States is in a massive heat wave.  I have picked the wrong time of year to visit, but the birding is good, so I see the positives in that.

Sandhill Cranes with a colt, Yellow-headed Blackbirds, Cliff Swallows, egrets, herons, coots, ibises, baby geese, and Black-necked Stilts…I am getting some great photos, but my favorite are the Western Grebes with chicks riding on their backs.  Adorable!

I exit the refuge 5 hours later with a card full of great photos and go to Salt Lake City in search of a laundromat.  Some of the mosquitos are still hitching a ride with me and I continue squishing them for the next several miles until they are all gone.

The next day, I meet my friend Christy at the Radisson SLC Airport.  She has flown in from Denver to help me look at apartments in the Salt Lake City area.  We spend the next three days driving from one side of town to the other touring apartments and stopping every so often for ice cream because it is over a 100-degrees every single day. 

We also take time to eat delicious Mexican food at Red Iguana, which was featured on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives with Guy Fieri.  The food is good, and the waiter is a cutie.  He charms us two old ladies with his smile and customer-service flirtations.  It works.  We leave him a big tip.

At the Capitol building, we take a self-guided tour.  I ask Christy if it is illegal to have a gun in the building.  She responds with an expletive.  I tell her I’m asking for a friend.  I don’t know what the statue of limitations is, so I will neither confirm nor deny anything remotely associated with anyone possessing or not possessing a firearm inside or outside of a federal building or any building for that matter.

Our stay at the Radisson SLC Airport is only three nights, but unfortunately, they are not good ones.  From mold and a persistent musty smell in the bathroom to highly incompetent staff, our time there flat out sucked.  Plus, the cleaning staff threw away our personal toiletries that we had in the bathroom.  Including my purple soap box that I’ve had for, like, 20 years!

My numerous complaints are met with half-hearted apologies, and not once did they offer to replace any of the items they had thrown away.  Not even with cheap hotel soap!  I give them one star in my Yelp review only because I couldn’t rate them a zero.

After saying our goodbyes, Christy heads east and I head west on Interstate 80 towards Great Salt Lake State Park.

Great Salt Lake is one of the major tourist destinations in Utah.  It is the largest saltwater lake in the Western Hemisphere at 75 miles long and 35 miles wide.  It is too saline to support fish and most other aquatic species.  The only living things in the lake are algae, bacteria, brine shrimp and brine flies. 

It is also a popular spot for birding as it provides a habitat for millions of native and migratory birds.  However, I am disappointed when I arrive.   There are no birds, no shade, and the visitor’s center isn’t open yet.  I walk around in the 85-degree heat for about 45 minutes waiting for the visitor center to open only to discover that I am at the wrong part of the lake. 

I am at the boat marina. 

If I want to see birds and other wildlife, I should have gone to Antelope Island State Park, but that is an hour away and back the way I came.  It’s a disappointment, but all part of my journey.  There will always be highlights and lowlights to my trip and this just happens to be a lowlight, but at least I can say I saw the Great Salt Lake. 

With a pocket full of caramel candies I bought at the visitor center, I continue west on Interstate 80.  Past the Bonneville Speedway where many speed records have been set, the first being in 1935 by Sir Malcolm Campbell and where I wish I would have stopped. At West Wendover, I turn south on the 93 towards Ely and spend a quiet night at La Quinta planning my next stop.

I have my America the Beautiful park pass ready, but Great Basin National Park does not have an entry fee.  It’s a beautiful morning, sunny with wispy clouds, but at 8:30am it is already 80-degrees.  At Lehman Caves Visitor Center, I am met with another disappointment.  Reservations are required to tour the caves and I haven’t made any.  The next available time slot is a month out! 

Great Basin National Park was established in 1986 and is just over 120 square miles in size.  It’s known for its groves of ancient bristlecone pines and the Lehman Caves at the base of 13,063-foot Wheeler Peak, as well as Wheeler Peak Glacier.   

From the visitor center, I drive Wheeler Peak Scenic Drive.  The road twists and turns as it snakes up the mountain, however there are very few turnouts for me enjoy the views, and no vast meadows where I can view wildlife.  I stop when I can to take pictures and then the road ends at a parking lot. 

There is a kiosk showing the many trails branching out from the parking lot.  I’m not dressed for hiking, I’m wearing jeans, but I stuff several waters and a first aid kit into a backpack and wander off down the trail. 

The high elevation is making breathing difficult, and I stop frequently to catch my breath, but I don’t want to turn back.  It’s quiet, beautiful, and I want to push myself, but then I start thinking about bears.  I have left my bear spray in the car and I am hiking alone.  I wonder if I should turn around for safety reasons, but I think, “oh well” and keep hiking. 

I am hot and sweaty in my jeans and it feels like I’ve been hiking for days, but it’s been less than a hour and I’ve gone only ¾ of a mile. The trail has steadily gained in elevation and for a moment I think I might vomit, but just up ahead I see an opening and a sign that reads, “Teresa Lake, Elevation 10,230 feet.” 

I’ve made it and I’ve done so without hurling my breakfast.

Teresa Lake is a small, glacial lake near Wheeler Peak along the park’s Alpine Lakes Loop Trail.  Most of the water comes from snowmelt, but it also has a spring flowing into it.  I find some shade along the rocky shore and soak my feet.  The water is very cold but refreshing.  It’s been another good day.

When I leave Great Basin National Park, I have two options.  I can drive east and eventually connect with Interstate 15 that I’ve driven a thousand times, or continue on Highway 93 and see all new territory.  I opt for the unfamiliar and head south on Highway 93 in search of a hotel, but there are none.  In fact, there are no services at all, including cell phone reception.  I am a bit uneasy about my choice in routes, especially when it starts to rain.  I wonder how long it would take someone to find me if something happened….

I drive almost a 100-miles without services, but I eventually reach Panaca, Nevada where there is a gas station.  Civilization!

Another 150 miles on Highway 93 gets me to Interstate 15 just north of Las Vegas.  It’s 111-degrees when I arrive.  I want to make a mad dash for home, but I am too tired.  A Motel 6 near the Las Vegas Motor Speedway provides adequate accommodations for the night.  

The next morning, the last 340 miles home is a breeze.

Total trip mileage: 3,362.

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Yellow-headed Blackbird at Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge.