Back in Nevada Again

Apologies to Gene Autry, but I’m butchering “Back in the Saddle” for the title here.

I’ve returned to the state of many crimes. Not all of them mine, mind you. But still, I am culpable for my share: tearing the tags off mattresses, jaywalking, stealing hot sauce, salt and pepper packets from Taco Bell. Hardcore stuff.

For some reason, I always feel a sense of comfort getting to Nevada after being in Utah. Heck, I feel more comfortable entering any state after being in Utah. I don’t know why, really. It could be either the pervasiveness of the LDS church and concomitant lack of beer, or the beehive imagery on their highway signs.

Regardless of origin, and even its existence, in a short and easy drive from St. George, I found myself across the border at a Nevada State Park that I’d not heard of before seeing a post from someone on the Instagram. Yeah, the Instagram. I’m hip youngster jive on the Google, too.

The park? Cathedral Gorge. Upon arrival, I paid the $5 for residents, despite having a car with California plates. My driver’s license is Nevada, so that makes me a resident. I worried a few seconds about getting cited by the roving patrol, until I saw there was nobody outside the camping area. Like NOBODY. No cars, no hikers, no anything. I had the place to myself. Even including the campers, there was probably less than 10 people total So nice and quiet.

To me, the geology looked like melted wax or mud. The Bentonite clay isn’t quite stone, since I could wear it away with my fingers, but solid enough to support the columns. It would be interesting to walk around the park in a downpour. I found it really interesting, especially being able to squeeze into slots only a foot wide and fifty feet tall. No claustrophobia here!

Views around Cathedral Gorge State Park

Exiting the park, and heading north on US 93, I thought about how easy it is now to road trip. In the rental, I had GPS navigation, adaptive cruise control, a constantly updating DTE calculation, that, with an overall 40 MPG average is longer than I can sit without stopping. And the reliability of the cars themselves is light years ahead. Add in near-constant internet connection to find a place to eat and sleep, a road trip no longer requires planning and barely requires driving.

When I first did a long-ass drive, I had to calculate how far I could go on a tank based on the history of the vehicle and the tank size. Those “next gas 35 miles” signs were priceless, and there was more than once I got to a station running on fumes. I remember driving a big ‘78 Ford Bronco V8 that I couldn’t count on getting 250 miles without getting sweaty palms about the next gas station being close enough. It didn’t have cruise control, so I had to keep my right foot on the pedal the entire time I was in motion. Since I couldn’t move, my leg and knee would cramp to the point that when I would get out, it a limp-fest for a few minutes. Back then, I would stop simply to stretch my leg out. Now, I stop to pee. Aging is a bitch.

I also carried a couple of gallons of water, spare belts, and a complete toolbox. You never knew what might happen to your car, or someone else’s that you saw stuck on the side of the road. No cell phones available to call AAA! I even carried extra gasoline on a jeep that I had.

Mind you, I’m not pining for the “good old days.” It’s undeniably safer, and much, much better here in the good new days.

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On the health front, I think the antibiotics are kicking in and doing their thing. It no longer looks like I’m trying to smuggle a golf ball or an extra testicle in my hip crease, just maybe an almond. So I have that going for me. My biorhythms were at a bottom early this week. Coincidence? Cue the pseudoscience!

I’m quite happy with my progress overall, and my mood reflects that. In a big swing from yesterday, I’m thinking I may be willing to try to hike a bit over the weekend, and I’m reasonably happy. We’ll see on the hiking though.

Be kind and take care of yourselves. If you can, care for someone else, too.

Slang, out.

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