The Mule Chronicles...Travel Day 2 and Arrival In Elk Ridge, Utah Edition

Today's episode is brought to you by Union Pacific Railroad - Waking you up with a death rattling horn blast since 1862.

I was awakened from my 1lb. slab of beef coma at the bright hour of 0500 as the passing freight train was busy singing the song of its people. I'm thinking there has to be a better way to alert people that a train is coming or that we just accept that it is survival of the fittest if someone gets hit by a train.

I would like to thank Cabela's for making the finest sleeping bag I have ever used. Now wait just a minute there Scott, I thought you said you were traveling in the lap of modern luxury. We are, but the lap of modern luxury apparently doesn't include turn down service or something to combat my lack of desire to actually make a bed so the sleeping bag was the way I went. And let me tell you, I am a better man for it. Snuggled all up in my extra wide, extra long fleece lined sleeping bag which includes its own extra fleece blanket...makes you want to take off all your clothes and rub around naked on it...oh, sorry...too much for this hour of the morning probably. Anyway, you can take a look at it here and they will even ship it straight to your door if you're so inclined.

BEST SLEEPING BAG EVER...SCOTT SAYS SO, SO IT'S TRUE!

A leisurely morning of surfing the Internet, blog posting, and a light breakfast soon resulted in the "call of nature." I am now faced with a dilemma. If I use the RV potty, "The Call of Nature" will travel with us all the way to Utah. If I venture out to find a potty in the RV Park I have to waddle around the park looking for the potty in a rather urgent state because now I've waited too long debating my choices. "The Father," apparently having not yet lost that "my child is about to poop" parental radar sensing system intervenes and points me towards the park restroom. He even endorses said restroom as being very nice. Off I waddle in my nicest pair of Crocs (the kind with the fuzzy liners) in search of a place to...uh...leave my gift to the world. Needless to say, I'm really glad I didn't decide to bring that along with us because it was clearly "overdue," if you catch my drift.

I emerge from the potty feeling like a new man and quickly scurry for the exit door from the clubhouse (I don't want anyone to know I was responsible for the soon to become over powering odor that would likely result in a hazmat call out from the local fire department...I can see the headline now...SOURCE UNKNOWN IN NOXIOUS ODOR...SENDS THREE FIREFIGHTERS TO THE HOSPITAL). I make the mad dash back towards the rig only to find...NO RIG! At first, I'm convinced that I just can't see it because I'm suffering from some post-evacuation blindness and I continue walking. As I get closer I can see that the rig is, in fact, no longer parked in our camping spot. I'm urgently scanning the RV park looking for any sign of the RV all the while plagued by the memory of "The Father" threatening to "leave us behind" on so many trips growing up. I begin to plead with The Lord, saying that if I only knew that the getting left behind would happen in my mid-forties while trying to escape a crime scene in Elko, Nevada, I would have behaved better as a child. Please keep in mind that I am still walking towards our now empty camping spot like some kind of lost puppy on a Sally Struthers commercial for neglected animals in the demented belief that the RV has some kind of previously unannounced cloaking device and this is all just a terrible joke. My ears are also intently scanning for any sound that sounds like a Cummins Turbo Diesel idling nearby but I am created only with a silence that can only be heard in Elko, Nevada. Just as I have nearly lost all hope and started the 27 step grieving process that being left in Elko, Nevada wearing fuzzy Crocs instills, I hear the distant rattle know to diesel lovers and abandoned 46 year old eldest sons everywhere...IT'S THE RV...MY FATHER STILL LOVES ME AND WOULD NEVER ABANDON ME IN ELKO, NEVEDA!!!!

I rush to the RV as "The Father" is slowly idling out from behind a bush in the run that only a middle aged man with more than a few extra pounds, a heart condition, a bad knee, and a messed up back can do. "The Father" is now looking at me like I have emerged covered in blue dye waving a banner that says don't feed the animal. Now, just you cool your jets people. I'm not saying the RV was simply hidden behind a bush. That would imply I lack a certain base level of observational skills. I'm still going with "previously unknown cloaking device." Regardless, this is not the real story here. The real story here is that "The Father" didn't leave me in Elko, Nevada! Once again, the validation that only a tormented first born can understand.

The RV emerges, from its "cloaking device," and I grab onto the handrail. I ride the entry step of the RV with my free hand outstretched as the chorus of Hallelujah is sung in the background by an invisible angel choir of prepubescent boys. I'm riding the step like a glorious unicorn with the wind blowing my golden locks (stop laughing) like Christie Brinkley in a 1980's Pantene commercial when I notice "The Father" is staring at me through the still closed door. I am immediately brought crashing down from my radiant high when I open the door and he says, "I thought I was going to have to leave you here." So he may not have said that in as many words, but I'm pretty sure that was what he was thinking nonetheless. I get in and we are back on the road.

A quick stop for fuel at the Flying J Truck Stop results in a rather entertaining viewing experience as we watch an older couple trying to navigate the seemingly straight forward fuel pumps in order to fill their RV in what can only be described as a keystone cops routine. I should note that truck stops are a personal traveling favorite for me and Flying J is definitely near the top as they typically have excellent egg salad sandwiches ("The Family" can weigh in here on the issue of me and convince store sandwiches. They seem to think I'm taking my life in my hands, but I think they are a delightful little treat when someone is looking for a quick snack). With the rig fueled up and an assortment of beef jerky in hand we hit the road again.

We make it into Elk Ridge, Utah without any significant fuss and manage to get the RV setup and situated in short order. We have a quick visit with Bill (the keeper of the mules) to discuss schedules and destinations before heading out to get some pre-shopping shopping done. For those of you that are return followers you are well aware that any mule trip requires a great deal of shopping to procure any of the no less than 5,000 items required to successfully ride mules and look good doing it. It is also a great chance to checkout the latest western wear and outdoor offerings on the market. We decide that a quick trip to Cal Ranch should be our first stop as "The Father" is in search of a new duster coat. Of course I now need a duster as well since "looking the part" is as important as the trip and a duster looks the part in a big way. Seriously, "The Father" looked like he could tame the west one handed and blindfolded just trying it on in the store. I'm pretty sure I saw a lady faint nearby, likely from the high level of cowboy rugged awesomeness wafting through the air.

After Cal Ranch we decide it's time to eat and promptly set our sights on none other than...say it with me now folks....

CHUCK-A-RAMA

Seriously, they have the best rolls and fried chicken ever (sorry KFC, but you've been outdone). We work our way through traffic and find a nice parking space appropriately place for convenient access...you know, just far enough away from the front door so as not to look desperate but close enough that you don't have to waddle too far after you've gorged yourself on fried chicken and jello...yes jello, it's a rule...ask anyone, that's who...whenever you eat at a buffet you have to eat the jello...no, not all the jello, just a responsible portion...I don't know how much that is, it differs from person to person. Ok fine, here....you take half your weight multiplied by your shoe size divided by your inseam and that gives you the amount of jello you are required to eat to satisfy "the rule." No not pieces, it's by weight...ounces, not pounds, good lord what are you thinking. I will let you make up your own mind about "The Father's" rule that requires mayonnaise on jello...sorry, I just vomited in my mouth a little...I don't understand either and all I can guess is it spawned out of a pre Cool Whip era...you know, kind of how some casseroles are a "mid-west thing."

We enter the Chuck-A-Rama and find the typical Provo, Utah Saturday night sized crowd replete with a large number of huge groups and a bazillion small children. Dad is off to wash up and I hatch my plan to pay for dinner. I should note that this is a constant battle when traveling with "The Father," as he wants to pay for everything. Having reached a reasonable state of self sufficiency at this point in my life, I like to try to pay at least sometimes. I get in line, calculate the likely total bill in my head, and then hide enough cash in my hand so I can slip it to the host like I'm some sort of mob boss greasing a politician's hand. The line is taking forever! First a group of like 76, probably a non-english speaking traveling circus. Then two old people, probably the highlight of their week. Followed by 16 assorted unattended children recently flown in from the set of "Lord of The Flies 2." CRAP! "The Father" has exited the restroom and is scanning for me in line. I know, drop to the floor in a full crouch and start waddling like a duck to avoid detection...yeah, I know....it could've worked but there wasn't any room to hide in front of the pencil thin guy behind me in line. I mean really, why is he even in a place like this anyway. Probably just going to eat salad and they only thing that does is make the kitchen staff have to put out more salad because no one eats salad at the buffet...yes, it's a rule as well, trust me. So now I have to battle mano-a-mano with "The Father" in an effort to pay the bill and not feel like a freeloader. Of course, you're right, it doesn't work. Come on, you could see that writing on the wall a mile away. I even try to tell "The Father" that if I pay, he is still paying in a way. This results a curious look and inquiry as to what I mean. I explain that since I'm working for "The Mother" it is kind of like I'm using her money to pay, which based on California Community Property Law is pretty much his money too. His response? "You're right, I should've let you pay." At the very least I figure we've discussed the salary structure and payment of employees so the entire trip should be tax deductible. "The Mother" doesn't like when I play attorney or tax consultant or any other "official advice" giving type role as she thinks I'll get us in trouble. She clearly fails to realize that I've been giving unsolicited free professional advice for years under the "Buyer Beware" philosophy.

We stuff ourselves well beyond full on all manner of buffet goodies and are left contemplating the ever important "last plate." The last plate is usually desert, but really could be anything from the buffet that you'd like to end your meal on prior to calling for the buffet equivalent of Uber...Wheelbarrow...and being carted from the establishment. I decide to go for the "Strawberry Shortcake" featured in the lovely cardboard advertising tent on the side of our table. Saying this was either strawberries or shortcake is a huge stretch. This was a cake like product with whipped cream (probably fake) and red goo...oh, and one strawberry slice...bad form Chuck-A-Rama...bad form...

We exit the Chuck-A-Rama and decide to walk to a nearby Sportsman's Warehouse. Along the way, "The Father" comments..."This walk should help us burn like 2 of the 2,000 calories we just ate." Pretty much Chuck-A-Rama summed up in one sentence.

I procure a few items from Sportsman's Warehouse that I am sure I cannot live without and we return to the truck for the drive back to the RV. Along the way, we spot the first winner of The Mule Chronicles 2017 Advertising Participation Trophies...Let me paint you a picture...

On a dark desert highway...cool wind in my hair...oh, wait....sorry...wrong mental loop...

Empty parking lot of an abandoned shopping center. A parked 40 foot box truck that looks like it was painted by hand with white house paint after being purchased at auction from the ATF. Temporary chain link fencing surrounds the box truck with a large white vinyl sign with giant red letters that reads...

20 steaks for 20 bucks!

Totally seems legit to me...at least if by steaks you mean cat and other assorted roadkill.

We make it back to the RV and unload our day one purchases before cuing up another episode of Ty Evan's Mulemanship videos...this time the all important ground work and desensitizing procedures. Feel free to check out one of Ty Evan's videos below for more information on how mule riding is really supposed to work.

That pretty much concludes our travel days and sets us up for another pre-shopping shopping day tomorrow. What is this pre-shopping shopping you ask? It's preparation for shopping with Jay when he gets here. We need to practice and get warmed up because it really is a world class Olympic level sport to shop with Jay.

Tune in tomorrow for another day of pre-shopping shopping and a trip to the long distance range where we'll load up on testosterone and bad decisions.

Happy trails until the next episode buckaroos.