Adventure 403: Crystal Hot Springs, Honeyville, Utah/Post C

The Rosy Fingers of Dawn Bring the Promise of a New Day.

Today would have been my sister Sandy's birthday, had she not died too young from diabetic complications. Hope you're doing well, Sis. We miss you. It must be all the "pool talk' and the plethora of families around this place that's making me nostalgic. I'm even contemplating another attempt at contacting my estranged cousin, Robin. We'll see; it could also be that I'm overheated from my second forty-five minute soak of the day. We left this morning on the tandem, even though the warm weather hadn't materialized. We rode twelve and a half miles into Brigham City to Bert's Family Cafe, since 1929. It was a classic well run "spoon", complete with a efficient and cute waitress, a wrap around counter, and another room which was most likely purchased during the boom years. We shared bone in ham and eggs with hash browns. The ham slice was so big, we brought some home so we can enjoy diced ham and eggs tomorrow. Our round trip was right around twenty-five miles, which gave us two day total of forty-five. We both felt no less for the wear and tear. Our morning soak was the most pleasant since most families aren't ready to mobilize by ten A.M. This meant we had the place to ourselves. I like this place quite a bit. It's clean, well run, and everyone who comes here seems to be on good behavior. Even the little kids contain their excitement and merely tip skitter across the concrete rather than outright running. The most fascinating thing is that we've been invaded. There were three trailers and no tents when we got here Tuesday. Right now, the 181 sites in the park are mostly occupied, except for the ten by the road, which they're using for overflow parking for the Hot Springs. You see, it's spring break in this part of Utah, so families are making at least an overnight of it, and many are staying the weekend. It meant that our afternoon soak included several hundred of our newest friends and even a couple of dogs on leashes. It's all good, especially since we've come to enjoy this state of Utah. Tonight will be our last in this state; by one P.M. we'll cross into the great state of Idaho, place of my birth, and just one state removed from our home. We're not rushing it. In fact, we're as excited as that lover boy in Chuck Berry's song, Nadine, to be headed "uptown" to see the Hooley's. And we'll be campaign shouting like Southern diplomats when a couple days later we get to meet young Celia in Boise. God willing, we'll make it home the Monday after Easter. We'll celebrate the Risen Christ in Walla Walla, and if you ask me He's rising none too soon. In the meantime, we're happy to report that life is good, especially today.

 I've always wanted to take a road trip with my best gal in my 1953 Cadillac. I'd make it point to search out the old time cafes and diners. Hot grease and hot coffee. I can smell it already.

 it's probably unnecessary to lock Papa up in a Mormon town, but I did it anyway.

 Biting humor; my favorite kind.

 A whole plate wide and an 1/8 inch thick.

 Good night and good bye, Crystal Hot Springs.

 Can you find Frac?

If you look, you can see Apollo and his steeds racing to their stable.

Adventure 402 Crystal Hot Springs, Honeyville, Utah/Post B

Real riders ride when it's cold.

We started the day with our normal routine, except it was a day for an unusually decadent breakfast: apple walnut pancakes, bacon, and an egg smothered into submission with pure maple syrup. Add a couple cups of freshly brewed coffee (Costa Rican Style), and a spritely game of cribbage, and we were sorely tempted to go back to bed just so we could start over. We were among the first to enter the hot springs. I must admit, it's more pleasant to "own" the place rather than share it with hundreds of folks on spring break. We waited until after lunch to go riding because it was still quite cold. Nonetheless, we simply put our warm weather gear on, and set out along the Wasatch front. Words can't describe how pretty it is. We rode through Honeyville, Deweyville, Collinston, and we turned around at Riverside. This part of the range follows the Bear River down the valley. In 1843, John C. Fremont, a topographical engineer (Map maker) who also traveled in the area we stayed last week, crossed the Bear River in this area. He called this part of the river a restful place, and when he got to Salt Lake City, he recommended to the early Mormon settlers to travel this way. They did, and the rest is history. We rode back the same way we came out for a total of twenty miles. It was a little brisk, but it felt good. We soaked a second time in the afternoon before much of the Wednesday Family Night crowd arrived. The people watching is amazing, and the "pool talk" even more so. Kids of all ages scamper from one pool to the next. The older ones spend a lot of time rushing down The Tube. The younger ones, always with mom and dad near by, run around with their inflated water wings on. It seems that every family has three to six kids. Four seems to be the average, at least in the sample I've witnessed here. But the talk is what's amazing. I mostly just relax in the pool listening and watching, but this morning a young couple got me talking about traveling. We discussed trailers, National Parks, and everything else about the "trailer life". This afternoon I heard a family of seven discussing whether they would get  milkshakes before dinner. Cute, and pretty normal. Yesterday, a little less normal came my way. I was just sitting there, overhearing a family group (Oblivious to me) discuss their relative who it appeared was on disability, which none of them could condone. The grandmother was the most vocal complaining, "She's on disability, but yet she can shop every day, attend concerts, and go to every ball game in the area. It just ain't right." Then the most amazing thing happened. The son says to me, "You've been listening; what do you think about someone taking advantage of the system to be on disability?" I took the milk toast route saying, "It depends."  I later talked with Grandpa, who was injured in a railroad accident. He now works for an ambulance chasing lawyer as an investigator. They were Southerners who live in Florida, but were raised in Norfolk, Virginia. They're out her to visit their oldest son whose wife is from the area. Dad said, "In our culture if the the daughter doesn't want to leave the home area, the son-in-law complies. Today, two women discussed their change of life circumstance. Both were recently divorced and they were discussing the very real impacts of that circumstance: finances, kids, the possibility of a future partner, etc. I left the pools realizing once again that being human is no easy task. It's takes faith, grace, and maybe a little old fashioned luck. I know that I'm the luckiest guy on the planet because my life is good, especially today.

 So, 1864. That meant these Mormon settlers left the East before the Civil War ended. As a group, they were driven from the Northeast by the mobs, driven from the Midwest, once again by intolerant mobs.

 They thought this place looked like paradise.

 This biker babe looks pretty good, too.

 Bear River (In the foreground), flows into a delta emptying into the Great Salt Lake.

 Found art is always fun. In this case...

 ET 

 Call home.

 I never get tired of looking out our bedroom window.

 We watched this brood of ducks tuck themselves into the Bear River.

 This is the long view of Crystal Hot Springs.

The Tube where the adventure seekers play.

Adventure 401: Crystal Hot Springs, Honeyville, Utah/Post A

Great spot! Worth the trip.

The only thing that could have made our stop in Park City better would have been a Zag victory over North Carolina. Alas, they fell just short. My cousins, Douglas and Joan, made every effort to make our stay excellent. We left Park City this morning a little after nine. We drove Interstates 80/84/15 down through Ogden bypassing the heavy traffic through Salt Lake, which because of the blue sky sunny, excellent canyon views, and light traffic we enjoyed ourselves immensely. We merged with Interstate 15, and had to play with the big dogs for awhile, and arrived in the little hamlet of Honeyville a little before noon. During lunch, the Wiley Cager proceeded to beat me in the first game of the Crystal Hot Springs open (Drat!). Then we soaked in the exquisite hot tubs of the springs. Crystal Hot Springs, a well run operation,  includes three hot, hot pools, a hot kidney shaped pool, an olympic sized pretty warm pool, and a huge enclosed water slide. Besides that, the owners are building a huge building which will house a large indoor pool. It should be completed by summer. I soaked twice during the day, but Judy isn't quite as dedicated  at hot tubbing as I am. I'll go for three tomorrow. The weather, while dangerously cold (For fruit trees) tonight, promises to warm up beginning tomorrow. The next storm front arrives on the weekend. This means we'll get to get back on the bike. This area hugs the Wasatch Front, and the nice roads that connect the small communities around here lend themselves to excellent riding. So in that sense, life is good. We're getting eager to get home, but both of us are trying not to rush the process. We plan to spend three days here, the weekend with our friends, the Hooley's, and a couple of nights in Boise after that so we can meet young Miss Celia Ulmen. After that we'll meander home with one last night out, and we'll arrive home Monday (Or Tuesday) after Easter. All of this is God willing, of course. In the meantime, we'll simply live the fact that life is good, especially today.

 The reservoir just passed Rockport State Park, not far below Park City. 

 Easy drive, beautiful scenery, and traveling mercies. Life is good.

 Frac, nestled in site #25, right next to a fast growing alfalfa field.

 The view out our front window.

 There goes my hot tub babe.

 The Wasatch Front, awesome.

Same mountains, ninety degree turn. No wonder people live here.

Adventure 400: Park City, Utah/Post E

Go Zags!

I've been committed to competitive sports for most of my life. I've experienced the jubilation of victory and the heart ripping pain of defeat. And yet I return. I think sports (and competition in all forms) holds its fascination for human beings because it's the pure truth. When all is said and all is done; when the time runs out, all one has to do is to look at the big board. The team with the biggest number wins. It's not like the equivocation of politics; it's not like the rationalization of relationships; it's not like the deceit of misdirection. For many, sports is life. For me, it's always been about being willing to lay it all out there-win or lose- in order to commit to something fully. So many people sit this dance out and water that wall flower there, or wish about what might have been, much like J. Alfred Prufrock. So, do not dismay; do not sit it out. Instead: 
            Let us go then, you and I,
            When the evening is spread out against the sky
            Like a patient etherized upon a table;
            Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
            The muttering retreats in one-night cheap hotels
            And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells;
            Streets that follow like a tedious argument
            Of insidious intent
            To lead you to an overwhelming question....
            Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
            Let us go and make our visit.

The poem goes on to discuss the notion of living or pretending to live. Athletes live, regardless of exhilarating triumph or dejecting defeat; no matter, life is good, especially today.

 On some the sun sets in sadness.

 On others it sets on gladness. I've always been amazed at how much difference there is between the two, and moreover, at how small the difference really is.

Adventure 399: Park City, Utah/Post D

Rise, Lazarus, Rise.

We try to be good stewards everyday, but today found us attending Mass at St. Mary's of the Assumption in Park City. Lazarus rose from the grave today, reminding us that eternal life waits for those who believe. St. Mary's is the third Catholic church we've attended that has a vibrant, fully attended service. The last two were Fredericksburg and Flagstaff. Given this evidence, perhaps the Catholics are in the midst of a resurgence. After church, we dashed over to the Homestead Crater, a geological beehive shaped marvel that contains 35,000 gallons of ninety degree water that recycles from beneath its sixty foot depth to provide an incredibly silky, odor free experience. We floated for more than forty minutes until our fingers wrinkled and our aches subsided. And since we were so close, Douglas, who excels as a host and tour guide, took us to Robert Redford's Sundance Institute and ski resort. If a person compares it to the opulence of Deer Valley in some sort of contest, Sundance would appear rustically uninhabitable (Sort of like how President Trump views Camp David). On the other hand, if a person views Sundance as a refuge for artists with new ideas to share, and a place for creative minds to find forms of expression, then the canyon where Sundance exists is exactly what Redford and his ilk had in mind. We had a few small plates in the the Owl Tavern, which was used in the movie "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid". Redford bought the building and had it reconstructed on site  at Sundance. The echo of the wooden floors, the pine leaves kissing up against the buildings, and the sheer reaches of the mountainside made us feel welcome, and perhaps even peaceful. To finish the night, my cousin Joan fixed us dinner and showed off her little piece of condo heaven. We played three games of crib (Judy and I finished second), which includes my family's version of loving banter, which is a little like, "Why did you turn that over; you know there's creepy bugs under there. So we laugh the true laugh of the bitter-sweet while Judy grins, protected from harm (we rarely bite outsiders), and the salty tears of truth we call love run down our cheeks. It's all good. Tomorrow, we'll spend our last day here, sharing either a joyous win or a joyous season with our beloved Zags. Either way life will be good, hopefully then, but most assuredly today.

 The Homestead Crater is really quite a funky place, and a bit less polished than the normal Park City resident may be used to.

 This is the man made entrance. Originally, people entered the crater by lowering a rope ladder through the opening at the top.

 A dark hallway, quite damp and slippery beckons all who enter.

 Flotation devices are required. Joan is easing into the pool.

 Warm water scuba diving lessons are given on a regular basis.

 The lower part of Sundance ski resort.

 The Owl Tavern.

 Sundance Resort is speckled with buildings where artists, film makers, poets, and dreamers gather. The mission of the place is to allow "small voices" a place to gather volume.

 This hallway, a memory lane of sorts, is filled with hall of fame pictures, words of promise, and the Institute's mission as expressed by Robert Redford.

 This is the good life in Park City. Joan's living room.

 Her kitchen. There are three bedroom's a private garage, and upkeep provided through HMO fees.

 The view from Joan's deck.

BBQ chicken salad, quite tasty for dinner. It was another good day as guests of my cousins, Douglas and Joan Hoisington.

Adventure 398: Park City, Utah/Post C

Deer Valley, where the rich and famous ski.

Today we learned why the whole world comes to Deer Valley to ski. The deep blue skies of Utah formed a beautiful prism for the sun to shimmer off the snow. Skiers of all ages swooshed down the perfectly groomed runs. Some of the younger ones snowplowed; some even younger took private lessons, but mostly we saw experienced skiers enjoying the perfect day. As non-skiers, we bought a walk-up pass which took us up the first lift to the main hub of the Deer Valley ski hill. I don't know the names, but once you arrive at the hub you have the choice of several different ski runs. There're easy routes which are labeled green; harder routes labeled blue; harder yet labeled double blue; and hardest of all, labeled black. Judy and I walked around the lodge area, which houses several nice shops, a few restaurants, and everything skiers want or need. We ate a very nice lunch at the swank Stein Erickson lodge, home of the eighteen dollar burger and exotic cocktails. Judy, much out of character, enjoyed a very sweet pear martini. My cousins, Joan and Douglas skied a little more after lunch while Judy and I rode back down the chair lift. It's easy to see why people like the activity. After our mountain adventure, Judy and I made what has become one of our favorites, "Chili Verde" for dinner. Judy whipped up the accompanying corn bread, and we munched on chips, dip, and veggies as we cheered heartily for our beloved Zags, who nearly gave us heart failure. The Zags persevered however, and they will now play for the National Championship on Monday against the North Carolina Tar Heels who overcame the Oregon Ducks. It was truly a good day, especially since the Zags won, but even if they hadn't we'd still have to admit that life is good, especially today.

 This is the lower hill. The chairlift on the right opens a skier to a half-dozen more.

 The highest point is nearly 9,000 ft. and yet beautiful mountains surround the ski area.

 My cousin, Douglas, an expert skier who's skied nearly forty times this winter, made fifteen runs today.

 Miss Judy, enjoying her pear martini.

 Selfie of the day, taken while riding the chair lift down after lunch.

 The view in one direction.

 The view from another.

Douglas' fifty inch provided our cheering spot. Judy can't be seen in this photo, but she had her pom poms palming.