Professors at Ball State harped considerably about sticking to what is newsworthy when writing a piece for newspaper or magazine, and now the internets. For as much consideration as I gave this, and effort to save my grades and in the long term, my degree, I hated it very much. Yet, as I'm about to wail on about car wrecks and shirtless trips through the salt flats of Utah, I must skip over the face of my absence, which is not newsworthy at all.
Supposing I begin at the the most logical point and carry on thereafter to make the most sense of the situation, I'd have to begin with my departure nearly 2 weeks ago from the City of false-Angels toward my first destination; Sacramento. I was Joel Chodakowski's +1, a feat not to be taken lightly. For Joel is a dear friend, and one of the best that I know. Apart from fraternal love, I would like to explain the setting of the wedding; 11 groomsmen, 11 bridesmaids, basketball gymnasium/church, etc.
Following my time in Sacramento I set sail across the Sierras, tasted a bit of Truckee at midnight in July (43 degrees) and sped on through California, sleeping for the 4th time in the parking lot of the first casino exit outside Reno, in Nevada.
That morning I arose, used the restroom as slot machines buzzed, smoke saturated my jacket and Denny's beckoned but didn't win. By 4:30 pacific time I was on my way.
The highlight of the trip wasn't the 97 Sable with the power steering going out, or the 1100 mile trek to Fort Collins, it was the numbing 100+ heat of the salt flats in Western Utah. You know the place. It's where the speed limit signs read '75' and it's supposed to take 48 seconds to finish a mile, and your dripping in sweat with the AC on and the windows rolled up.
I drove the stretch through Utah with temps touching 100, no shirt, or shoes on, eating limes and listening to Bob Dylan as few passed. but those who did slide by stared in amazement at how some hillbilly with an Indiana plate could use a pocket knife - found in the street of Arlington, TX - to cut limes, with his foot on the dash and stay on I-80.
Arriving late into Fort Collins I met Mark and Sarah at CB Potts, a brewpub with a great cheeseburger fashioned with whole fried eggs.
I spent the ensuing week meeting with Campus Crusade missionaries, campus ministers and all types of cool people at our small MATS booth in the ministry-fair tent. It was a blast to run into some of the people I had talked to via email and on the phone, see their kids and enjoy a lot of laughs.
Another highlight to the week was on Sunday as Mark, Sarah and I trekked up Mt Grays and Torreys - both 14,000 foot peaks - before descending with tired calves and sore feet. We also had a great time touring New Belgium Brewery, the home of Fat Tire.
Coming home to LA was a bit sad, as I noticed how I missed my friends back home and the fun I have being around people I love. I was fired up by the conference, but the minute I got back to LA I felt overwhelmed with the task at hand and the fear of missing those who just don't sound the same on the telephone, as they do in person.
Wednesday i pulled back into our little town here, and I changed and made my way to trivia in Santa Monica. We enjoyed some laughs, as Kyle invited his sister to join who has been in LA from Indiana.
After trivia Kyle, Sarah, and I were to meet a small Mexican place for some late night tacos. They left before I, and weren't there when i pulled in. Knowing how I'm not great with West-LA I began to worry and thought back about the trip over before I realized I swerved around a wrecked car to exit before units arrived to trap me in.
Instant panic.
I jumped back in the car, thinking how I didn't even look to see what type of car was on the shoulder - front-end smashed. I circled around, slipped down Venice as quick as I could and got back on the 10. Inching my way forward I came up the ramp to Overland, where I'd been not 30 minutes before. There on the shoulder was the burnt remains of Kyles car, Indiana-plate emblazoned and empty. Instantly I jumped out of my car and looked back as a California highway patrol officer walked up to me. Instantly the individual who'd sworn to 'serve and protect' began to take on more of the motto: 'to harass and belittle'. "Why do you have Indiana plates?!" "Where are you coming from?!" "Where were they coming from!?" "Why isn't this car registered in California?!"
All questions with no regard for my questions regarding where my friends may be, and if they were well.
I finally got an answer and I tracked down Kyle, being interrogated on the sidewalk with the usual DUI screening. Unreal.
After about 5 minutes of interrupted explanation of my position and the uniqueness of our business I conceded to their light-understanding of cross state commerce and walked away. I picked Kyle and Sarah up after the power-trippers sped off and took them home. Thankfully, they were safe.
