Eventually all things must come to an end. After two, a dare say epic, weeks in Utah, Maria and David headed home to Svea while I and Martin headed towards that good old Wyoming wind. I do not flatter my self by believing that I have a whole lot of non-Swedish speaking readers, but since this blog post to a large extent goes out to Katie and Justin, with whom we spent a significant share of our time in SLC, I will nevertheless post this one in anglais. So before I go on to write something about now, let me first tell a little more about back then.
As I think I might have insinuated previously, SLC and its surroundings took our Swedish hearts by a storm that swept our torn Swedish feet of the ground. The city is, to be honest, not much to see, but the nature (mountains) surrounding it has literally everything I look for; fantastic backcountry skiing in the winter, and mountain biking/climbing during the rest of the year. The only problem is time to see and experience it all. Oh well, I just have to come back, won’t I?
Anywhoo, so we had a fabulous time in the Wasatch, and I am sure that we would have had a great time if it would just have been us Swedes poking around in the mountains, but the bottom line is that what made our trip epic (yes, I know, the e-word should be used with caution, but I maintain that this is the proper use of it) was the people that we met. I don’t know if we were just lucky, or if truly fantastic people are overrepresented in SLC (perhaps as a counterweight to the Mormons?). Just to think about the fact that we met Justin and Katie on that parking lot that first day. Three lost Sweeds saved by two awesome (in more ways than I can explain) Alaskan Huskies. Justin, who runs up those mountains as were they small hills and howls like a wolf out of the sheer joy of being out there, who is always and sincerely interested in every one’s view and experience, and who says “Dude” and “Man” in a higher frequency than I use swear words ( i.e., A LOT) . Katie, who runs just as fast as Justin, who used to be a professional Nordic skier and who still kicks ass on skiis (gold medal in the Heavy Metal class in the Utah Powder Cake!!!), who seems to be able to do more things than a normal human could possibly do, who is so generous that half would be enough, and who says “Man” and “Dude” roughly in the same frequency as Justin. So these people took us in under their roof. They let us spread our stuff all over their basement, completely take over their kitchen, poison them with our nerve wreckingly strong coffee, and, most importantly, they let us have the chance to get to know them and take part of their knowledge about the mountains. So, Katie and Justin, I cannot say this better than David did on Facebook. You transformed our trip from good to awesome. Ok, so I am being sentimental, I know, sorry about that, but, MAN, I just have to when I’m talking about you dudes.
So that is that. Lets move forward. I am now going to present an epic tale about the greatness of David and Maria, or no, I won’t because most of the people who read this already know that they are epic, and since I am overusing the word epic here, I wont even go in to Martin because he is all over the blog anyway so everyone can see the epicness of that dude. AND this is not an epicelicious blog, even if I am mainly writing to present my epic life so that I can make belief of my own epicness. BUT, I must say this: David, I am soooo glad that you didn’t decide to go to the Alps instead. I would have missed so many laughs and inspiring ski-lessons if you hadn’t been here (and the snus you hid in my ski-boots on your way home), and Maria (the worlds greatest BFF) you strong-headed girl who climbs mountains with the flu whissling in your lungs. You rock! I miss you like crazy when you are not around.
Oh, puh, finally done with all that epicness, so let me tell you how I got shoken by a shake. So, on the 8th of March, we stuffed the car with our gear and drove David and Maria to the airport at 6 am. Since driving to SLC on I80 in a blizzard was a nightmare, since we have now driven the distance between Rock Springs and Rawlings 3 times, since our love for truckers has in fact rusted somewhat, and since it was drizzling in SLC (implying potentially suboptimal sight on the road), me and Martin decided to take route 40 to Wyoming instead. It is a detour, but oh so worth the 2 hours extra: First of all, you get to drive on a two-lane road instead of on a four-lane highway packed with trucks. Second, you get to drive into all the small towns on the way. Our first stop was breakfast in Duchesne, a small western town with proper western looking houses (one street with backdrop looking fasads). Our breakfast was served at Cowan’s Café, were we got to sit in a proper, red galloon covered, booth. I accidently ordered pancakes again, and got stuffed beyond belief. Martin was extatic over his harsh browns, eggs and bacon, and the frequency of trucker caps and smoky voices was very satisfying. All in all, a very good stop.
During our ride between Duschesne and Steamboat (our second stop) we traversed mountains, prairie, desert, snow and sand. The sun peaked through the clouds, the road was dry and there was almost no traffic at all, and since Larry now has a plug-in, we got to see the magnificent view to the tones of Dylan, Young and Springsteen. Excellent.
We reached Steamboat springs at around 1.30 pm, more than ready for lunch. Strolling down the main street (not very different from the main street in Jackson, i.e., very cozy indeed) we found our selves entering Johnny be good’s diner, were we, not knowing any better, ordered the “today’s” burger and milkshakes. I had a cookie crumb, peanut butter milkshake, and it was this one that nearly killed me. I consider myself to be a pretty strong ice cream eater, well a pretty damn good eater by any standard, but this milkshake… Hell, I think I met my nemesis. It had large chunks of both cookies and peanut butter, and the amount surpassed 1 liter. I managed to get ¾ of it down.
When I got up from my seat, my stomach muscles cramped, due to the amount peanut-ice cream swabbling around inside. Lucky enough, Martin took a hold of the steering wheel so I could doze of in Larry’s lard ass seats.
Centennial welcomed us with sun, and sun baked snow, so we spent the weekend working on the porch and building kicks for future jump sessions.
The latter being quite an ambitious task since the snow was constituted by a 5 cm crust with facets underneath.. I think we did a pretty decent job though, at least we shoveled an impressive amount of snow. I haven’t had a chance to try it yet though, since we got roughly 30 cm of new heavy snow on Monday, so when we went up the mountain, I couldn’t find the damn thing. Oh well, I get my kicks anyway, from just being here.