My friend and Bondir partner, Ben Maher, has always raved about this unique little pocket of Utah a few hours’ drive from where I live. He hasn’t left it alone for as long as I’ve known him.
One day, many years back, he said, “Glenn, we should take a day off and drive to this spot.”
At the time, I didn’t understand the appeal of a tiny, barely-known town in the middle of nowhere. But I figured a little day trip couldn’t hurt if we left at the crack of dawn and if I did the driving so we could get there (and back) faster.
We arrived in time to eat a farmer’s breakfast at a tired roadside diner. My tour guide was fueled and ready. Ben pointed out landmarks, and his insights spoke of them being ‘magical.’ Don’t get me wrong, it was cool, different. But I live on the doorstep of a spectacular and top-rated national park, so I wasn’t blown away.
Now, about ten years later, things seem different for me. Really, I’m what’s different. I am trying to slow down and finally feel and see what Ben has known for years. The fact is, my wife and I have stayed in Ben’s favorite little spot on two different occasions in the last four weeks and are excited to go back and stay longer.
The main drive through town is a 35 mph street lined with a wide irrigation ditch and 150-year-old cottonwood trees. Over the 4th of July weekend, we caught candy at the six-block parade. We saw old farmers on old tractors, young kids on decorated bicycles, and friends who shook hands and slapped backs. Eyes twinkled with patriotism and undeniable love for their community.
We embarked on our second trip with the notion of deepening our connection to the varied landscape of red, white, green, and even purple. We planned to tread more lightly; listen more closely; to abide more deeply. Being a better guest worked—each day was fantastic. Every night staring up at the Milky Way was glorious.
Google Maps shows this place is about a three-hour drive from our home, but we allow for five. We make stops for anything that catches our attention; we get out and give ourselves permission to explore. Setting a new land-speed record en route to every destination seems less critical. I’m starting to get it. I’m learning that in my personal life, like my driving, I get fewer angry and offensive hand gestures from others when I can settle in, breathe and be present. This world is beautiful.
Thank you, Ben. I’m getting there, just a decade late.
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