The rock formations in the land somewhere between the states of Nevada, Arizona, and Utah, for those who have not traveled the 15 past Las Vegas, are mind tingling beautiful—cliffs, valleys, streams, escarpments of every kind. And there is no doubt to the thinking man who sets eyes upon this terrain that the Earth itself has a soul. These massive protrusions are not monuments, but a quest by the Earth to reach out and be close to God. The struggle is so similar to our own; the Earth like the body of man anchors the soul so desiring transcendence from the physical realm back to the spiritual reality of all creation. I cry at the sight of these mighty boulders stretched by such an epic struggle…And I feel sorry for myself because of the futility of my own struggle…Surely if the soul of the mighty Earth, which can shift tectonic plates and create mountains can’t…

A stop for lunch in Cedar City, a nice little town with an abundance of Mexican food, a University, and a Wal-Mart—and up the road we continued. From Cedar City to Sandy the topography is that of an enormous, green valley, the surrounding mountains of which, are green as well, seemingly more content with their lot than those encountered earlier—there is a tranquility about them…Even the grazing cattle is happy. Yes, these cows that graze the natural grass are happy not mad.

And the conversation that transpired originating a few miles before St. George and lasting to a click past Beaver went something like this:

“I almost built a factory over there,” Mike nodded the direction of Colorado City. “But when they told me I’d have to meet with the elders I decided not to.”

I looked out the direction of the now well-known polygamist city and said nothing.

“What do you think?”

“What do I think about what?” I responded.

“Would you have done business with those people?”

“Of course I would have,” answered I, with out hesitation. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because they’re polygamist,” Mike explained, as if this fact should mean something to me.

“Oh. Well so were most of my favorite forefathers of biblical times. I don’t see anything wrong with polygamy, so I would definitely not have a problem doing business with polygamists.”

“But they marry their daughters off when they’re fourteen,” Mike erupted. He has two daughters.

“I don’t think they all get married that young. But who cares, my grandmother married my grandfather when she was thirteen and they were very happy.”

“That was a different time. If you had a daughter would you let here get married at fourteen?”

“Yeah, if I liked the man that she was marrying. You realize that half the fourteen-year-olds in this country are sexually active anyway—I’d rather have mine sleeping with her husband than a bunch of horny boys that are just using her up. I don’t like tattoos either by the way.”

“But they’re isolated…”

“So? You think they should all move to LA, dress like hookers and start smoking crack?”

“No, but I think they should all be getting an education.”

“And you don’t think that it’s up to parents to decide how their children should be educated? Because schools in America are doing such a great job educating children. Under the premise of this being a free country I think parents should be allowed to decide what’s best for their own kids…You know the two best presidents in this country’s history didn’t attend any kind of formal school for more than a few months.”

“So you would just leave them alone and let them keep doing they’re thing?”

“I would offer them any kind of help that I could. Ronald Reagan called this constructive engagement. But yes, I would let our brother and sister Americans be free to live as they see fit. If not, maybe it’s your door the government is knocking on next, telling you that you don’t live close enough to school for your children to be adequately socialized…I wouldn’t go for that either.”

Mike thought about all of this and more that I did not write.

“I could have constructively engaged with them,” he concluded.

Exit 9000 was where I recalled Richard Zinman, Richard, Turd, Zinman, RZ, living off of. And it should be noted that since the day that Ilene Rossoff  introduced us on the big red fire engine at Camp Monticqa / Montebello Park some forty years ago Richard and I have been the best of friends. Or more simply put, I’ve been hanging out with Rich since I was four-years-old.

“Hey I’m in Utah with Munoz, let’s meet up for dinner.”

“Where do you want to eat?” he inquired. After forty years he’s grown quite used to me dropping in—the wife would probably prefer a little more notice, but she tolerates my spontaneity reasonably well.

And there I sat having very good Indian food in Sandy Utah with two of my best friends—28 and 40 years respectively. I hadn’t considered that Mike and Richard hadn’t seen each other in twenty-seven years—I’m glad that the Road To Nowhere crossed for these two, as they are both exceptional human beings.

It’s always difficult to say goodbye to Rich, however he has a wife, four kids, and a real job so there was no point in asking him to saddle up…But the Road To Nowhere is for everyone even if only traveling along in spirit.

California, Nevada, Arizona, and Utah in a day, it was time for some sleep in Salt Lake City—really one of my favorite cities.

“Motel Six?” asked Mike.

We both rarely sleep more than four hours a night and our purpose is to be on the road so the Motel Six would do. Funny though, the light at this particular location was burnt out—if you know what I mean.

“Hey, I need to pick up some heavy equipment in Driggs Idaho if you don’t mind?” which is Mike’s way of suggesting our next stop.

“I’ve never been to Driggs…”

“It’s on the back side of the Grand Tetons.”

I nodded my approval. “We can be there in time for lunch.”

“We can be there in time for breakfast,” insisted my friend, clueless to what I had planned for him.

“You can’t come to Salt Lake and not have breakfast at Ruth’s Diner, my boy. We’ll be in Driggs for lunch.”

To be continued…

“But this is one of the strange facts about Stan Lerner that even you don’t understand,” I thought to myself. A profoundly civilized man and wild beast doing battle in the same being…I smiled at this thought, not because there was any humor to be found in it, but because it is this type of self-reflection that makes it incumbent on all us to travel the long and winding road of life.

Soon, the sun began its ascent above the horizon—its rays of light pouring over the sea of sand, so many grains—countless as the possibilities before us. The slope of Interstate 10 toward State Line still excites my body and soul, as I’m sure it does most. Funny and comforting to think that as time passes there are still sights that can excite even the most veteran of travelers—albeit now in a comforting way. Comforting, because there is a sense of freedom that comes with being able to move around one’s own country with such a sense of anonymity. And with so many freedoms nearing extinction it’s pleasant to know that there is still one left—I wonder if in the future children will understand what I mean by this. Or will they say, “A long time ago people used to be able to travel from state to state without being scanned.”

Why take the time and effort to mention in the first installment of Road To Nowhere my desire to eat at The Egg & I? Not because I was hoping to offer a micro blog / twitter account of my journey, quite the contrary, I wished to offer what should be a philosophical aspect of any adventure—things that have been waiting a long while to be experienced, should be ingested. There are many experiences to be had, but the experience that has been repeatedly at hand, yet not grasped, this creates a hole in the fabric of life, which can only be repaired, not by a patch, but by filling. And even something as mundane as a place to dine should not be ignored, because it is exactly the minuteness of this kind of hole, which causes such disproportionate damage—we are most damaged by what we do not know is missing!

Mike will now attest to the quality of The Egg and I’s Egg’s Benedict and I can see why this eatery is so converged upon by locals who are in the know. The Bellagio Café is still my favorite place to have breakfast in all of Las Vegas, but the Egg and I can now be listed number two on my list and if price matters, well we all have a new favorite place.

The phone rang; Andy had raised himself from a considerable slumber. “You’re already here?” he asked, in a sleepy, not really too surprised kind of voice.

“Here? I called you an hour ago to see if you wanted to join us for breakfast…Hey I have some stuff for your new house, are you home?”

“Yeah, come on by,” he answered, happy to know that his friend since the age of six was about to drop in accompanied by a good friend from high school (Mike). And a little irritated because I have that Cat In The Hat kind of effect on people, places, and things. Meaning I screw things up, tip the apple cart, think out of the box and generally cause a commotion…I like to think of this as helping people.

Shortly there after we arrived at the front of Andy’s single story, which he had just recently moved into after sojourning for the last several months at Dave The Jew’s house. And yes, for my longtime readers, Andy who prefers, now that he is an adult, to be called Drew is the same Andy known as Fat Andy in my more satirical blogs. I handed him a set of towels (Ralph Lauren), a bunch of canned goods, and a copy of my novella “In Development” for his visiting mother, Carol—this book is probably not appropriate for my friend’s mother, but I didn’t think about this until afterwards.

“The waters nice,” I said trying out the new pool. “You want to roll with us?”

“I’ve got Jake til Monday and my mom.”

“Oh. Well you can grab Dave The Jew and meet us somewhere.”

Andy nodded indicating that he liked this idea. “I’ll ask Dave…Stan, we generally swim with trunks on. The neighbors.” He pointed at a curious couple looking on from their back porch. I waved and headed for the house.

“So where are you guys headed to?” Andy’s voice trailed after us.

I opened the door of the big black Suburban. “I think we’ll go catch dinner with Richard!”

“Utah?” Andy shouted.

I nodded. “Utah…”

To be continued…