|McKale, #15, jumping to block a spike.|
When I stopped driving it to Bluff a couple years ago, my 17-year-old daughter took over our Toyota Previa. During that time the van has become a rolling testament to my youngest child. Because of its striking resemblance to a torpedo, McKale fondly refers to the car as the "Torp". Along with numerous baubles and ribbons, the interior is decked-out with a plush pink flamingo stuffed into the cup holder and an Iron Man action figure hanging from the rear view mirror. Clamped to the sun visor is a purple, broad-mouthed, cartoon-looking deodorizer, which disperses a floral perfume into the car's clean interior. At 5' 11", McKale is the starting middle blocker on her high school volleyball team. Consequently, Bronco boosters have written, "Broncos are #1, #15 Kills! And Stuff It!" in blue and gold marker on the Torp's windows.
When I started the car, I was instantly assaulted with bubble gum music. Some young ga-ga-girl by the name of Cher Lloyd began boo-hoo-hooing about kicking her boyfriend to the curb and then wanting him back. I could not help thinking, "Frankly Cher, I don't give a sh-sh-shot about that." Trying to dial in NPR, or even an old time rock-and-roll station, I rolled down the driveway and onto the street. As I entered Main, I noticed the shocks were in immediate need of repair. Every time I hit a bump, the Toyota rocked forward and back like a wooden horse on springs. "Uh uh uh Ohhh!" I thought to myself, "this outta' be a fun ride."
Blanding was still asleep as I drove through town. Not a character stirred, not a Stake President, Bishop or Counselor, but I knew they would soon be up and about. Rolling south, I continued to fiddle with the radio. Not finding an acceptable station, I punched the off button and rolled down the window, breathing in the cool crispness of our high desert autumn. There was only the tiniest sliver of a harvest moon upon the horizon, and the stars were brilliant and bright, like blue-white diamonds. I put my arm out the window, horizontal to the highway, and flattened my palm so it acted like a wing. The slightest change in angle caused an instant up or down movement, which gave me a sensation of flight.
Continuing the trend started during my drive through the deserted streets of Blanding, I did not pass a single car on my way to Bluff; not one, coming or going. This was the first time that has ever happened, usually there are at lease half a dozen vehicles during the trip. I wondered to myself if there were many other places in the country where one can travel 25 miles of highway and not contact another human being. On the stretches of roadway I could see a good distance in front of me and felt it was safe, I turned off the headlights, absorbed the darkness and felt the tunnel effect roll over the Torp until I ran out of nerve or anticipated a curve. After my lonesome but thrilling experience, dropping into Cow Canyon and making the turn into the cafe left me a little sad. Thinking to myself, I plagiarized the words of Cher's song; "I want you back, want want you back."
With warm regards,
Barry, Steve, Priscilla and Danny; The Team
Great New Items! This week's selection of Native American art!