I went South really fast. Then I turned left at Highway 6, a.k.a. the "Highway of Death", so named after the man who discovered the highway, Richard J. Death. Richard had a hard time making friends, so he was thrilled when the discovery of this highway brought him notoriety.
Then, when you reach Price, you raise your hand to shield your eyes from the sun, and you look out in all four directions, and you ask yourself, "Which way looks to be the most desolate?"
Then you take the road less traveled, highway 10, and follow it all the way until you hit... well, nothing. You just have to know where to turn left.
Then you turn left. (I know, who would've thought simple directions would make such an awesome blog post? Wait. It doesn't? Um... too late.)
And you follow a dirt road, and suddenly you come upon this:
|aren't you happy you took the road less traveled?|
But as for me, I was walking around the mini-lake, tripping over sage brush, talking to the grasshopper who happened to be following me on my walk. Okay, I wasn't really talking to him. I was yelling at him to please stop following me.
I was thinking about my blog post, and I was all, "hey! I should take a pic!" So I stopped right where I was and clicked the photo with my iPhone, and voila. My new career! (Okay, maybe I'm putting a little too much value in the beauty of the photo above, but seriously, most of my pictures look like this:
That parentheses above is hanging by itself, so I'm going to close it here.)
Anywho, I'm planning on spending the next three days writing here:
And talking to this guy:
I won't worry about the isolation until he starts talking back.
So, what do y'all think? Anyone wanna come down and join me? Anyone taking bets on when the buffalo will answer my questions? Anyone else picturing a tiny camera in the buffalo's eye, recording my every move?
By the way, I arrived here last night, when the buildings were all dark, and the isolation felt more like the setting of a slasher flick. But I made it through the night. I don't have phone service, but I can send someone a frantic text if I get in trouble, and hopefully that person will check his/her texts. But if that person is like Sam, he may not find out anything until the next day. Not that anyone could do anything, because by the time they got in the car and drove to the ranch, my body would be cold and filled with maggots.
But just so we don't end on a downer, like my own cold-blooded murder, remember the time I posed with Jef from the Bachelorette?