RVing to Glacier National Park

I had a fever, and I had lost my sense of taste. It wasn’t sounding good to my overactive-hypochondriac-personality disorder, which I have honed over the years to catch nearly every fatal disease that comes around.

Turns out, with the help of Web-MD and my medical degree I got from the back of my box of Fruity Pebbles, over the years I pretty much convinced myself that I have had H1N1, H2N2, Smallpox, typhoid, diphtheria, mumps, menopause, and measles.

I note that I have been correct as much as any of the other experts out there, and I did have measles when I was six.

And don’t judge me; menopause has many symptoms that can be very confusing. But in my case, it turns out the headache was my lack of Pepsi and the bloating was a bad burrito from Maverik.

As for losing my sense of taste, to be honest, I have never had much taste when it comes to what clothes I wear. Comfort above fashion has always made my Khaki Dockers and running shoes with my white socks pulled smartly up a trend of one sweeping the nation.

It took some time, but I finally figured out what I had wasn’t COVID-19; it was Cabin Fever. I have been locked up in my house with mostly me for way too long.

And as much as I enjoy talking to myself in my pajamas, the neighbor ladies get nervous because I look like Jeff Bridges’ “The Dude” in The Big Lebowski sitting in my lounge chair with my dark sunglasses drinking Pepsi at 8 a.m., scratching my belly button.

This working from home isn’t working so well. I set up my home office within arm’s reach of my fridge, so my exercise program is me rolling my chair back and forth.

I got on the scale the other day, and it said, “Get off, enough already.”

I hate all these smart devices we have in our home these days. “Hey Siri, how many calories in a waffle with syrup, whip cream, nuts, chocolate chips, and bananas?”

So, I decided to cure the Cabin Fever…Camping was the perfect antidote to this sickness. I was going RVing. Is RVing a verb?

So, I bought a camper-trailer, stocked it with everything in my house, and took the backroads towards Glacier National Park to get away from all the worries and cares of the world and people.

Apparently, everybody in America planned the same trip. I had stuff strapped to the top of my camper. We probably looked like the Clampetts in the Beverly Hillbillies as we headed north out of town.

I had been planning this trip for some time. The advantage of being a planner is that you get to enjoy any trip at least three times.

First, planners get far more joy out of planning the trip than they do in going on the trip because in their plan, everything works perfectly.

Second, we actually go on the trip and other than the mass of humanity that always seems to be in the exact same place I am going, it’s great fun to smile big while wearing a mask and taking a selfie.

I learned there is no social distancing going on when everyone wants the same vista as their background.

And third, when we get back from our trip, everybody has to hear about the trip and relook at the 623 selfies I texted, posted on Facebook, and Marco Polo-ed to anyone in my contact list. Just me, my pajamas, sunglasses, and mask from the most scenic overlook in America. Oh yeah, and 247 of my new best friends I just met.

And like every good planner, I overestimated what we could do each day and underestimated all the important details like driving 2,737 miles with my father-in-law pulling his camper behind us and my sister-in-law dragging her camper behind him.

Yep, we managed to cause a traffic jam everywhere we went; the automobile traffic map showed a perfect RED blinking line wherever we were, warning everyone to avoid the Clampetts’ Caravan from Monticello.

There hasn’t been a train of humanity this long out west since Brigham Young led the pioneers to Utah.

By the way, I have a slightly used camper for sale. It comes with brochures from Jackson Hole, the Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, and Glacier National Park along with a tasteful, non-matching set of plates, cups, and silverware. I will throw in the in-laws for free.

San Juan Record

49 South Main St
PO Box 879
Monticello, UT 84535

Phone: 435.587.2277
Fax: 435.587.3377
Open 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Friday

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