A mountainous journey

The wife and I were driving along a winding scenic road in the rugged high mountains of southern Utah. The ride through forests of juniper, punctuated with red-rock ridges, bluffs, towers, and canyons carved through time by wind and water, was breathtaking. The brilliant blue sky, interrupted with an occasional white cloud, the fluffy kind, arched overhead. Judging from the sun approaching its zenith, it was late morning. The air at this elevation was delightfully cool. A beautiful day.

The narrow blacktop snaked its way through the landscape. This was pristine country. Except for the road we were traveling on, there were no obvious signs of civilization to be seen for miles in any direction. We did not pass any other vehicles. The road through this stretch had no signs, no pavement markings, no guardrails. The guardrails, in retrospect, would have seemed to be a desirable nicety if not an outright necessity.

My wife was driving the car. That was an odd curiosity because on road trips I was always the driver.

Her father was in the back seat. I remember that fact simply because he cautioned her to slow down as we began our descent from the relatively flat plateau we had been driving on. The road started to become treacherous as it headed down the mountainside, but she seemed not to heed his warning.

We rounded curves that hugged the side of the mountain. Just beyond the side of the road, the terrain in places fell away for thousands of feet. At times we were climbing steep hills. Once crested, the car picked up speed as we descended the other side. More curves. Switchbacks. More ups and downs. For whatever reason, she seemed bent on getting us to our destination in somewhat of a hurry. A ride on a roller coaster would have seemed tame in comparison.

She headed a bit too fast into a lengthy curve to the right, and the rear wheels were sliding dangerously close to the precipitous edge. She gunned the engine to help the front wheels pull the vehicle back onto the pavement. The outcome appeared dubious.

And that's when I awoke, safe in my comfortable bed, and realized that it had all been a dream.

"We're back in the saddle again"

More than a year has passed since I last posted here. There are a variety of reasons, I suppose. For nearly six months during the first part of the year, I devoted much of my discretionary time to compiling the book Diary of a Boy, which I gave to my children on my 62nd birthday in July. It chronicles the first 16 years of my journey through life.

In the months since then, I have been working on the next two volumes of that journey, my final two years of high school (the gift for my 63rd birthday) and my first year of college (for my 64th birthday). And doing various other things.

Our out-of-state travel diminished this year compared to last year. In the fall of 2010 Claudia and I completed the marathon Primary sacrament meeting tour, including being there for grandchildren in the Eldorado Branch in Illinois, the Mulkiteo Ward in Washington state, the Brockett Ward in Georgia, and a couple wards here in Layton. Five separate Primary programs.

This year we were as committed to such programs but attended only one out of state. We caught some here in Utah and one in Illinois. Chris and Camilla moved from Everett back to Bountiful, so we didn't need to go to Washington. We very likely would have flown to Atlanta to see Peter say his few words, but that program was the day after Paul and Eliza returned home after visiting us here in Utah for a whole month. And what a wonderful month it was!

This year's road trips have been relatively short ones: to southern Utah a couple times to visit Kay and Karen (including an August trip to see him sustained as bishop of the Hurricane 11th Ward), to Lava Hot Springs (including a scenic drive home on a road less traveled), and to Nampa/Boise a couple times to see family there, attend a weddings, and participate in a Cleverly family reunion.