Road Trips

When summer ends, Tom and I grow anxious that we haven't seen any local or regional points of interest. Last week, we drove down to Bryce Canyon with our friends, Christine and Bill. We stayed in Escalante over night in the Circle D Motel ($55.00). Christine pointed out a dilapidated sign that read "new beds." She and I laughed till we peed in our pants. The men didn't think it was so funny.

The point of the trip was to travel the blow-your-head-off scenic route of highway 12 from Escalante to Torrey. Then we found out Bill and Chris had never seen Bryce Canyon so we said, "You have to see it," and we drove to Sunset Point and they ooohed and aaahed appropriately.

We ate at Ruby's Inn and shopped in the gaudy and gigantic Ruby's gift store, which is worth the whole trip. You can buy a big cow skull made of turquoise for 500 dollars or you can buy this eensy teensy sterling silver tea set for 400 dollars. Teensy enough for a grandchild to stuff up his nose. You can buy Navajo rugs and cowboy boots and moccasins--western stuff--but you can also buy a lit-up English village to put under your Christmas tree. Go figure.

We also stopped in at Scott Nelson's Rock Shop. Bill is a rock man from way back. We all bought some iron Moqui Marbles. You need two of them, a male and a female, and then you roll them in your hand and they heal you of all your health problems, physical, spiritual, emotional--what have you. Moqui balls are the cure. So say the new age people. Scott Nelson has a skeptical smile on his face as he tells us this. Who cares about new age people? We were all suckers for Scott Nelson, who was probably president of his highschool thirty years ago and sounded so cool with his rock knowledge.

I tell you the end of summer shimmers with possibilities.

Today, we decided to visit Paris, Idaho, which is six miles north of Bear Lake. Originally, we were going to Montpelier further up the road because I've been looking for writing cottages and I found a building on Washington Street with a red door for sale for $28,000.

Not that I actually have $28,000. I have pretend money. I really need a writing cottage. Really.

Anyway, we went no further than Paris, because we INFP folks recognized on the spot that THIS WAS THE PLACE. See historic tabernacle above which is pretty much the center of town.

Tom took photos while I wandered down to an antique store with a cafe in the back. The building used to be an old grocery store and is owned and operated by Diane Mishkin, who became my BFF in about three minutes. Come to find out, she and her husband have bought the old Paris Hotel, which is now apartments. They are renovating the building and will rent to tourists on a weekly basis.

"I guess you'd want something furnished," she said to me.

"Actually, no," I said. "I like to pee on a place and make it my own." She knew.

This is my wish: I want Diane M. to rent me one of those unrenovated apartments for the winter so I can go up there a few days a week and finish the damned novel. I will send her books and write a perky letter.

Keep your fingers crossed.

Anyway, these last of the summer outings are the best. And I haven't even mentioned the pioneer cabin in Fish Haven. It isn't a true outing unless you look at real estate.