The Great Salt Lake is Great

The folks here are into beehives, and when I first saw the beehive on the road sign, I was like “Is that a pile of crap? Why would someone have a pile of crap as their logo?” Then I realized that I was tired, and needed to get my mind out of the gutter. We drove out to Antelope Island, which is a national park out in the Great Salt Lake, and it was stunning. It was a little hazy, but the way the mountains reflected in the water was a total Bob Ross painting, except for the happy trees. There were happy buffalo, antelope (AND GIANT GIANT SPIDERS) instead. We drove up to buffalo point for a nice vista, and then down to the beach, because I didn’t want to go all the way to the Great Salt lake and not touch it. I like touching stuff. It was one helluva trek from the parking lot to the beach, and the texture of the sand changed from calf-deep quick sand to crusty, salty crust to rocky tetnus bombs. We persevered, though, because we are stubborn and enjoy the occasional death march, and when we finally made it to the salt flat before the beach WE WERE ASSAULTED BY LEGIONS OF NASTY NASTY FLIES! There were tons of (European, oddly—wonder if they know about the Olive Garden?) people swimming in the water, and no one else seemed to take note of the huge clouds of flies which seemed to move as if they shared a single central nervous system, and if we hadn’t just walked 20 minutes over treacherous terrain to get to the damn water, we would’ve run the other way screaming, but instead we braved the bugs (and the smell of rotting…whatever) and stuck our feet in. It was nice. And then we ran away screaming. Anyway, totally touched the Great Salt Lake. All I could think of was how grossed out my sister Danielle would have been. At this point it was near 8pm, 10pm EST, and we decided it would be best to head to our hotel, which is shaped like an Egyptian tomb. It’s apparently an anniversary inn, and if my sweetie took me here, I would seriously reconsider the relationship. The walls are all super hard, and I’ve hit my head on the low ceiling about a million times. Also, the toilet is in a tomb. Apparently taking care of biological imperatives is not romantic. Also, part 2, snake for a shower. So archetypal. As I’ve said, if I wake up and my guts are in canopic jars, I’m going to be super pissed.
Well dears, it is seriously past my bed time. Idaho tomorrow! (Well, today now).