On Friday, as I was about to leave work, Bryton sent me a text message asking if I was interested in going on an adventure the next day (which was yesterday [Saturday]). With my last Adventure Day being such a great success, I would be a fool to decline the offer. We didn't know where to go, but Scotty has been talking about Price a lot lately, so we decided to head down the deadly Highway 6 towards the mining town. Oddly enough, we never really made it to Price, but we got close. Close enough.
It is not meet that men should adventure without food in their stomachs, so we left my house and went to Burger King. Often, a fast food establishment will make a person wait for their food, like so:
Highway 6 has a reputation as a bit of a bad road. Some folks are attracted to bad roads, and our threesome was no different. We know that a bad road can't be changed, but they can also be survived if a person knows how to do it. The most important technique is to find some tough-looking people -- preferably on motorcycles -- and follow them into the danger. It didn't take us long to find these folks:
In their wake, we saw this:
Once the danger was passed, we pulled over at the first historical marker that we came to. Turns out, back in 1987, this stretch that we felt safe on was loaded with danger.
That's not all, either. In 1924, an infamous mine disaster happened nearby. The evolution of time has brought about a devolution of danger. Thank you, technology. Now, one can enjoy the beauty like that found in the following two photos without constantly having to look over their back.
Across the dangerous highway was coal -- "black fuel", to some. Scotty crossed. I crossed. B, though, couldn't stop thinking about the danger of Highway 6. He was scared, and contemplated not crossing.
But, in the spirit of adventure, he faced his fears and bolted across the asphault killer.
We were so proud. On to the search for coal.
Want to see a rotting town? Go to Helper. These were the two good things. Sorry, Helper, I'm not trying to start a feud or anything, I just hated being within your limits.
On our way outta Helper, we stopped to use the restroom (how many Helper gas stations does one need stop at to find a restroom? Two, at least), and found and paid for these treasures:
They disappointed. Part of me wonders if we had purchased them in a different town, the treats would have been the gold they touted themselves to be.
Some adventure, so far, right? We weren't even started yet. We ended up in Wellington, at the mouth of Nine Mile Canyon. Don't let the name fool you, this canyon is actually 40 miles long. Not only that, the road through the canyon wasn't asphault. It was dirt. And you thought Highway 6 was trouble. Motorcycles don't go on dirt roads. Navigated this canyon would be in our own hands.
Should we? We all asked? Yeah, we all replied.
Besides provisions, we needed two things: a game face
(Bryton looks like a hardened criminal here. Good job, Bryton)
and some information:
What did we get ourselves into?
Things don't last in Nine Mile Canyon.
A lot of people have written their names or tried to be an artist on the walls of Nine Mile Canyon.
Bryton's car should be celebrated for driving us through the wretched terrain. Bryton said his car can rest later, it's going where we go.
Scotty said that if he can look in it, his arm can go in it.
Four hours later, we exited the canyon
Game face off, survivor face on:
The journey wasn't quite over, though. We had to go through oil-land first.
This included a stop what we thought was a historical marker, but it was just an information site about the animals that used to live in the dry land and those that still did. For instance, prairie dogs that are either violent or amorous:
About 38 miles later, we made it to the main highway, and it couldn't have come a minute too soon. We drove into the night, victors and heroes.