I had an interview out in Dugway, a military base in Tooele County. I find it unlikely I would accept a job where I had to go there every day, but I figured it couldn't hurt to interview, and it would be a fun road trip.
It was kind of strange being in Dugway. It looked like any other small desert town you might visit, but I had to get security clearance to go in, and I wasn't allowed to take any pictures.
On my way back, I had to stop in Iosepa, which I had heard of but never visited. I don't know if I'll ever have a reason to go out that direction again, so I had to take my chance.
Iosepa was a town for Hawaiian Saints between 1889 and 1917. They gathered to Utah to be closer to a temple, and the town was named for Joseph F. Smith, one of the first missionaries to Hawaii in the 1850s. I don't know enough about this period to know why all the Hawaiians were sent to the middle of the desert, since it didn't look like what I imagine Hawaii looks like. After a few decades of hardship, most returned to Hawaii when the temple was built in Laie.
As I pulled into the empty parking lot, a single tattered Utah flag fluttered in the wind. The Hawaiian community has a big gathering in Iosepa every Memorial Day weekend, and there were plenty of chairs, staging areas, grills, and restrooms to accommodate crowds. But otherwise it seems very isolated. I signed the guest register and was surprised to see that someone else had been there earlier that day, because I really felt like it was a place people wouldn't go. It was fun to go while I was out there, but I don't think it's worth making a special trip, unless you happen to be traveling west on I-80.
I have also wanted to try my hand at snowshoeing. (I mean try my foot.) My sister had some old snowshoes sitting in our garage, so I decided to try them on and went up to North Canyon, my default running spot during the summer and fall. I don't know if what I did there could technically be considered snowshoeing, because there were plenty of footprints where people hiked it without snowshoes. But I appreciated the extra security, since I'm terrified of slipping. Since I'm used to running up North Canyon, snowshoeing was very slow paced for me. It was more than twice as slow as running. It might make a good exercise backup during the winter, but I don't think it will become my favorite hobby.
It was a warm day, so I didn't worry about temperature. Since it was my first time snowshoeing, I wasn't well prepared. I didn't wear layers like you're supposed to, and I didn't have any snow pants. But I was fine. The worst part was that my heels kept rubbing against the back of my boots, so I have big sores on them now.
I got a robot vacuum on Wednesday. I think the model I got is a little low-tech compared to the others (e.g. I can't program it, and I can't control it with an app), but it appeared to be the best for cat hair. It's a fun little gadget. (I would show you a video, but Blogger and Google have joined forces to make it extremely cumbersome to put videos on here, unless I upload it to YouTube, but it's not special enough for that.)
Since my heels were still recovering from snowshoeing, I decided it would be a good opportunity to use my bike. Since I grew up on a steep hill, and I still live there, biking has never been convenient for me. When I got my car back in September, my two qualifications were good MPG and all-wheel drive, but having room for a bike was also a plus. On Wednesday I had a very short ride up our steep hill, but on Thursday I drove my bike down to the Legacy Parkway Trail. It's very flat, so I put my bike in the highest gear, and off I went. It was delightful. Before I knew it, I found myself in Centerville, so I made my way over to 7-Eleven, where I got a red velvet donut and organic Gatorade. (I don't know what organic Gatorade is, but I thought I'd try it. Water, milk, and Gatorade are the only non-seasonal drinks I can have.)
After I had downed my Gatorade, it was time to get back on the bike. But what about the bottle? I couldn't bring myself to just throw it in the regular garbage. (Seriously, how do people live with themselves when they buy bottled water and just throw it in the garbage?!) So I tucked my shirt into my pants and stuck the bottle in my shirt so I could transport it home to put in the recycling.
I went about fourteen miles round trip, the farthest I have ever gone on a bike, and since it was so flat, it was astonishingly easy. I barely broke a sweat. A few weeks ago I talked about Facebook stalking an old mission companion who is an unpleasant person. In addition to his Trump-esque comments, he kept bragging about his bike rides, including ones that were a mere eleven miles. True, I'm sure he was going much faster than I did, and I don't know what his terrain was, but if I, as a non-cyclist, can easily bike fourteen miles, then eleven isn't anything to brag about.
The next day I did a nine-mile ride on hillier terrain, and it was considerably more difficult, but it still wasn't that hard. (Every time you go up a hill, it means you get to ride down, which takes no exertion whatsoever.)
My initial observations are that biking is funner than running. But I think running is safer (it's slower, you're not sharing the same space with cars, it's easier to get out of the way), and it's better exercise (it's harder, and you still have to exercise going down hill). I need to treat biking as a supplement to running, not as a replacement. My heels were sufficiently healed on Saturday to do my new standard winter run, eleven miles round trip to and from the Bountiful Temple.
This week I also had that moment when you read a Mormon blog and the professional historian doesn't know the answer to a question, but you just happen to know it.
Some friends this week asked me if I was going to blog about my rant about Groundhog Day, so here it is. Groundhog Day is fake, you know. It's silly, of course, to think that an animal seeing its shadow changes the season. Also, they are saying that either winter ends in six weeks (the end of astronomical winter), or it ends in early February. But when you think of winter ending, you think of the weather, and if the weather is your definition of winter, then meteorological winter ends on March 1, not March 20. The March 20 "first day of spring" only relates to the length of days, not the weather. But the worst part of Groundhog Day is that Punxsutawney Phil's "decision" is predetermined beforehand. They don't wait to see if he sees his shadow, or even say "it's sunny, so let's assume he sees his shadow." No, they decide it beforehand. Groundhog Day is literally faker than fake.
I don't care that it exists. I mean, we have all sorts of strange holidays and traditions, and it comes from German folklore, and there's a place for that. What gets me, though, is that people think it's actually a big deal. When my niece was in first grade, I remember her saying her favorite February holidays were Valentine's Day and Groundhog Day. Now really, what is there for a first-grader to like about Groundhog Day? Candy? Nope. Music? Nope. Presents? N-O. A day off from school? Not likely. Kids think it's a real holiday only because other people tell them it is.
As far as I'm concerned, Groundhog Day is only a Pennsylvanian regional holiday. And there are lots of regional holidays that are more legitimate, important, and meaningful than Groundhog Day: Arbor Day (Nebraska), Pioneer Day (Utah), Patriots' Day (Massachusetts), Mardi Gras (Louisiana), and more. Yet there are plenty of calendars that include Groundhog Day but none of the others. It makes me madder than it probably should. If you're going to include this garbage Groundhog Day, you need to include the others.
OK, I'm done.
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