You outta get shot

            I stop at a rest stop just inside Utah to take a stroll onto the great salt flats before it gets too hot. It’s still hot as hell and the glare of the sun is 100 times more intense, bouncing off the brilliant whiter than white terrain, especially a few feet onto the flats where no water is hovering or tracks spoiling the flat surface.

            Three individual white womyn – cross-country travelers, two traveling together, one with a man – approach my truck as I watch from my trek across the flat. They appear to be entranced by especially the back message. I decide to cut my trek short so I can talk with them but do not make it back to my truck in time.

            The womon with the male companion ignores me altogether as they head out in the direction I just came from. The other two womyn honk and wave as they drive past me.

            I make it to Salt Lake City without noticing much interaction from fellow drivers. I have to stop again just west of SLC where I think the cheapest fuel is, at least that close to the freeway. After SLC, I know are the beautiful mountains I’m looking forward to entering and not just because it’s hot as hell but because they are stunning. But I also know they are populated  with the wealthy and their ski resorts: therefore, very high fuel prices.

Did I mention that Utah is another scary state? I get tons of hostile vibes at the gas station plus one old white boy screams from one of the pickup trucks “You outta get shot!”

I survey the lot quickly, one hand on the pump, the other grasping my cell phone. I cannot locate the coward who screamed that but I point with my phone and ask “Really? Really?”

Even though everyone I see is staring at me, the minute I make eye contact, they quickly lower their eyes or turn away. I know it’s wishful thinking they’re ashamed and I’m thinking I better leave as swiftly as possible before one of these good mormons decide to do just that.