Set a tent in East Canyon.

No one in my tribe had a clue what was to come.

The site is very secluded. No bath house, no quiet hours. No bugs save for pestiferous yellow biting flies.

Headed down the mountain and made contact with the bride to be and folks. Nice house, unique and interesting communal living arrangements.

At this point my daughter and navigator, Juliet, and I had been up for almost 36 hours with maybe 2.5 hours of sleep between us.

My whole body was tingling and had a slight quiver all over. My brain was mush and all I could think was, “one hour. I just need one hour.”

We left and got a hotel room. Ate at a local bar where we met a waitress from Pennsylvania. This is where I learned about “high point” beer. In Utah the every-day run- of-the-mill beer is 3% ABV. High point beer refers to any beer higher than that. So the Coors light I drink at home, at 4.5%, would be high point. To get the beer I’m used to I would have to go to the State store.

After my one hour nap we went back to the bride and grooms house for dinner and drinks. And to review other things the father of the bride had purchased in Denver…

Sitting on the back porch I couldn’t help but marvel at the locals, going about their business, the groom busying himself with building, out of pallet wood, the podium upon which he and his bride would take each other’s hand to be wrapped in a binding, symbolizing the promise of everlasting commitment, while these great mountains stood far above their mortal heads.

Approaching 40 hours with no more than 3 random one hour naps, we left for the night.

At the hotel I cracked open my bottle of Glenlivet 18 and took two Tylenol PMs. Played my guitar for a song or two and quite literally crashed for a extremely satisfying 9 hours.