Below, the War Rig. Witness me as I get single-digit gas mileage all the way to Valhalla Seattle.
Day one of two:
Miles driven: 597
Caffeine consumed: 1 large coffee, 6 Red Bulls
States crossed: 3
Percentage of me that feels like roadkill: 73
Current location: Hermiston, OR
Some guy cut off my War Rig at 65 with less than a car length between us. His GVW: 3,000 pounds. Mine: about 26,000 pounds. This is Utah driving. I’ll miss a lot of things about Utah, especially my friends and the state’s mountains, but I won’t miss its drivers.
The flat parts were very convenient for making good time. Lots of very pretty mesas. Very specific definitions of “truck,” spelled out on road signs, allowed me to go 10 mph faster than actual trucks. Highlight: gassing up at Stinkers Fuel Stop, which was next to T-Bone’s Guns & Sandwiches.
America’s bossiest road signs, with a frequency of about 1 per 25 feet. Fantastic landscape. I mocked the first stretch of 6% grade — bush league compared to the many miles of 12% grade I’ve driven in Utah — but not the second. In the rain, at night, with tractor trailers comparing dick length by competing for Most Reckless Behavior, in a giant Uhaul, after 12 hours on the road, 6% grade ceases to be bush league.