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Out West

Tom Minder

    Gusts of cold air entered the busy office along with excited families planning their vacations. Agents worked the phones or navigated travel sites. Couples flipped through brochures and pulled credit cards. A couple walked in and waved to their favorite agent, Amie Landis. She smiled, motioned Sam and Lana to her desk, and waited as they removed layers of winter clothing. “Mr. and Mrs. Redman. I haven’t seen you since your Vegas trip a few years ago. What can I do for you today?”
    Sam put down a brochure, flipped to a dog-eared page, and handed it to her. “Amie, we want to go out West and see America at its rustic best.” He looked skyward. “Buffalo, geysers, presidents hewn in rock...buffet breakfasts...and maybe some gambling.” He pointed to the glossy guide. “The Westward Ho tour is just what we need.”
    Amie studied the description. “Seven days on a bus, Mr. Redman. Is that what you really want?”
    “Our forefathers trekked across the land in covered wagons. They fought off Indians, coyotes, and rattlesnakes. We can do a week in a bus.”
    Amie smiled. “Ok, let’s set this up. When do you want to go?”
    “I’m thinking September. Not too hot, not too cold. Just right.”
    He nodded to his wife. “This will knock five states off our bucket list, Lana. Twenty more and we’ve seen them all. The Redmans would have done America.”
    Lana smiled at Amie. “And America would have seen Sam Redman. I hope there’s enough donuts out there.”



    They watched Jeopardy as Sam reread the itinerary. “What a great trip this will be. We start in Vegas, work our way up through Utah, then to Jackson Hole, Yellowstone, Little Big Horn, and Mount Rushmore.”
    “Seven days, constantly on and off a bus, Sam. Plus you have an aversion to all things crawling...and wild animals in general. On this trip, we’re going to see them up close.”
    “Snakes and bears can’t climb buses, Lana. Plus the park people keep them away from tourists. Bad for business.” He sipped his Columbian. “Explore new adventures with me, Lana. Jersey will be here when we get back.”



    Tropicana Hotel and Casino on the Las Vegas Strip. “Boy that was a bumpy flight. But what a view, flying over Colorado, Utah and the Rockies.”
    “Sam, you were on Facebook and played slot games on your cell the whole time. Did you look out the window at all?”
    “I glanced over when the pilot mentioned landmarks.” He held his phone in front of Lana’s nose. “See my selfie. Resplendent in my Hawaiian shirt. Eat your heart out, ladies.”
    They checked in, found the casino floor, and looked for unoccupied slots. Sam took a second to feel the rapture before sitting at a BIG BANG THEORY game and feeding the screwball scientists twenty dollars.
    A thin, menacing shadow covered his screen. The creature’s head bobbed and turned. He spun around, then followed a flash of light. A large screen showing Ahmed, the dead terrorist. He relaxed and nudged Lana almost toppling her from her chair. “Hey, Jeff Dunham has a show here. Let’s see if we can get tickets.”
    They bought seats in the back of the balcony. The usher waved them to the row between gasps for breath. Sam loved the show and laughed so hard he peed a little. The couple left the theater with Sam hurrying to the Men’s Room. He kept yelling “I keel you,” clearing his way.
    Lana held Walter tee shirts and checked her watch as four men crammed into security outfits approached—clutching Sam. “Lana, tell them I’m innocent.”
    “Excuse me, officers, I’m his wife. What’s he done now?”
    One of the men peeled off as the entourage stopped. “Making terroristic threats, Ma’am. Threatening to kill people.”
    Lana stamped her foot. “Sam, you idiot.” She smiled at the man. “He just saw Jeff Dunham. He’s a big fan of Ahmed, the dead terrorist.” She gestured at Sam. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly...although he might eat one.”
    The man sighed. “Turn him loose, men.”



    The driver, Renaldo, stored the bags and the tour guide, Riley ‘Call me Coyote’ Jackson, welcomed each traveler as they boarded. Sam swung into the seat and emitted an ‘aaaahhhh’. “Look Lana, foot rests.”
    Lana slid in. “Yeah, Sam. Just like our ancestors.”
    The bus merged into the stifling Vegas traffic, hitting every red light. Finally, they cleared the city limits and headed through Northern Arizona toward Utah. Sam munched on Fiddle Faddle and checked Instagram.
    “Zion National Park in Southwestern Utah is our first stop,” Coyote said to the passengers. “It’s over two hundred scenic square miles of sandstone canyons and rugged terrain, enclosing the Virgin River.” He leaned to look out the window and pointed at the mountains. “This vista was carved out by nature over 250 million years.”
    Sam and Lana climbed out and stretched. Sam started the selfies, making sure his “Keep Calm and Shut the Hell Up” tee shirt stood out against the backdrop. They walked the guided trail with Sam munching Cheetos, examining every square foot for rattlesnakes and spiders and looking skyward for California Condors. Lana stooped to inspect the Prickly Pears and other plant life.
    A black and orange banded tarantula crawled on Lana’s sleeve. Sam gasped. “What’s the matter, Sam?”
    “Look at those mountains in the background.”
    Lana turned and Sam swung the snack bag at Lana’s arm, dislodging the arachnid. It crawled away into the brush.
    “Hey, Sam, watch it. Look, I have orange dust on my shirt. Take it easy.”



    Two hours later, the travelers climbed back on the bus. “How about Zion, folks. Wasn’t it beautiful? Bryce Canyon is next, home to the Hoodoo formations carved by centuries of erosion. These structures resemble ancient angry gods summoning all to worship them.”
    Lana stood at the lookout point and took a panorama of the majestic canyon. Moving left to right she captured the orange figures contrasted with the green forest and distant mountains. As her camera neared completion of the 180-degree turn, an orange cat-like hoodoo danced up and down into her frame. “Eat me, Lana. You know you want me.” She stopped recording.
    Sam waved orange popsicles honoring Tom and Jerry, the animated cat and mouse. “A Tom for me and a Jerry for you. Who knew you could get these in such a remote place. What a country!”



    After an overnight at a Bryce lodge highlighted by Caramel waffles at the breakfast buffet, the couple boarded the coach and relaxed for the long drive to Salt Lake City. Lana snapped pictures of the idle landscape. Sam closed his eyes and imagined the meals awaiting them.
    Leaving the southern desert, wildlife emerged as they drove through the Central Utah countryside. Elk, bison, and antelope roamed. Chukars, falcons, and the occasional bald eagle flew above. Sam awoke as a flock of geese honked overhead. “Utah is proud of the wide variety of birds that fill the sky,” said Coyote. “The chukars were brought in from Europe and have flourished in this western climate. The bald eagles are rare but are seen from time to time.” He looked at his watch. “We’ll be in Salt Lake City in two hours folks. The city is home to the Mormon religion and their beautiful cathedral, and is near the Great Salt Lake, the largest salt water lake in the western hemisphere.”



    Sam and Lana unpacked in the Salt Lake Hilton. “Where are the slots,” Sam asked the bellman, Mike.
    “There’s no gambling in the city, sir. You have to go to Wendover, Nevada, about 90 minutes away.” Sam stood in silence.
    “That’s OK, Mike. Mr. Redman’s going through withdrawal,” Lana said. “I hear the Mormon Temple is close by.”
    “Yes, Ma’am. Just two blocks away. The concierge can give you directions and a pamphlet. The state capitol is close by also and gives a pretty view in the sunset.”
    They left the hotel headed for Temple Square. Sam snapped pictures of downtown in the late afternoon sunlight as the Rocky Mountains provided a scenic backdrop. He waved to couples until a brave pair stopped. “Hi. Are you Mormons?”
    Lana started to steer Sam away. The woman smiled. “Yes, we are.”
    “Sam and Lana Redman from back east. You have a beautiful city here.” The couple agreed and introduced themselves as Bill and Maria as Lana relaxed. “We’re just going over to see the Temple. We understand it’s beautiful.”
    “Yes it is,” Bill said. We’re proud of the temple and happy to see visitors there.”
    “We’re Catholics ourselves, but happy to meet those not so inclined.” He leaned in toward the man. “Tell me...How many wives do you have?”
    Lana pushed Sam away and turned to the couple. “Sorry...he’s from Jersey. Nice meeting you.”
    Next morning, the tour settled themselves in the cushioned seats. “How was Salt Lake City, folks? Wasn’t it beautiful?” Are there any questions?”
    Sam raised his hand, then took an elbow to the ribs. “No polygamy questions, Sam.” Coyote walked up, but Lana shook her head.
    The guide returned to the front. “Next stop, Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Home to Grand Teton National Park.”



    The mild climate of Salt Lake yielded to chilling temperatures in Jackson Hole. Snow on the surrounding Tetons hinted at the approaching winter. The couple walked through the shopping district. Sam found an ice cream stand, ordered a Huckleberry cone, and shivered on a bench as he consumed the treat.
    Lana wiped a spot of purple from Sam’s nose and pointed to Jackson Treasures. “I’ll be in there.” She sighed. “For Pete’s sake, Sam, use a napkin.”
    Sam licked hands and fingers as he finished his cone. A ‘whoa!’ pierced his nirvana. That sounds like Lana, he thought. I hope she’s not in trouble. He rushed into the store. She was petting a six-foot, wooden Elk as the cashier rang up the sale.
    She smiled at Sam as she pulled her MasterCard. “Perfect for our Christmas decorations, Sam. The neighbors will be jealous.”



    The grey elk ascended the steps. A septuagenarian in the first row shrieked. Renaldo calmed the woman, as he waved Sam back to the sidewalk. Coyote walked the pair to Jackson Treasures to arrange to have the souvenir shipped home. A half-hour later, the tour continued with Sam and Lana taking their seats, elkless.
    Coyote tapped the microphone. “Yellowstone is the world’s first national park, opened in 1882. It covers almost 3500 square miles, and is home to bison, moose, black bear, antelope, and elk in their natural surroundings. You even see the occasional grizzly, but it’s rare. Take pictures, but keep your distance. And whatever you do, don’t feed them.”
    Sam filled his mouth with chocolate bar, then licked the molten residue from his fingers as he viewed the surroundings. A grey mound of fur ambled from the brush, then turned around and disappeared. “MMMMPPPPHHHH, MMMMMPPPHHHH,” he called out, standing and shaking a finger.
    Coyote walked back as Sam hopped. “What did you see, Mr. Redman?”
    Sam swallowed and gasped at the sugar rush. “A grizzly back there.” The tourists turned, some half-standing, some pulling cameras and knocking over those not adept at human stampede. “Hey, I don’t see anything. Nothing here. That guy’s crazy,” they shouted to the tour director.
    Coyote shrugged at Sam, who waved his chocolate fingers and sat lower in his seat. “Maybe next time, Mr. Redman.
    After checking into their park cabin, Lana finished unpacking as Sam stood at the window watching the sun disappear into the mountains. “Hurry up, Lana. I’m starving. Let’s get to the dining room before it fills up.”
    “Go outside, Sam. I need more time.”
    He picked up his last candy bar, wandered out, and walked toward the woods. A grey shadow became larger as he approached. Sam stopped when a grizzly came fully into view. “Holy crap. Lana...oh, Lana.”
    Sam dropped the bar and edged back to the cabin. The bear roamed Sam-ward, stopped to sniff the candy and consumed it in seconds. Sam rushed in and bolted the door. “I’m really not hungry, Lana. Let’s stay in tonight.”
    “Sam, I’m starved. Let’s go to dinner.”
    He glanced out the window. No bear. “OK, Lana. Let’s go. Ladies first.”



    After a morning stop at Old Faithful, the tour continued on. “Next up, Montana,” Coyote announced. “On June 25th, 1876, Lakota and Cheyanne warriors fought the U.S. 7th Calvary at the battle of Little Big Horn. Colonel George Custer and his troops were annihilated. This national monument contains markers for the war dead and gives a perspective on what happened from both the Indian and Calvary standpoints.” Coyote turned off his mic and led the charge of camera-flashing tourists up the hill to the monument.
    “Darn immigrants,” one man called out. “We should never have let those savages in.”
    “Actually, these are native lands for the Lakota,” Renaldo said. “The cavalry arrived later on to protect settlers during the western expansion of the U.S.”
    Sam fished into his bag of potato chips as he followed the crowd. A ‘Watch out for Rattlers’ sign blocked his ascent. Sam jumped when Renaldo spoke up. “Don’t worry, Mr. Redman. They’re a danger only if you wander off the main walkway.”
    He raised his camera and snapped the sign. He glanced toward the alternate path. My chance to overcome my ridiculous fear of snakes, he thought. He waved Lana on and walked down the track, making a continuous 180-degree scan of the ground to check for any roaming serpents.
    He pulled a turkey jerky from his jacket, unwrapped it, and bit off a large chunk. He continued on, listening for slithering or rattles. Hearing a rustling noise, Sam dropped the last of the snack into the tall grass and froze. A mouse ran through the brush, holding the food in its mouth. Sam laughed. “You win this round, little guy.” Just then, a grey flash and the mouse was caught in the mouth of a rattler.
    Sam stepped away and speed-walked back to the visitor center, making sure to look around—360 degrees this time—for any trailing predators. Lana returned from the monument and tapped Sam on the shoulder as he studied the snakes in the guidebook. “Geez, Lana. Don’t do that.” He took one last look down the path. “Let’s get back on the bus.”



    “Today, folks, we visit the Crazy Horse Memorial and Mount Rushmore. Both impressive sculptures hewn from the granite native to the Black Hills of South Dakota.”
    Sam finished his Rapid City Presidents bar and stuffed the wrapper into his shirt pocket. Taking out his beef jerky, he read the nutrition label, assuring himself of the health benefits.
    The bus unloaded at Crazy Horse. Head bent down to concentrate on opening the jerky, Sam walked into an Indian dressed in ceremonial outfit. “Sorry,” Sam called out. The man pulled an ear bud, shut off his Megadeath download and smiled at Sam. “No worries, Sir. My name is Yellow Deer. A full-blooded Lakota. Enjoy your visit.”
    He asked for a picture and Yellow Dear assumed a defiant pose, gazing to the horizon. Sam struggled with the beef stick and camera. He handed the jerky to the native and snapped a selfie of them both, smiling as the annoyed warrior brandished the dehydrated meat.
    “Thanks. Mr. Deer. They’ll love you in Jersey.”
    “PALEFACES,” Yellow Dear mumbled as he walked toward the visitor area.
    “Hey, you have my Jerky,” Sam shouted to the man. Yellow Deer turned, chomped on the stick, and signaled an odd goodbye to Sam. I wonder if that gesture means the same thing in Indian, Sam thought.



    George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt, and Abraham Lincoln looked out over South Dakota. Mount Rushmore. The tour walked the avenue of state flags leading to the outdoor amphitheater. Sam and Lana snapped pictures. “They’re working on Lincoln’s nose,” a woman called out. The crowd focused as workmen rappelled from the top of Abe’s head down to his schnoz.
    “They’re pruning his nose hairs,” Coyote laughed. “Actually, natural plant growth attaches to the inside of the monuments and needs to be cut back.”
    Sam pulled a Payday bar and started a loud, open-mouth chewing. A Japanese school group ignored the presidents and took pictures of him. He waved the wrapper at Lincoln. “Hey, look Lana, the branches from his nose are falling down onto the mountain. I’m gonna get a closer view.”
    He walked to the Presidential Trail, waved to Lana, and started the winding climb. Gasping for breath, he stopped, found a bag of M&Ms in his jacket, and popped enough of the chocolate vitamins to resume his trek.
    He gazed up at the monument. What a view, he thought. He stepped back off the path to get a clearer sight. A noise came from a nearby bush. Sam examined the ground for slithering wildlife. A mountain goat emerged. Man and creature studied the odd life form in front of them. The animal came closer. “Hi, fella,” Sam said. “Nice goat.” He held out some M&Ms.
    It sniffed the treat, grabbed onto Sam’s shirt, and started chewing. Sam pulled back as the shirt gave away, leaving him bare-chested. He ran back to the amphitheater. Panting, he bent over to catch his breath.
    “Look...he ate his shirt,” said a school child. “These Americans are always hungry.”



    Sam pulled into the driveway after their return flight from Rapid City. A corrugated container blocked the front door. He examined the box and, using the flashlight from his key chain, read the label. “Jackson Treasures. It’s heavy, too.”
    “That’s my Elk,” Lana said. “I hope it arrived in one piece.”
    Lifting it over the front step, Sam pushed the box into the foyer, retrieved a knife from the kitchen, and dismantled the wrapping. He pulled the elk, ears, hoofs and all, from the protection of the packing peanuts. The Styrofoam nuggets scattered to the floor. He set the animal on the tile and turned to Lana.
    She touched the head of her trophy between the foot-long antlers. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Where can I put it?”
    Sam carried it into the four-season room, placing it facing the picture windows. Lana smiled. “Perfect. I’ll call it ‘Jackson.’”
    She examined the animal head to toe, found one last peanut wedged in its ear, and smiled. “It’s like we’re there now.”
    They left the elk to acclimate to its surroundings, unpacked, and then waded through the accumulated mail. The phone warbled. “This better not be a telemarketer,” Sam said as he pressed the speaker button. “Hello?”
    “Sam, this is Lucinda Shultz from next door.”
    He sighed. “Yes, Lucinda, we’re back. How are you?”
    “Did you know you had a large deer in your back room?”
    Lana snorted as Sam bit his lip. “Actually, it’s an elk. I hope it’s not bothering you, Lucinda. We call it Jackson. He doesn’t make much noise... except in mating season. I’ll lead it over next time I take it for a walk.”
    He covered his mouth, closed his eyes, and counted to three. “I just hope it doesn’t spook your cats.”
    Lucinda hung up without a response. “I’ll tell her tomorrow,” he said to Lana, smiling.



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