It was my first time free-range camping. No rules, no rangers, and we saw more deer than people. It was relaxing to make a temporary home and turn off my phone. I couldn’t have checked my email if I wanted to and I didn’t care.

Thanks to everyone who let us borrow gear! The one piece of equipment we forgot–tongs–was providentially present at our campsite in the form of a nearly perfectly bent strip of metal. Small miracles allow for delicious tinfoil dinners, tinfoil apple pies, and tinfoil pigs in blankets. Did I mention tinfoil, lord of all campfire cookware? Shush, I know it’s aluminum foil. I also know that we didn’t plan to bring it, either, but it, too, surrendered to serendipity. This trip, our miracles were made of metal.

I don’t much like long hours in the car without breaks, so we opted to stretch a 10-hour drive into a three day road trip. In brief, we stayed Thursday night in Las Vegas at our friend Jenny’s house, Friday night in Burbank at my sister Julieann’s place, and Saturday night in San Diego at Amy’s parent’s house–where Amy grew up.

At length…read the captions.

BONUS: Watch our minute-and-a-half road trip 80s rock video over on facebook.

Amy planned an awesome date night last Friday. It began with her text message to me containing four of my favorite words: “dinner ready in 15.” Breaded and baked chicken with rice and steamed green beans. A classic. Bonus kudos to her for nicely testing my no-mustard policy by putting a little in the chicken. In the end, my taste buds cried foul, but it was a perfectly executed attempt at broadening my culinary horizons.

Then we headed to the BYU men’s volleyball game where she fed a secret grad society password to the ticket agent to score a 60% discount on admittance. She’s smart. She knows that money saved now is money spent on her later. We sat in the student section wearing our (now vintage?) BYU shirts from our undergrad years and cheered the 3-0 Cougar victory.

After the game, I convinced her we needed snacks before the next segment of the date, so we each pretended our ankles were stuck together and bunny-hopped around Smith’s for a while. When that got tired, I practiced my loping strides. Side note: we also bought snacks.

THEN. Amy has always wanted to make a stop-motion film. It is was on her bucket list. So she invited me to her apartment to create a video! We started by making our own play-doh. The recipe is surprisingly simple yet messy. After some discussion, we worked out a storyline and sculpted the set pieces we would need. For structure, we relied on straws and bobby pins. Food coloring for color, and household lamps for lighting the set. We also used a headlamp and colored gel swatch samples to warm the color of the headlamp light. That’s what happens when artists get going on a play-doh project–they pull out reflectors and gel swatches. Oh, I didn’t mention the 8×4 bounce reflector?

Tidbits from set:

• At one point, we needed to increment the tripod head at a steady rate, so we borrowed her 1.5 ton car jack and slowly raised it between shots.
• The girl’s head is a separate clay piece. There is a straw in it that goes into a hollow straw post in her body which allowed us to articulate the head after the clay had hardened.
• The bedroom rug is a place mat for dining.
• We shot about 600 pictures in total.
• We finished shooting at 4am Saturday morning. Then we edited Saturday night until 2am. Total of 11 hours and we wouldn’t have it any other way.
• The audio of children laughing and playing is from outside my window where there’s a small neighborhood playground.
• The snow was made by cutting apart a ziploc bag, applying spray adhesive inside, sprinkling powdered sugar on it, then putting the ziploc back together with the snow and glue on the inside.
• The bed’s headboard went through 5 iterations.
• To end the night, we smashed the girl and her bed with a giant porcelain cupcake.

We had a fabulous time with our quality time. Here are some production stills for you to enjoy/envy.

And here’s the video again because you love it so much.

Afterwards, we all had a packed lunch and made jokes about chocolate grenades going off in our mouths. Nephew Nathan–recent schoolwide chess champion–found out that I used to play and challenged me to a game on the spot. My 31-year-old mind was worried about my reputation and ego if I were to lose, but we had a good game and my ego is safely intact. Though he’ll tell you that he almost beat me. He was one move away, he’ll say. Which is true.

I learned a little about parenting as brother-in-law Mike consoled his son on the loss–his first in months of playing. He explained that losing was a challenge and an opportunity to get better. If nobody challenges you, you won’t get better. It seemed like a very natural conversation for them to have and one they’d probably discussed before in the context of sports and triathlons. Mike is definitely an expert on dealing with challenges! He’s training for Ironman world qualifiers right now.

The whole clan is as sweet as ever and I’m glad I got to hang out with them. Thanks for inviting me, Jeni!

Here’s to Chunga’s Fine Mexican Cuisine With Delicious Orange Fanta, the wrong side of the tracks, UMOCA (yamaka!), Bear71, Brigham Young’s grave, hidden alleys with old poems that don’t exist anymore, Plum Alley, 7-11 hot chocolate bar mini-marshmallows, freezing, that one road that goes one way around the capitol building up in the hills, not cemetery, social hall, chocolate from my heart, smoke stack incinerator, Treadstone, 10th floor spit, blue sky black death featuring a color-changing neon weather gauge, and Josh’s local knowledge.

On to the real show. At about 1pm, my doorbell rang. I expected something, but not what I found: a heart-shaped homemade pizza with my favorite toppings and a note launching me into a creative scavenger hunt in the BYU Harold B. Lee Library. Amy surmised correctly that creative dates have been mostly an outbox feature in my life, so I was pretty excited about her surprise. I hurried to finish my meager plans for our evening, scarfed the pulmonary pizza, and hustled to the Harold. A well-timed text message to me informed me to try to finish the hunt before 2:45pm (Amy has class at 3pm).

Here are pictures of all the clues. With each clue, she wrote a wonderful note to me. Those are personal and would make you gag, but do take care to note the book titles surrounding the notes, as they indicate the topic of that particular note. With the exception of the final note, however, which I found just minutes after Amy needed to leave for class (sadness!!), and to which I will forthrightly add the disclaimer that while it was completely surrounded by books about marriage, the book intended to house the note was not about marriage but instead about the five love languages and effective interpersonal communication. That book was not available at that time. “It was in another library,” she says.

Enjoy. I did!

EDIT: For the astute reader, you no doubt wonder what secret message was waiting in the anagram of the clues’ letters. The answer: massage lesson. Last Sunday we went to dinner at the home of one of Amy’s friends who is a massage therapist and we got a private lesson about getting knots out of muscles. Bonus!

More below the pics.

Stepping inside smelled like warmth and spiced beef. Amy and I exchanged immediate looks of anticipation. My stomach sang a chorus of of praises. It turns out that my bowels harmonize pretty well.

We were seated in what must have been a living room back in the day. The woodwork was ample and soothing. The gay men at the table behind us brought with them a little flavor of L.A., which is where I met Amy, but they obviously didn’t know how to dress for a barbecue joint. Dutch ovens do not pair with blazers. Tim Gunn 101.

First stop, cornbread and honey butter. Not bad. Obviously from a larger pan of cornbread, like it should be.

“Do you take your camera out and shoot food at restaurants?” I asked Ames.

“Yep, all the time.”

Yes! Enter camera, stage left.

I really love that we can pass my camera back and forth and I never worry if she knows how to work it or take amazing pictures. In fact, I’m always sure she’ll get much better light in her shots. That’s what happens when you date your teacher.

The brisket was especially flavorful (as it should be since they marinate it for 14 hours). The sweet potato fries were sooo good. The mac and cheese was forgettable. Dessert looks like a lot for two people and it was. Apparently the end of the night has its perks, including extra dessert they need to offload. Dutch oven cobblers were warm and gooey, just like camping but without the fear of bears or wolves.

Our server was rad and helpful. Hope she’s reading this! She asked for my blog address to see the pictures we were taking (cuz we are obviously ridiculously talented and deeply interesting) and showed us how to go upstairs to see the banquet room.

After the food fest, we headed out to explore Bountiful. We saw two things of note: a building we thought might be a church that wasn’t Mormon (wrong, it was O.G. Mormon) and a cool ampersand on a salon sign. Then, in a cloud of cobbler-coma, Bountiful turned into a southbound on-ramp.

Just before leaving Los Angeles. I look so hopeful!

I moved to Utah for a while. I don’t know how long. I don’t know how short. What I do know is that it took some doing and–like anything worth doing–there is a lady involved. Her name is Amy.

DAY 1: Saturday, January 21, 2012

11am. I packed my truck with half of my possessions. Roommates Tim and Stephen, and random couch surfer Anthony helped me load up and cinch down. With my apartment subleased, I had no reason to stay in LA if Amy was waiting for me in Provo. I felt like I should leave right away and so I did. It feels good, being decisive.

Tim waved me goodbye and after stopping for gas and snacks, I merged onto the eastbound 10 headed out of LA toward faith and hope. Friend Mike Mahoney (soon to be referred to as Saint Mike) is a car guy and he had helped me look over my truck earlier in the week, so I felt good about driving the beast on my journey. Audio books on my phone, twinkle in my eye, foot on the gas. This was crazy. How would it be? I was leaving Hollywood for my own sort of Hollywood. I was in a movie. No, it was real. Was it? Reality sounds like a clunk and a loss of engine power.

1:00pm. Heading up Cajon Pass, about an hour and fifteen minutes from L.A., I was talking on the phone with my former singles ward bishop, Bishop Thomas, when I punched the gas up the steep grade. Clunk. Oil pressure gauge flatlines. Clang clang clang clang clang beat the pistons. “Bishop, I’m having car trouble, I’ll call you back.”

As I switch on the hazards and head to the right lane, my emotions feel like the oil pressure gauge. “No. NO.” I stay calm. I stay hopeful.

I’m near a gas station. I exit the freeway and park. The guys inside are helpful and give me a couple of mechanic’s business cards. I call and leave messages. I flex my resources, calling nearby auto repair shops from my phone’s map listings. Probably 1k to fix. No part until Tuesday, 3 days away, plus service time.

I call my friend, Saint Mike. We discuss my problem and symptoms, and diagnose it as a faulty oil pump. Driving my truck any farther could cause permanent engine damage. Mike miraculously has a car trailer, and he offers to drive out and tow me back to LA. I hesitate and weigh my options. I’m not going to Utah today, we decide. Saint Mike drops everything he is doing and rescues me.

St. Mike Mahoney

I wait patiently for Mike’s kindness. Mentally and emotionally, I’m admittedly downtrodden. Why did this happen? What should I do about it? How do I get back on track to Amy?

Mike pulls my rig on his trailer back to LA. Each time I look back, I’m startled to see a truck tailgating us so closely. Then I laugh at my mistake. Then I’m sad it’s mine. We discuss my options thoroughly on the drive back. We’re good at discussing strategies from all angles because we play geeky board games together and that’s part of the fun. We drop my truck off at Pep Boys for a diagnostic because they were open late on Saturday and because they’re convenient to my apartment. In gratitude, I buy Mike dinner and we go see Mission Impossible 4 on a huge IMAX screen. It’s nice to forget life for a couple of hours.

DAY 2: Sunday, January 22, 2012

Sunday morning, after attending church and explaining to curious friends that I am still on my way to Utah, I get an answer from the mechanic: there’s nothing wrong. They can’t duplicate the problem and everything checks out. I should get a second opinion from an engine mechanic who will have to take apart my engine to find out what happened.

Anyone who has maintained an old vehicle knows the balancing act. Do I fix it again or do I sell it? I couldn’t, in good conscience, sell it to a private party. But to a dealer…

DAY 3: Monday, January 23, 2012

5pm. The dealer writes me a check. He knows his business and wants to buy my truck. It’s a good deal. I catch a typo on his business card. We discuss redesigning his website. I get shuttled home. I attend FHE at church and get to say goodbye to a few more friends that I missed in my hurried goodbye-ish party last Friday night. It was encouraging to see them and feel their love.

DAY 4: Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Morning. I’m fast-tracked on a small car loan from my favorite credit union. At 2pm, roommate Tim drives me to a dealer in Burbank to buy a car I’ve found. It’s not my dream car, but it has low miles and is in budget. It’s cut and dry. Test drive and buy. ’05 Suzuki Forenza. I sign the papers, Tim takes a picture, I advise my car insurance company and I drive home.

8pm. Why wait? My roommates help me pack my car again. They are extremely helpful. Everything, including my bike, fits perfectly into my new car. Not a small miracle. I drive into the night for the lights and inexpensive lodging of Las Vegas.

I hit 55,555 miles on my way to Vegas. At 1am, anything is awesome.

This is the second night of my life I’ve stayed in a Vegas hotel. I still hate the feel of the strip. But it was a nice waypoint to Utah and following a tip from St. Mike about how to book cheap but classy Vegas hotels, I landed a room that cost almost exactly the same as my actual apartment in LA. I’m still not sure what to make of that price comparison.

DAY 5: Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Wednesday morning. Sleep and shower, gas and grub. In the afternoon, I start to notice how beautiful Utah is. The sun is bright and the air is crisp. All of the roads are clear and the snow on the mountains is the only reminder of winter. For 30 minutes, a sunset joins my caravan.

8pm. I arrive in South Provo and unload my overnight bag at my friend Tanner Kay’s apartment.  He lives a block away from Amy. By 9pm, Amy returns home from school and meetings. I knock on her door and hold my breath. Nobody answers. I ring the doorbell. Nothing. I call. She has moved half a block away since I was there last. The analogy of a failed first attempt is not lost on me. Hollywood writes it like this all the time. Take two, I ring the correct doorbell. It’s take two in many ways.

DAY 6: Thursday, January 26, 2012

6pm. I strike a deal with a landlord to rent a condo 100 steps from Amy’s.

7pm. I move in. I have two bedrooms; one is an office. The owner is rarely here. It is fully furnished. It is a miracle.

In 6 days…

I packed up, broke my truck, moved back, sold my truck, bought a car, packed again, moved my life, got a girlfriend, and rented an apartment.

Because I returned home that weekend, I talked about religion with two of my neighbors and a gas station attendant in eastern California. I wouldn’t have had those chances to share my love for the Book of Mormon if I hadn’t returned to LA. I wouldn’t have been able to give them a copy of it and feel the sweet spirit of missionary work.

There were many miracles on this trip, both spiritual and physical. Too many, in fact, to discount any of them as coincidences. I haven’t written them all down here, but I have written them down. Ask me about them sometime. As my Grandpa Waters says, “Somebody up there must’ve been looking out for me.”

The lake and the fog merged. It seemed like we had driven into the clouds.

RIP, little fishy

We arrived at Scofield State Park in Spanish Fork Canyon at 7am and the thermometer read -8°F. My five layers of outerwear were barely sufficient. Amy and I drilled an 8″ wide hole in the ice with a giant two-man manual hand drill. The ice was about 8″ thick which made the drilling difficult. Later part of our group brought a gas-powered drill that saved the day.

Slowly, we all learned to fish and Amy caught a trout early on. Everyone in our crew would cheer whenever someone got a bite. I went 0 for 2 on the day. The two that got away almost broke my pole and we’re probably each 200 pounds.

By noon, the sun warmed us to where we were lounging around considering naps. My face is burnt from the clear rays.

I don’t know if I’ll ever go again, but I’m glad to add it to my experience book. I also learned that I can purchase a bear pursuit license. I like the idea of including “oh, I might pursue a bear” to my list of weekend possibilities. The funnyman park ranger at the lake reminded me that I shouldn’t pursue a bear without a license–that would be harassment.

“The perspective is that what you are doing now is not quite as important as you think it is, or as important as others think it is… because it will go away. The prominence, the money, the power, and the titles will all be stripped away. Then what are you? It’s then that I want to be something.”

Kevin Rollins, CEO of Dell