Day 7

I'm posting this a day late. I stayed at a motel last night that said they had wireless internet, but their router refused to give me an IP address, so I could never connect.
I have had my first adventure of the trip.
I rolled in to Delta, Utah around 12:30PM having driven from Salt Lake City. Delta is a town of 3209 people. So, it is not that big. I drove around that tiny town for almost an hour trying to find U-Dig Fossils. I eventually found it in someone's driveway. They had a sign over their garage with the name on it.

So, I pulled up, got out, and saw that the sign on the garage door said "closed." I figured this was highly unlikely, so I went to the house and rang the door bell. No one answered. I then proceeded around to the back where there was an outbuilding from which a lot of noise was eminating. Upon approaching the building, I was intrigued to discover that the noise was heavy metal. It was not the heavy metal of today, like Throwdown, Lamb of God, or Coalesce. Nor was it the hair metal of yore. It was the metal that has always been; the metal of the shadows that shares a close kinship with rock n roll, but takes it to a new level. Think Motorhead cranked up to a slightly more vicious level, and you will be in the ballpark.
I peer in the open door and see a bunch of machinery, but no human being. After a couple of minutes, I give in. I head back to the truck and head back toward the center of town to find lodging. As I am headed toward main street, a nomad passes me. By nomad, I mean that a man in a pickup truck, a man with a giant mustache, an even more giant cowboy hat, and a face beaten by years of desert wind, drove by in his home. This vehicle had a camper in the bed and was pulling a trailer with a 4 wheeler and a bunch of tools in the back. I instantly knew where this feller was headed. I whipped around, and headed back to U-Dig. Sure enough, the truck was in the driveway. And two men were already standing outside talking. I pulled up and got out. The nomad finished telling the man who materialized that he would bring "them" by later and left. I walked up to the supposed resident and proprietor of U-Dig, and introduced myself.
"Hello," I said.
"Can I help you?"
I pointed at the sign, "U-Dig Fossils. I want to do that."
"OK. Follow me."
He proceeded to lead me into the "closed" shop and gave me a brochure. On the back of said brochure was a map. I wish I had a scanner right now to show you this "map." The man described to me how to get out to the Trilobite pit. I had to clock miles by my odometer because 5 or 6 miles past the town of Henkley, I had to turn right onto a dirt road that had no name. I then had to drive that dirt road to 22 MILES and then turn right onto another dirt road and drive it for 9 more miles. I took all this in, thanked him and left. While contemplating whether to go out there that day or not, I checked into the Deltan Inn, one of Delta, Utah's finer lodging establishments.

I say finer because it is one of Delta, Utah's only lodging establishments. After another few minutes of thinking, "Well, what else am I going to do in this town for half a day," I decided to go for it. It was 5 miles from Delta to Henkley, and I started watching the odometer. Around 5 miles out, I see a dirt road off to the right. But there is no sign that says "U-Dig". Plus, it looked underused. So, I kept driving. Two miles later, I came upon another right turn dirt road. This one was wide with a stop sign. There was a piece of paper taped to the stop sign post. The sun had bleached out the lettering some time ago, so I got out to read it. It said, "The Wild Bunch" and had an arrow pointing up the dirt road. Envisioning some sort of redneck/desert folk/nomad party out in the hills where there are no laws, I figured it must have been that first turn off. So, I got back in the truck and headed back. I turned down the first dirt road, and had to slowly work the truck over some serious ruts at the beginning. Forging onward for about 4 miles, the brambles of the desert began to close in on the road. At one point, they got so close they smacked both side mirrors against the side of the truck. Shortly thereafter, I hit a dead end. I was at a large irrigation ditch (I think) that had a rusted out, shot up truck on the other side; a truck no doubt from some other errant driver who had tried to find some fossils, but came across the "wild bunch" instead. I turned around to head back to pavement. Getting back to the main road, three pick up trucks passed by, all pulling trailers with 4 wheelers on them. Hey, it worked once. I turned to follow. Sure enough, they turned right on the second dirt road. So down it I flew, cruising over a fairly well maintained dirt road at 60mph for 22 or so miles, eventually coming upon an intersection. And, lo and behold, a sign that said "U-Dig!" The trucks kept going straight, and I turned right. I drove for 9 more miles through "Death Canyon" and finally hit my target.


I parked at the U-Dig Trilobite quarry and paid an old prospector of a man in a plywood booth $28 for 2 hours worth of digging in the dirt.
I have come to the conclusion that this is a hard part of the country to live in. This codger I paid looked to be 80 at least, but it is really impossible to tell. He talked really slowly. In fact he did everything really slowly. He had that same hard bitten, leathery face; a true desert dweller.

So, I went and dug for fossils. I was only there for two and a half hours, but it felt like four. For one thing, it is exactly what it sounds like: busting rocks with a hammer in the desert sun. For another, there was a family of about 10 there who had three toddlers and an infant. Yeah, I know. Believe me I do, because those dang kids hollered and squawked the entire time I was there. They would fall over on the rocks. They were hot. They were thirsty. They had dirt in their eyes. on and on. Evidently I had to drive an hour out into the desert to hear endless whining. I didn't really let it get to me, though. I dug. I found some small fossils, and they are in the truck now. Not award winners by any means, but I dug them out of the earth, and that is what I went all that way for.
So, I eventually got back in the truck and headed back to town.

Upon getting back to the Deltan Inn, I showered off, dumped the rocks out of my shoes, and went looking for dinner.

I found this diner that was attached to another motel in town, and stopped in there.


Upon entering the place, I immediately noticed a haze that, in my lifetime of southern living experience, I immediately identified as "fried." Sure enough, when I sat down and looked at the menu, I saw that every item on it was fried in some way. I was not in the mood for "fried", but I was too tired to go search for another joint, so I settled for fried chicken. I placed my order with my waitress who looked eerily like "Large Marge" in a purple and blue tie dyed t-shirt. She was a giant woman. She even had a giant, kinda scary laugh. It made me think she could conceivably eat you if you didn't watch out. Mind you, she would fry you first.
When my fried chicken arrived, I found that it was not moist and tender, but had a hard shell which I had to crack with the fork. I also had mashed potatos and gravy, which tasted fried because of the gravy. I think they even somehow figured out how inject "essense of fried" into
the potato soup because even it tasted fried. I ate as much as I could, paid, and left.
After getting back to the Deltan Inn, I gave up with the Internet and konked out by 9pm. I awoke at 6AM (internal clock is still on east coast time), showered, got packed, and headed out. I first stopped at another eating establishment in town for breakfast. This one was much better. I had french toast with eggs and bacon. The unique thing about this place was (I think it was called the Tops City Cafe) that there was a horseshoe bar in the middle occupied by more old desert men. I could tell that these men had assigned seats, and it had been that way for years. They yammered about the usual stuff, cattle, who died recently, and the LA Lakers. I paid and left for the Grand Canyon. And that is where I will stop this post for the next one.