Salt Lake City was an impromptu decision after leaving Reno and realizing how far Denver was. Our San Francisco friend and SLC native, Cassie went to work looking for venues for us to play while Becca got in touch with her friend Mark to plead for us to stay with him. We got there without having a show set up but not without trying. I talked to someone on the phone at a venue called the State Room who told me that they would’ve helped us set up a show if they didn’t already have something big set up for the following night. When we arrived, we parked across the street from the venue which read “Dale Earnhart Jr Jr” on the marque. Still behind us by just a day, this band had now been tracing our steps for a week. Two of Becca’s friends met us there and since we couldn’t play music, we did the next best thing. We went to “beervana,” which essentially was a Cajun restaurant across the street from the State Room. Afterwards we went to Marks house and hung out at Mark’s house. He and his roommate are snow board videographers and we got to stay in his roommate’s gigantic apartment, who was in Alaska, and apparently is there most of the year filming. My favorite part about the apartment was this weird tape player/astronaut helmet thing. I’m pretty sure I fell asleep sitting up while everyone else hung around talking. We tried to leave as early as possible the next morning but ended up getting distracted by juice. We went to BlueStar juice where I purchased some sort of lemon/ginger vegetable drink and ended up petting the shop dog while the girls talked about bikes. Did I mention it was a bike repair shop too? As if not off to a late start already we all decided that we need to see that actual Salt Lake before we left, which turned into a whole lost excursion in and of itself. Somehow we never did find that giant mass of water, just an industrial construction zone and a man-made pond that we posed in front of, pretending that it was Salt Lake. The last minutes in Salt Lake City before we SERIOUSLYHADTOBEONOURWAY we’re spent at a gas station, simultaneously fist pumping in unison while the local gas attendant boy looked on at us with disgust. I think I heard him whimper a little. Good bye Utah!