Day 20 found us in Provo, Utah, visiting our favorite 25-year old son, Alan. We arrived just in time for dinner and a hike up Big Cottonwood Canyon, where the fall colors were showing off. Jake, our son George's boyfriend, predicted my white Hokas would come back black. He wasn’t wrong—they’re now a tasteful shade of “dirt couture.” Jake also Jake also keeps insisting I’ll return from this trip looking like a hobo. And honestly? The man has a point. I’ve completely abandoned make-up, and my hair looks like it lost a bet with a leaf blower. If I start carrying around a bindle, someone please intervene.
After the hike, Alan introduced us to two new games while we stuffed ourselves on extra cheesy Goldfish crackers and ice cream while we played. Alan purposely chose simple games because, let’s face it, we’re at the stage of life where learning new things is hard.
We kicked off day 21 with a pleasant 20-mile bike ride up Provo Canyon and back, with Alan in tow. Thankfully, Alan’s bike was stuck in mid-gear the whole way so we could keep up with him while we huffed along like aging steam engines. By the end of our ride, we had the perfect gift idea for Alan's upcoming birthday: a new shifter. George even offered to install it so he could claim some more service time. However, when we took the bike to BYU Unlimited to buy the part, the shop guy sprinkled some fairy dust and fixed the old one like it was no big deal. The bike was a hand-me-down from George, and he'd tried to fix the gears on many occasions without success. I asked Alan if that could still count as his birthday gift. He smiled and said yes, which is exactly why he’s our favorite 25-year-old son.
We squeezed in breakfast with Alan before heading north to Bozeman, MT. And before anyone panics—yes, Alan is still married. No, we didn’t exclude Celeste. She was just buried in classes the whole time, so we only saw her for about 30 minutes total. Celeste, if you’re reading this: we love you, we miss you, and your husband let us have all the Goldfish we wanted.
On the road to Bozeman, George slammed on the brakes when he spotted a billboard in Blackfoot, Idaho promising “Free tators for out-of-staters” at the Potato museum. Visions of buttered baked potatoes with sour cream and chives danced in his head. In reality, they handed us a packet of instant potatoes. Instant. Potatoes. George swears they used to give away the real deal when he was a kid—steaming, loaded spuds right out of the oven. Ah, the good old days, when a free potato was a potato and not powder in a pouch. He consoled himself by buying a loaded baked potato at the museum's cafe and muttering about scams while he ate. Finally satiated, we enjoyed the the jaw-dropping fall scenery as we drove through parts of Yellowstone and followed the Gallatin river into Bozeman.
Every story has a soundtrack. Today's is the Potato Song.
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