day 16—salty but sweet

Armed with a freshly purchased Walgreens knee brace and a sprain diagnosis from Draper Instacare, we were recalibrating again.

Penny Ann’s Café buzzed with Saturday-morning energy as we stepped inside, one of us hobbling. The warm aroma of pancakes mingled with the faint tang of stale coffee, creating a delightful scent.

If you haven’t caught on yet, we’re diner people, and this one hit every note. No more than ten tables hugged the walls of what was clearly once someone’s home. Behind the faux-marble bar, a cluster of waitresses leaned against red vinyl stools, their bold lipstick perfectly matching.

One broke away, menus in one hand and a steaming coffee pot in the other.

“Coffee?”

No greeting, no small talk. It was like she already knew us. I loved it.

We nodded in unison as she filled our mugs to the brim, the steam rising like an unspoken promise of a good morning.

We shared biscuits and gravy while Trent opted for the chicken-stuffed waffles. As we savored each bite, we couldn’t help but reminisce about the past week, reflecting on its triumphs, mishaps, and everything in between.

At the top of the list? Seeing Payton and Bobby. And, of course, skiing—before Trent’s accident.

At the bottom? See above.

By the time our third coffee refill started to cool, we were back on I-80, heading west.

As we left the Salt Lake City suburbs, nothingness unfolded in every direction. It was strangely beautiful. Except for a lone gas station or what looked like someone’s failed roadside business venture, there wasn’t much to break the monotony.

“How does someone end up living out here?” I asked, glancing over at Trent.

“Probably someone who doesn’t want to be around other people,” he replied.

I could relate.

Throughout the past year, there were numerous occasions when I felt the urge to get away from 'people.' Drivers who fail to use their turn signals. Parents who allow their children to infringe on your personal space. And most annoyingly, hikers who play their music out loud.

But had I become so burnt out that I couldn’t see the beauty in humanity any more? Had those little irritants blinded me to the fact that what annoyed me might bring someone joy?

The blinker-less driver might be lost in a compelling audiobook or so content with their day that they don’t feel the need to plan their route. The kid standing too close might finally be breaking out of their shell, and their parent is silently grateful.

We’ve all said it at some point: “I want to escape society. Buy some land and live off it.”

Okay, maybe not the land part. But who hasn’t wanted to get away from their fellow humans now and then?

As I stared out the window, I thought about the people who lived out here. What annoyed them?

The scenery started to shift, with the edges of the highway covered in what resembled sand. Tire marks intersected the ground like fingerprints, and a variety of debris was strewn about, left behind by time.

“I guess you’d have to be a little salty to live out here,” I said, laughing before I could even finish the pun.

Trent tried to hold back a grin, but his laughter broke free.

And then we saw it: the sand wasn’t sand—it was salt. We took it as a sign we were getting close. When the GPS directed us to a dirt road parallel to the highway, we hesitated.

“Are we sure about this?” Trent asked.

“Skeptical, but curious,” I replied, as he turned onto the road.

The dirt track quickly gave way to a crusty expanse of salt, its surface veined with cracks like the earth itself had grown brittle.

“We’re allowed to drive on this, right?” Trent inquired.

“Yes,” I assured him. “As long as it’s dry. Looks pretty dry to me.”

We rambled onward, the Bonneville Salt Flats stretching endlessly before us, white and dazzling under the sun, like a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

We didn’t know what this place was like in the summer—or when water covered it—but for now, we had it to ourselves.

Before we set out, we equipped Charlie with her goggles and boots—not just for protection, but also because we couldn’t resist her adorable appearance.

We grabbed her favorite ball and let her loose. Fetch out here was a dream. For nearly an hour, Charlie darted across the salt, tripping over her paws in pure, joyful abandon.

“This is her life,” I remarked, watching her bounce through the salt flats.

“This is our life,” Trent corrected, as he flashed that smile I so adored.

As the sun sank lower, we made our way back to the van to find camp for the night.

Beyond the salt flats lay a stunning backdrop: the Silver Island mountains, dotted with several dispersed camping sites.

We passed a few adequate spots but were drawn to ones deeper in the emerald expanse. The more necessary AWD, the better.

After passing on a couple of spots due to uneven ground, we stumbled upon one near a cave that offered sweeping views of the flats.

Before Trent even put the van in park, I knew he wanted to explore it, despite his current predicament.

“Does this look like a good spot to you? That cave looks pretty cool.”

“Yeah, let’s check it out!”

Was I worried about his knee? Absolutely. Was I going to stop him? Not a chance.

He rewrapped his knee and grabbed the hiking poles my dad had gifted us. The short path leading up to the cave was anything but flat, with rocks threatening to introduce you to the ground beneath you.

“The van definitely wouldn’t have made it up here,” Trent said, though I knew he’d secretly wanted to try.

As we carefully made our way up, Charlie scouted ahead, ever the leader and adventurer.

With our egos set aside, we ventured into the cave, barely 10 feet deep, but with a view that made it feel like a hidden treasure.

“Pretty neat to have this all to ourselves,” Trent said, taking in the stillness.

I savored the silence before we made our way back to the van to start dinner. I was finally getting comfortable using the stove again.

It wasn’t long before the ‘people’ showed up. Around 6:00 PM, six or seven cars rumbled up the dirt road and parked just outside the cave, despite us already being set up for the night.

People, I tell ya—just trying to enjoy a cave.