The Utah Paradox

I don’t travel much these days, I suppose.  At least compared to the road warriors who know flight attendants by name and pretty much live in the Platinum Medallion Member’s Clubs.  I probably fly five or so times a year, less if I’m lucky.

Trade shows are an inevitable fact of life for anyone in any industry that sells anything.  The bad news: my industry sells stuff.  The good news: it’s not firearms, pharmaceuticals, or wedding gowns. It’s outdoor equipment, that is, toys for grown-ups.

One of my trade shows, Outdoor Retailer, takes me to Salt Lake City twice a year.  Not a bad place, Salt Lake City.  My dad was born there 72 years ago.  My grandparents lived there for years, and loved it.  I have cousins strewn across the Salt Lake valley.  Some of my fondest childhood memories were formed at the base of the Wasatch front.  My grandparents were not only my grandparents, they were my friends, and I miss ’em.

What gets me is that Utah, in the past twenty years or so, has gone from one of the most beautiful places to live to one of the ugliest.  Blight of all kinds exist up and down the entire I-15 corridor.  There are billboards everywhere, most of them offering tantalizing multi-level get-rich-quick job offers (“Make $100,000 from home starting today!”).   Or cosmetic surgery…I counted 30 of them in a 40 mile stretch.  Or a strange combination of “Refinance your home now!” and “Buy foreclosures now!” sometimes on adjacent billboards.

Then there’s the state car:

So what do I do with this state that was, at one point, so beautiful?  There are still people there I love very much, but the actual landscape is suffering from benign neglect at best and hostility at worst.

What I do is not go there very much.

Sadly,

Canoelover