Good memories come from bad ideas

There are two phone calls I look forward to every year. The first is my dad calling to sing me "Happy Birthday." The second call is my dad calling to ask me if I'm going to take my small sedan to Jeep Safari Weekend in Moab, UT.

While the first call is obvious, the second deserves explanation. You see, I'm the poster child for the phrase, "There's a time and a place for everything. It's called college."

To demonstrate. In the spring of 1997, I loaded up a couple of my Utah buddies, copious amounts of Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer and headed to Jeep Safari Weekend driving one of these:

Not one of these:
Which was no big deal for the portion of my journey that was from Price to Moab. Where I began to have troubles was when I used the 1985 Toyota Camry to negotiate jeep trails in Moab. After three days of driving from trails, to campsites, to town; I knew I had scraped bottom, but was otherwise not concerned about the state of my car.

After said weekend of testing my mad sedan driving skills, I went back home to Colorado. I was enjoying sleeping in at my parents house when the door burst open and my dad entered the room. "What. In. The. Hell. Happened. To. Your. Car?!"

I mulled it over, decided to come clean and then found out that the undercarriage and suspension had sustained over $1800 in damage and I was lucky to have made it home in one piece.

Now, every Easter weekend, on Friday, my dad calls me. "So. You heading to Jeep Safari this weekend?" and we laugh about my adventures as a college kid.

And you know what? It never gets old. That phone call is as important and joy filled to me as the happy birthday song I get every year in Feburary.