Another month has passed and another trip was due. I decided to venture westward towards the desert of southwest Utah in search of deep canyons, steep cliffs, and perhaps a few Mormon wives.

I set up camp at the National Park campgrounds and had a spectacular view of mountainous terrain and slutty high school girls on a church retreat.

Canyoneering was pretty intense, so I left the hard core rapelling, stemming, and traversing for the professionals in my guide group. I took one look at that murky water down below and feared that my aging ceramic bones would never survive such a fall in one piece.

After a few wrong turns and substantial dehydration, I finally located my canyoneering guide and badass trip mates. It’s easy for a little gnome like me to get lost in such magnificent and whacked out places. While wandering around, I accidentally palmed a cactus. Thank goodness I brought my MacGyver multi-tool and tweezed out each and every one of those prickly bastards.

Ahhhh. Finally. A place that I could call home. My tour guide had to literally drag me by the satchel kicking and screaming to leave my new-found “Gnome Abode” that I fit absolutely perfect inside. Sure there were frogs and lizards everywhere, but they were friendly and I finally found my peace here. I hated leaving and I hate that guide every time I look back at this photo.

After two days of canyoneering badassery, my travel companions and I drove a couple hours til we reached Vegas. I’m not a big gambler myself, although many gnomes in The Abode would have envied my access to slot machines.

A few days before my departure, I read an article in the International Gnome Club Newsletter about an art exhibit in a random park just off of the Vegas Strip. Sure enough, there were gnomes there. Two of them. They were huge. They were made of styrofoam. And they didn’t really speak any sort of coherent language. Here is one of them and me just staring at each other because we were unable to communicate whatsoever. Styrofoam must kill brain cells. That’ts my only explanation.

As soon as I went over to visit the second Styrofoam gnome, who was seductively lounging on the blazing concrete, he tried to eat me. EAT ME! Gnomes DO NOT eat other gnomes. I repeat DO NOT. Can you refer to this as cannibalism or is cannibalism only used for human-upon-human consumption. Hmmm….something to Google later.

After that traumatic experience I was ready for a stiff drink. Or seven. Pina Coladas were my drink of choice due to the 100 degree heat. Yes, I’m aware that this drink is as tall as I am. And yes, I can hold my liquor. So screw you!

After a few tasty beverages, I decided that I would learn to swim. I’ve never swam before, but I actually wasn’t too bad at it. I did okay at floating and blowing bubbles. That’s pretty much the first step to winning Olympic gold anyway, isn’t it?

Vegas was pretty relaxing. I shacked up with some hookers at the Stratosphere for a few days, but then got bored and ran out of cash.

This journey was the ultimate best of both worlds. I camped, I canyoneered,  I climbed, I drank, I swam, and I screwed. All in all a wonderful trip and another stamp in my passport.

Back at The Gnome Abode but really missing the West now that I’m looking at these pictures,

Sheldon The Traveling Gnome