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

So although my trip out west was amazing, my trip back to the Gnome Abode was not so much. After two days of misery and torture, I was JUST released from the shackles and chains of the TSA dungeon. I bet you didn’t even know there was a TSA dungeon at your local airport. Well I’m here to tell you that there is, I’ve seen it first hand, and it’s not a pretty sight.

During my time in Zion National Park, I encountered a wilderness gnome and quickly befriended him. He doesn’t speak Gnomish or English, so I’m not even sure what his name is. Apparently, he’s a crystal miner by trade and works in the depths of the Zion canyons. I wonder if that’s why his eyes are so red. Or maybe it’s just because he’s perpetually high. Until I learn to comprehend his grunts, I guess I’ll never know.

Anyway, I convinced him that he should visit the Gnome Abode and take a much needed vacation from his tiresome workdays. He’s pretty small, which makes it easy to squeeze through tight crevices and also into my travel satchel. I never suspected that the TSA agents in the airport security line would cause a ruckus over the joining of my new companion. Boy, was I wrong.

Fortunately, I had my Gnomeland passport safely tucked away and flashed it at the security agents upon the first sign of trouble.

I recently got it renewed so it accurately reflects my full name, Sheldon A. Rumplesphincter, date of birth 8/24/1683, place of birth Ingolstadt, Bavaria, and occupation travel writer/male stripper. Hey don’t judge, writing doesn’t pay all the bills!

The ass wad TSA agent rudely scoffed that there was no such thing as a Gnomeland passport that that security would arrive soon to escort me and my dirty friend out of the airport. Fortunately, I’m a hoarder by nature and had even kept the envelope that my passport was mailed to me in. The Gnome Passport Office is located in Canada so clearly, that American idiot must have forgotten there are other countries besides this one out there.

Those idiot agents were still not convinced that I was a legitimate traveler, let alone my nameless miner friend. Therefore, I had to pull out my A game and start name dropping. I whipped out business cards for professional and world renown gnome travelers, Sir Ced and Sir Tommy. I encourage aforementioned idiots to send them a quick email to verify my traveler status. Unfortunately, the Wi-fi in the airport was down so they had to call a technician out to fix the Interweb before they could email my references.

Somehow, it took two days for the Wi-fi to be back up and running at the airport and for the TSA agents to get a response back from Sir Ced and Sir Tommy vouching for my legitimacy. During these past two days, me and my new buddy were locked up in chains somewhere below the airport sewer system in a pitch black room with no pretzels, grog, or flight attendant service.

After a hearty groping session, we finally got home to The Gnome Abode and we are exhausted, cranky, and sober. An awful combination. More to come soon about my actual journey and the amazing time I had in Zion National Park and Vegas.

But for now, I just had to bitch and whine. Hope you don’t mind. Hey that’s a rhyme!

Signing off with a bottle of scotch and a pillow,

Sheldon The Gnome (and nameless creepy miner gnome from the desert who seems to be cuddling up next to me and I don’t know how I feel about it)