Editor’s note: The following is a continuing journal of a fictional college student. It is intended to be a humorous and enjoyable feature about an average Joe. It runs weekly, on Fridays. Though written by Iowa State’s own Scott Jacobson, a Daily staff writer, people, places and events detailed below are not analogous to a real student.

---

March 28, 1997

“So there I was, camping out with Eddie in a cow pasture right outside of Mowab, Utah, praying not to be discovered by a stampede of cattle or an angry rancher with a shotgun when I realized that we had to be at the Coors Brewery the next day if we were to be home in time for class on Monday,” I recalled in a dreamy voice.

Man, I love telling Monica stories of spring break that involve livestock, firearms and sleeping bags.

After getting back from my well-deserved week of vacation, she wanted to hear stories of my travels. Before she left for a week in Cancun, I had told her that Eddie and I were planning to get in the car and drive until we either found heaven on Earth, a bar with free pinball, the true (and disgustingly rich) loves of our lives, or the interior of a Mexican jail cell.

She had the nerve to ask me what was fun about that.

Women … can’t live without ’em, can’t be around ’em for more than a week without showering.

After I told her we’ve been doing the same type of thing for the last couple of years, she wanted more details to try to find the entertainment value involved with a week of life on the road.

She wants details — I’ll give her details.

The first weekend was spent in KC sleeping in the car and bathing in the Embassy Suites hot tub, but she was there for most of that. Then, after the tournament ended, we decided to head south — way, way south.

We drove down the Kansas Turnpike which, when traveling with a full bladder, is less enjoyable than being handcuffed to Scrappy Doo for six months straight while living on a diet of Slim-Fast and O’Doul’s.

We were relieved, in more ways than one, when we reached Texas and knew that our goal was in sight.

Earlier, we had heard the song “Amarillo by Morning” as we flipped past one of 30 country stations in Oklahoma, and Eddie grabbed the World Book pocket almanac, smiled and said, “By jove, I think we can make it.”

So after camping out by a lake near Amarillo, we took off for New Mexico to our own little oasis for the day — the White Sands.

Nearly three hundred square miles of white sand, a case of Bud Light and a deck of cards on a warm spring day made for two happy, sunburnt, somewhat loopy vacationers with sand stuck to over 90 percent of their body.

The nearest showers we could find were in a state park on the Rio Grande and we had to pay three dollars each just to hose off and enjoy the view, but the aroma and abrasiveness were gone and we were ready to move on.

After sleeping on the soft surface of a parking lot, we woke up the next morning and headed out to Phoenix for a couple of reasons.

First, some of our friends were staying there and we thought it would be a nice gesture to surprise them and offer to stay there for a day or two, free of charge of course, just because we’re nice like that.

The fact that we would be staying in a mini-mansion that made our accommodations the night before look like, well, a parking lot, didn’t dissuade us, either.

The other reason we wanted to head to Phoenix was that we heard there was a zoo there. Not just any zoo, but one with a lot of monkeys. Man, we love those silly little primates.

After a day in a hot tub and a night on a waterbed, we were a little seasick so we decided to skip the zoo (Eddie shed a tear) and conclude our stay in Arizona with a trip to the Grand Canyon. We’d heard good things, so we wanted to check it out.

However, when we got there, all we saw was this gaping hole in the ground. No ferris wheels, no roller coasters, no cotton candy and there sure as hell weren’t any monkeys.

Some wonder of the world.

So we took some cheesy snapshots and headed toward Colorado via Utah. Don’t ask.

Anyway, that’s how we ended up outside Mowab with our bovine fears, but by the time I got to that part of my story, Monica had fallen asleep listening to my tales of journey.

Poor thing, I guess some people just aren’t cut out to live life on the road by the seat of their pants, eating only Little Debbie snack cakes for survival and rotating two T-shirt/flannel combinations for a week straight.

And to think she’s the one who asked for details.