Dune Buggy

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En route back to Salt Lake City, we debated making a final hike but instead opted to make our routine visit to my aging grandpa’s house. After all the mayhem of the last year or so, I can’t help but feel like we’ve got to soak up our parents’ parents while we still can.

We hadn’t called ahead but he was elated to see us anyway and I was instantly sure we’d made the right choice. Grandpa’s has struggled with his memory in recent years but on this day, he was the grandpa from my childhood- sharp and completely unable to sit still. He queried us about our weekend, and when I told him about the magic we’d found at the sand dunes, he lit up. “We’ve got to go to the shop!” he declared, and we piled in the truck for the quick trip to his mechanical sanctuary.

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On the other end of his tiny town, we found his new prize parked lonely in the big outbuilding: a little dune buggy, freshly painted. He could barely contain his excitement. Ben and I took turns letting grandpa blast us around the back roads of Southern Utah, our eyes welling as the spring chill blasted our faces, smiling all the way.

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We mulled over the details of an upcoming trip back to the  dunes to give the little car a try, and then hit the road toward home.

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