North of Lehi is a low range of hills that separates the Provo metro area from the Salt Lake City metro area. I drive I-15 through the hill into the southern part of the Salt Lake Valley, which is bounded by mountains on three sides. To the west is the Oquirrh Mountains, containing the largest manmade excavation in the world, the Bingham Canyon copper mine. The small town of Bingham Canyon, located 1500 feet above the Jordan River valley, provides housing to Rio Tinto mine workers. It is not a bad place to live, unlike many mining towns, although the western horizon of the town is dominated by a giant mountain of mine tailings. The town is at a dead end, mine traffic having been rerouted to a new entrance a few miles south. At the entrance station, I ask if I can enter the mine and take pictures. The security guard replies that they haven't allowed visitors into the mine ever since "the slide." I later found out that one of the largest human-caused landslides in history spilled 150 million tons of dirt into the mine three years ago.
Taylorsville is a well-groomed suburb of West Valley City, occupying a small area of land on the west bank of the Jordan River bisected by I-215. The dull roar of the interstate provides a constant backdrop of sound, but the "town" is pleasant enough, with enough bike paths and green spaces to put any progressive city to shame. The Jordan River itself is a rather sluggish stream, flowing through wetlands full of lush green grass and trees. A small flock of white pelicans with horned beaks relax in the river, while numerous bicyclists and joggers pass by me. At one point, a bicycling family passes me, dad up front, a dozen kids stretched out for half a mile, and mom guarding the rear. Big families are the norm here. Just past the dank interstate underpass, groups of golfers tee and putt their way through a riverside course.
North on State Street through heavy development into Salt Lake City proper. Salt Lake City (and most other flatland Utah cities) has a relatively simple grid system, much like a Cartesian graph. The basis of the system is the origin (Temple Square South Gate, in SLC), from which x (East/West) and y (North/South) axes emanate. Roads are numbered by the distance in blocks they are from the parallel axis. Thus, an east/west road five blocks south of South Temple Road (the x axis) would be called 500 South (x,-5). A north/south road two blocks east of Main Street (the parallel y axis) is called 200 East (y,2). On each of these roads, addresses are denoted by a second coordinate. 421 East 500 South, for example, would be an address on 500 South a little over 4 blocks east of Main Street (4.21, 5).
Of course, the grid is broken up or divided by natural features like rivers, as well as manmade features like expressways and subdivisions. My first night in Salt Lake City, I parked on a quiet residential street, 1100 West, dead ended by the river. 900 South dead ended just across the same river. Pedestrian bridges connected the two. If I had wanted to go to the city center, I would simply have to walk 11 blocks east, then 9 north.
The next morning, I found a parking spot next to a dealership on 200 East below 500 South, just outside the parking meter zone. The library was one block north. A large plaza, complete with a fountain, topped the parking deck below. Inside the ultra-modern five-story glass-walled building was a courtyard containing a library bookstore and a cafe. Groups of people crowded the few tables or sat around waiting for the imminent opening of the library. The library information clerk joked that this city would be better called Small Lake City, as the city center is so compact.
Like most big city libraries, armed security patrolled the place, although their only duty seemed to be waking up the homeless napping at the tables. I researched a little about the city, then set out walking into the heart of of the city. Free light-rail and bus service is offered in the downtown core area. The streets and sidewalks are uncrowded and relatively clean. I stop off at a downtown gun store, my first time in an urban gun shop. Young couples browsed through handguns, quietly conversing among themselves, while a group of guys conversed animatedly in the rifle section. Other customers looked through half a dozen shelves stacked with ammunition. The clerks were helpful but did not buttonhole everyone who came through the door. They also did not open carry. Their selection of shotgun slugs was meagre, and no Brenneke slugs were to be found.
I strolled down to Temple Square, which is owned by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and mostly open to the public. The gardens were in full bloom, thousands and thousands of tulips and pansies and flowers in every possible color. Visitors included a Chinese tour group, numerous Mormon families, a few non-Mormon locals, and some school groups. Two visitor centers featured various exhibits of LDS art, including an 11 foot marble statue of Jesus. Most of the buildings were staffed by very friendly missionary sisters from around the world.
The buildings and grounds were immaculately maintained. Just outside Temple Square, the Church History Museum showcased the history of the Saints from Joseph Smith's childhood up until their expulsion from Illinois. Obviously, their retelling of the Mormon Wars in Missouri was slanted toward the LDS side, but they did feature snippets from their opposition. The exhibits were very professionally designed, and included many interactive presentations. Almost every possession of Joseph Smith has been preserved, from his eyeglasses to his clothes (punctured with bullet holes) to the pepperbox revolver he unsuccessfully attempted to defend himself with when his jail cell was attacked by an angry mob. I decide to watch an hour-long LDS infomercial called "Meet the Mormons", and by the time I leave, the sky is blue and the sun is shining for the first time since Zion.
North of Temple Square, the road rises steeply up toward the Utah State Capitol building. A tourist crowd was gathered on the steps, and various others relaxed on the massive lawn. A block away from the building, a steep walking path descended into City Creek Canyon, where the artificially channeled City Creek cascaded down from its mountain origins through a verdant canyon into a holding pond at Memorial Grove Park. A hiking trail ran beside it, and many local residents availed themselves of a quiet, natural escape from the city, not 15 minutes walking distance from Temple Square.
A block south of Temple Square is the City Creek, the business center of Salt Lake City. A few hippies played music on the sidewalks, although the crowd was light. Even though it is a Friday night, I am running quite low on travel funds, so I walk on back down to my truck. I drive out east along 600 South and end up at Trolley Square, a rather quiet and stale mall, at 8:30 pm. A group of bookworms chats in a musty bookstore. In the Desert Edge Pub, the bar is empty, although the restaurant tables are crowded. Several other Italian restaurants in the building are also winding down for the night.
I park for the night on 500 East just outside Liberty Park near the Tracy Aviary. The park is dimly lit, but fitness fanatics are out in full force. A high fence obscures my truck from the nearby houses. A few strange bird calls from the aviary. The sun rises through the grove of trees in the park, and the morning fitness fanatics are everywhere. In the park, a rather old homeless couple sits around a picnic table, smoking listlessly, not even bothering to walk out into the sun and warm up. The park restroom is a mess, dirty toilet paper everywhere, names scrawled on the walls with Sharpie. A faucet outside is stuck running, contributing to Utah's reputation as the most water-hungry state in the country.
I park in the same place I parked yesterday. A block away is the Center City Recreation Center, where showers cost two bucks. The same crowd of bums and hipsters are waiting for the library to open again. There is no prohibition on bringing large personal possessions into the library, so many of the bums carry enormous blanket rolls around. Repurposed parking meters around the city ask residents to give a hand up, not a handout, and place their spare change in the meters rather than give it to panhandlers.
Time to check out the city again; maybe I'll bring my camera along this time.
