This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

Sonny and I are leaving Wednesday for a road trip around the southern part of Utah. It's almost spring and time to get out of the house. We don't care where we're going; we're free to do whatever we like. Our wives said we could.

Sonny's wife: "Don't call me if you hurt someone, even if it wasn't on purpose."

My wife: "You stay within sight of Sonny at all times."

This refers to the number of times I've gotten lost while just wandering about. And therein lies the secret of real road-tripping.

People will tell you that real road-tripping has elements to it. True, but not as many as you think. There are really only three: leave, go somewhere, come back.

The reality is that an honest road trip is more art than a science. You have to roll with it and let the road take you where it will. Follow your nose. Be creative.

Once, while my wife was in Canada visiting her family, I went to have lunch with some friends in West Valley and ended up at Dead Horse Point near Moab instead. I don't know. It just … happened. And it was great.

This time I called Sonny and asked, "Wanna go driving on Wednesday?" A veteran tripper, the only question he asked was, "How long?"

For some reason, family and friends and work always want to know when/if you're coming back from a trip. I expect it has something to do with scheduling, the very thing a road trip is intended to alleviate.

Here's how I figured it would go. I'll pick up Sonny early Wednesday morning. He'll have a large first-aid kit, a giant bag of pork rinds, assorted medications, sleeping bag and upward of 15 guns.

He'll throw all that stuff in the back with my gear — a matching set of Tooele Tourister luggage (garbage bags) filled with clothing, a shoe, a laptop computer and a camera.

I'll start driving south through Spanish Fork canyon. Along the way we'll take turns cursing old injuries. If we survive the canyon, the rest we'll just make up as we go along.

Sonny and I can do this because he's retired and my office is anywhere there's a cellphone signal. As long as I make deadline, I could be at a goat rodeo in Botswana for all my editors care.

At least, it used to be that way. I got a new editor last summer. Her name is Rachel and she's, like, I don't know, 18. Anyway, I'm old enough to be her grandfather. Not that age matters. Rachel is smarter than me. And she's mean.

When I casually mentioned that I might go wandering down into southeastern Utah whenever the mood suited me, she suggested/ordered me to alert readers in the area. They could alert us to events, sights, or other things that need reporting on by an idiot.

Me: "You know we stopped delivering to most of those places, right?"

Her: "Yes, but those places are still there, right? Get something good."

And that's how an innocent road trip with so much potential for wasting time playing with road kill and getting lost was transformed into an assignment.

March 16-20, people. Fair warning. We might be in Green River, Moab, Cisco, Thompson Springs, Book Cliffs, Colorado, New Mexico, or Machu Picchu. We won't know for sure unless you tell us.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.