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Not figuratively like we’re dying or breaking up, but literally. As in, the road trip is over. I’m posting the last of the weirdo signs that are put up to inform you that death is imminent and it’ll be $15 to enter the National Park and take your life into your own hands.

Today we’ll be revisiting Mt. St. Helens, since that is an epic volcano and had numerous signs to tell you that death is looming. This tourist site has zero in the way of welcoming signs. They just plainly state the facts:

enter-blast-zone

Welcome to the death zone. The fee per adult is $8. Pay at the building on the top…if you make it there before the next explosion.

The scenery is breathtaking and you kind of forget about this sign as you drive. But within a few short minutes you are reminded. I mean, there’s a huge hole in the side of the mountain top and you can see the carnage all around. Trees, trees, trees, and then…..BAM!! The trees abruptly end and all you see is barren rock with nothing on it.

Very disorienting when you live in the PacNorWest. (I have no idea if I wrote that right. The Navy makes it one word and the civilians are no help in this situation. They all call it something different. So we’re going with my spelling. Got a problem with that?!!)

So you make it to the top and you are searching for the Run From the Volcano As Fast As You Can sign that was in the other parks with volcanoes. There are none of those signs. That’s when it hits you, there is no hope. If the mountain blows again, you’re just dead. Skis won’t help in this park, this volcano is a beast who wipes out everything for miles around.

Fuck the tour, we skipped the museum and hightailed it out of there with our pictures.

leave-blast-zone

And I felt pure joy upon seeing this sign.

Almost as much joy as I felt each time we found a bathroom right when my nephew piped in with his demands. We didn’t die and we didn’t pee our pants. (Though I must say, this drive with their scary signs made it a close call for me personally.)


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