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The Pioneer Park Basketball League

There’s this guy on Twitter who keeps posting about Pioneer Park’s homeless population in a really low-brow way. He stops to take photos of what he sees as “conflicting” images, then uses them to argue against the $20 million upgrade to the park, which is slated for completion by the end of this year. One of his recent posts shows a homeless person with a necrotic arm passed out near the tennis courts while children play nearby. He uses that photo to claim the park improvements will only benefit the people who already “loiter” there between 10 a.m. and 8 p.m. He fails to mention that shelters have curfews. People leave the park not because they’re done "loitering" — but because they know they’ll lose their bed and meal if they don’t check in on time. Now that I’m living near the park and connected not just by proximity but by community, I find those blind takes misguided. For the past few weeks, around 6 p.m., I’ve walked over to the basketball courts. Yes, the ones surrounde...
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Shooting Star Saloon

A Sunday reset should involve a winding canyon road, higher elevation, a draft beer, and a truly messy burger. There's a small gem tucked into the mountains overlooking Ogden, and it’s been there since 1879. Making the drive out of the way for a 1 p.m. lunch at the Shooting Star Saloon should be a ritual for anyone looking for a real throwback to the good days.

Cash only. Five food items are on the menu. That’s how it should be. It’s not about the drink; it’s about the experience.

The classic jukebox caters only to those who appreciate real songwriting — Johnny Cash, folk legends, and the kind of music that sticks to your ribs. There aren’t many places like the Shooting Star Saloon, nor should there be.

Their signature Star Burger stacks two lean patties around Polish knackwurst and melted cheese — the perfect match for their house Hefeweizen.

The interior is a collage of taxidermy oddities, the most notable being a wolf-like creature rigged to breathe through its own ass. The ceiling is drowning in dollar bills, packed so tight it seems they’re running out of space.

It’s a simple establishment, but one of the truest watering holes you'll ever find. A proper break between runs at Snowbasin. It has an aura that can’t be replicated.

The lone bartender treats you like a long-lost friend. Pulling out your phone almost feels rude, as if the walls themselves reject the intrusion of the modern world. A place that reminds you that some things are better left untouched.