SPRINGVILLE -- Warren Shenk hops behind the wheel of his stick-shift 1987 red Jeep at 5 a.m. and cranks the engine to a sleepy growl.
In his trusty Cherokee with "Hoosiers" license plates and a burned-out left headlight, Shenk settles in for the second commute of his work week.About 214 miles down.
Only 856 miles to go until Friday.
For six years, Shenk, a bespectacled man captivated by the art of conversation, has driven each day from his Utah County home to his job as a history teacher at Evanston High School.
Yes, that's Evanston. Wyoming. Four hours a day. Five days a week. For nine months of the year.
Commuters bemoaning traffic jams on I-15 have nothing on Shenk. A 45-minute trip from Sandy to downtown Salt Lake City? A snap. Whining about an hour drive from Ogden? Wimps.
"My objective when I leave my house is to get to my classroom safe," he says, his glasses reflecting a green glow from the lights of the dashboard in the morning darkness.
"Some people ask me if I worry about driving all that way. I just say that my wife does the worrying for me."
His path is set. With National Public Radio as his traveling companion, he takes a two-lane Springville highway to University Avenue, which leads to still-under-construction Provo Canyon. After leaving the winding canyon road, he cruises through Heber City and over toward Park City. From U.S. 40 he takes I-80 to Evanston.
"I may not own this road -- but I know it. I really know this road," says Shenk, an admitted light sleeper who doesn't mind waking at 4:15 a.m. to start his day on time -- a few hours before the sun rolls over the eastern hills to light his drive.
Shenk delights in the moonlight splashing across drifts of snow along the road in Provo Canyon. An hour later, he notes the soft pink hue of a Wanship mountainside in early sunlight.
"If this drive wasn't so beautiful, I don't know if I'd do it," he said, amazingly alert.
As usual for this sleepy city that was fueled by the petroleum boom in the 1980s, the wind is blowing as Shenk pulls into his parking space. It's 7:15 a.m., three hours after his day began.
"I like to have a little time to myself before it gets too chaotic," he says as he walks through the empty lot. After a cup of coffee, he chats with students in his room for a mixed dose of cartoons and MSNBC before the morning bell heralds in lectures on the Monroe Doctrine.
His lengthy daily road trip prompts the question: Why would he -- or anyone -- want to drive that far, every day, for a job that could be done less than five miles from his porch?
Shenk chuckles at the query. It's not the first time he's been asked. Or even the 100th.
And it won't be the last for the man who passes through more than a dozen cities, four counties and two states to arrive each day at a two-story 1,160-student hillside school.
To Shenk, the answer is simple: His home is Springville. His work is Evanston's future.
The time it takes to get to both places, he says, is inconsequential.
Mostly, though, family ties keep him from moving closer to Evanston. The Indiana native and his wife, Mary Ellen, moved in with her parents when the elderly couple needed continual care. He offered to commute to the job after he realized he couldn't displace the family from a town they'd lived in for most of their lives.
Shenk, who is a convert to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, came to Utah 21 years ago to attend law school at Brigham Young University. Shortly after enrolling, he decided to return to the classroom. Nebo School District's Payson Junior High School was his haunt for 15 years -- until he grew weary of overcrowded, under-equipped classrooms.
"It became glorified baby-sitting," he said. "I just got tired of it."
After trying to land a few administrative posts in Utah districts, he received a call from the Wyoming school. They offered slightly higher pay, smaller classes and stricter discipline policies.
During an interview, he asked if employees were required to live within the school district's boundaries. "The human resource guy looked at me and said, 'You're not thinking of driving it every day, are you?' " he recalled. "They thought I was going to be short timer."
"I remember the first week. The first day, I was going, 'This isn't going to be that bad.' By Friday I was pulling over to take a 10-minute nap."
That was several hundred thousand miles ago. And with 330,000 miles, the Cherokee, not known for low fossil-fuel consumption but it rarely breaks down, is about 170,000 shy of retirement.
"I'll just probably get another Jeep," he said. "I'm sold on the Jeep."
On the whole, he finds students in Evanston more respectful and interested in learning -- a heady lure for a man whose admitted driving passion is dispensing lessons about the past.
School secretary Pat Hadley is amazed at Shenk's pre-dawn, at-dusk trek. Does she find it odd?
"It is to me. I'm not sure I'd do it," she said, laughing. "I really think he has a vested interest in our students and wants to see they get a good education."
"I was interested in why he did it. I wondered, why would he drive to Evanston?" said Karen Christensen, a student aide. "He stays for the environment of the school. He likes it."
Shenk doesn't rush out the door at the 3 p.m. bell. He opts instead to watch over an hourlong detention period before tackling the two-hour drive.
It's after 4 p.m. by the time he walks across the near-empty lot. He drives to a small Sinclair for gas -- he fills the tank daily -- and grabs a soda to chug on the way home.
"It's not oxygenated here," he said of the fuel, adding that the Jeep gets 23 miles per gallon. "I tried the gas (in Utah County) once and my mileage went down five miles per gallon. That doesn't sound like a lot, but for me, after a week, that's one trip to Evanston."
Problems or lesson plans gone askew are sorted out in his mind as the setting sun races between mile markers from the side window. News radio, books-on-tape and Eric Clapton also help pass the time.
"I use the 107 miles to get it out of my system so I don't take a bad day out on my wife."
Shenk, who has a radar detector mounted to his dashboard, recalls receiving two speeding tickets from highway patrolmen. Both times, after telling officers why he was rushing along the stretch, the officers replied, "Oh, so you're that teacher."
"I finally said, 'OK. I want to know what you guys have said about me,' " he said, smiling.
Just about this time of year, he says, eyes twinkling, he keeps an eye out for Utah frat boys making a run to the Wyoming border for the state's more potent beer. Cases and kegs of the ale line the side of the roads after police spot and stop the cars.
He's been in one accident during his travels, when a deer bolted into the road and he couldn't stop before hitting the animal. A body shop replaced the front end of the Jeep and it was back on the road in a few weeks.
Determined to keep a near-perfect attendance record, Shenk has also rented cars while his were being serviced. And despite the strange looks he receives when he talks about his job's location, he seems nonplused at the attention that word of his commute attracts.
"There have been times I've been tired and I've realized I've got 107 miles ahead of me, but that's been few and far between," he said, shifting gears as he heads out of Evanston for the second time in a week.
"Really, the 10 miles from BYU to Springville is the most treacherous."