Earlier this month, Kim Kardashian and her newest beau, Formula One Ferrari driver Lewis Hamilton, were spotted near Lake Powell.
Or as we like to call it ’round these parts, “Lake Pal.”
I know that Kardashian and Hamilton stayed at Amangiri, a luxury resort that costs visitors thousands of dollars a night. I know that they probably never dipped a single immaculately pedicured toe into Lake Powell. I know that their trip to Lake Powell looked nothing like the trips to Lake Powell many of us grew up taking.
But, for the purposes of this column, it’s really fun, and it’s really making me laugh, pretending these two drove a houseboat, built a campfire and had taco salad for every meal, just like all the rest of us.
Imagine Lewis Hamilton driving a speedboat, which we know he can drive really fast, and Kim Kardashian laying on an inflatable rubber tube in the wake, white-knuckling the handles as Hamilton floors it over choppy waters, trying to knock her off the tube in the tradition of every uncle of yore.
Imagine Kim being on the orange flag duty — raising the flag high above her head to alert other boaters that Hamilton has lost his balance while wakeboarding and fallen below the surface, so the drivers and their boat propellers steer clear of the area. Imagine them telling each other the possibly-not-true-but-maybe-true stories about wake boarders getting sliced in half by propellers.
I like to picture the two of them cliff jumping somewhere in Iceberg Canyon, Hamilton going first, then coaxing Kardashian from the water 30 feet below. Kardashian hesitates, but sees a group of junior high boys a cliff away, jumping from a similar height. She decides she, an international superstar, can’t be outdone by a group of 13-year olds and finally jumps. She has a splitting headache for the rest of the trip.
I love the idea of Hamilton and Kardashian heading to the Bullfrog marina to refuel their MasterCraft, and popping into the store for some Creamies, lifejackets still on, dripping, wet flip-flops smacking the linoleum floor.
Maybe they pick a VHS from the collection of four VHS tapes on the houseboat to watch on the small TV and VCR from 1997. The options would probably be “Hook,” “Steel Magnolias,” “The Buttercream Gang” and “Mission Impossible 2,” but the “Mission Impossible 2” tape is probably only good for one more viewing and gets really staticky about 40 minutes in.
Maybe Kardashian forgot to re-up the sunscreen while jet skiing so she gets tomato-red just on the front side of her body and has to spend a whole day of the trip on the top level of the houseboat, covered in aloe, sitting in the shade, playing solitaire, while Hamilton takes the jet ski for a solo ride.
Maybe they get bored and try to fish for carp using a string from the first aid kit tied to a loose stick, with a mini marshmallow for bait. Maybe after hours of trying they learn, just like the rest of us had to, that carp don’t care for mallows.
I wonder if they opened the cooler on Day 4 and realized the meat and milk had spoiled, so they had to eat nothing but beef jerky, dry Lucky Charms, Chips Ahoy and mushy grapes for the rest of their time on the water.
What would really impress me would be learning that Kardashian and Hamilton successfully parked and anchored the houseboat. More specifically, learning that their relationship survived the process of parking and anchoring the houseboat. Because nothing will challenge a relationship quite like that process. There will never be more yelling. Or more finger pointing. Or a more a aggressive us of a reverse button than there is when someone is attempting to park and anchor a houseboat.
Or maybe they decided to skip the houseboat all together and sleep under the stars, an idea we have all thought was a good and romantic one at some point in our lives and but then realized wasn’t after awaking with ten thousand mosquito bites and a sore neck.
I bet they spent their last morning at the lake cleaning the houseboat and fighting over who had to scrub the toilet, which functions like an airplane toilet only less powerfully. Then I bet they argued over who had to handle the pump out at the marina. Maybe this is their first fight.
Or maybe none of this happened. In fact, I know that none of this happened. I know that in reality, Hamilton and Kardashian had a luxurious weekend with gourmet meals and white glove service. And that sounds really lovely, for them. But imagining them doing Lake Powell like Utahns has made me realize that Hamilton and Kardashian missed out on a foundational experience that keeps Utah families returning to the water like sailors at the sea heeding the sirens’ calls. Because despite the mosquitos and the propellor stories and the likely spoiled food, it’s always a vacation full of the best family memories.
Time to get a ‘Pal’ on the calendar.