Our Story

For years, I made the classic road-trip from Salt Lake to places like Las Vegas and Lake Powell. And somewhere between craving gas station snacks and dodging tumbleweeds, I realized something: there were certain places I just refused to stop at. Not because they were too crowded or out of the way—nope. It was the restrooms.
If the bathroom looked like it required hazmat gear, I was out. I’d wait an extra 50 miles for that golden oasis with clean facilities and a halfway decent air freshener. And of course, once I stopped, I’d reward them with the full road trip bundle: a soda the size of my head, a bag of chips, and some ice that would probably melt before I got to my destination.
I felt bad for the other spots—the mom-and-pops and big-name fuel giants that missed the mark. Not because they didn’t have good fuel or snacks, but because they didn’t get it: sometimes, you just want to wash your hands without feeling like you need to wash your soul too.