Most everywhere else in the country, “trekkies” are rabid fans of Gene Roddenberry’s “Star Trek” television series. In general, these people tend to be socially awkward misfits who dress up in funny costumes and pretend to come from a distant time.

But here in Utah, a “trekkie” is slightly different. Oh, they’re still socially awkward misfits who dress funny and pretend to come from another time. But Utah’s trekkies are from the past, not the future.

Welcome to the fascinating world of Pioneer Trek.

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Each summer, tens of thousands of members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints reenact the Mormon migration to Salt Lake City by pushing and pulling handcarts all over Wyoming and other remote places. They begin the experience by descending upon the local Deseret Industries thrift stores like swarms of locust, buying up any and all clothing that looks even vaguely pioneer-ish. They usually then complete the circle of life by donating those very same outfits back to D.I. the week after their trek — thus enabling future trekkies to briefly buy them.

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For males, pioneer attire means long-sleeved button-up shirts in neutral colors, cotton or canvas pants with suspenders, and wide-brimmed western or straw hats. For females, it’s calf- to ankle-length dresses or skirts/blouses, with aprons and bonnets.

Such outfits look right at home on a pioneer reenactment in the wilds of Wyoming, not so much at convenience stores and truck stops on the way to and from such events. My favorite thing to do in these situations is approach a fellow trekkie and say, loudly enough for others to hear: “Wilt thou, thy wives and thy 30 children be partaking of the soft-serve ice-cream cones at Little America, Brother Ezekiel?”

I figure it’ll give the tourists something to talk about at least until the next rest stop.

It had been five years since our local congregation last imposed one of these forced marches on its 14- to 18-year-old youth, so 2017 was destined to be The Year of the Trek in our LDS ward. And as my current church calling involves working with these youth, I was conscripted as a fellow trekkie.

This year’s trek — endured last week — took place in and around Martin’s Cove, in central Wyoming.

For Mormon trekkies, the area around Martin’s Cove is the ultimate Comic Con of the pioneer experience. It was there in 1856 that two handcart companies — the Martin and Willie companies — were caught in an October snowstorm. Both groups suffered grave hardships, including more than 200 deaths among the roughly 1,000 pioneers who started the journey.

For many Mormons, Martin’s Cove has become a symbol of the dedication and sacrifice exhibited by early Mormon pioneers gathering to Zion.

Like those original pioneers who began their handcart journey dangerously late in the season, a flat tire made our arrival at trek equally tardy.

Pushing and pulling handcarts into the setting sun, our little group struggled against a strong headwind the few miles to our first campsite, where we set up tents. Sort of. Because just you try setting up what amounts to a free-standing parasail in gale-force winds.

There’s been some disagreement about where the word Wyoming comes from. According to a project of the Wyoming State Historical Society, in various native American languages “Wyoming” means “large plains,” or “mountains and valleys alternating,” or “at the big river flat,” or even “a large prairie place.”

Personally? I suspect “Wyoming” translates, quite literally, as “land of the horizontally blowing ticks.”

That’s because, as it turns out, Wyoming is world famous for exactly two things — incessantly strong winds, and hoards of ticks, mosquitoes and other blood-sucking insects.

There’s not much you can do about the wind, except maybe lean into it. As for the ticks, other than hoping they all get blown clear to Nebraska, there is something called permethrin.

I’d never even heard of permethrin before pioneer trek. But apparently it’s a wonder chemical developed for the U.S. military that bonds with fabric on the molecular level to kill ticks, mosquitoes and the like on contact. The insecticide also supposedly lasts through a half-dozen wash cycles.

We spent a small fortune treating everything. Our clothes, our sleeping bags, our tents, even the dolls that acted as infants in our pioneer families. (Curiously, nobody in the ward would trust us with their actual infants.) And in the end, as far as I know, we didn’t end up getting a single tick — although I can’t say for certain it was the permethrin. I’m still not ruling out that whole blown-clean-to-Nebraska thing.

And just in case you’re a tall, heavy-set trekkie needing an outfit for an upcoming trek? By now there should be a grayish-green shirt and brown pants back on the rack at the Deseret Industries in Ogden.

Oh, and just so you know? They’ve already been treated for Wyoming’s famed blowing ticks.

Contact Mark Saal at 801-625-4272, or msaal@standard.net. Follow him on Twitter at @Saalman. Friend him on Facebook at facebook.com/MarkSaal.