Here I am, just a bit north of Denver, wondering how I'm going to get the rest of the way home. The route is obvious, of course, but I can't figure out where I might stop. Or how I might find the rest of my way and make sure it's entertaining.
I spent some time with my atlas. The weather outside was beautiful: sunny and clear, and not at all too warm. I longed to be on the road again. I figured I'd drive up to Wyoming, since I'd not really been through the state. Then, I'd cut through Utah and then stop someplace in Idaho. Maybe Boisie, maybe not quite so far.
And so I began driving. On the way out of Denver, there was noticable traffic for the first twenty or thirty miles. I stopped in Fort Collins to have a little lunch. The restraunt was busy, since it was right about noon. But I sat and read and relaxed.
Back up on the highway, I thought of the trucker I'd met the night before. I hope he made it; we were out in the parking lot goofing around until pretty late. He seemed like a really nice guy, and I hoped he was having a good trip.
Somehow, I got twisted around in the city and couldn't find the road I'd driven in on. Amazing, since it wasn't any trick on the way in. The navigation system took me through the busiest part of town: it was a quaint little place with a real main street and lots of little shops and stuff.
I finally found US-287, and that was before I caught I-25. That's fine; US-287 cuts the corner around Cheyenne and seemed a little faster. Sure enough, after I blew past some of the lingering traffic and had the highway quickly to myslef.
It was nice; it rolled around a little, and the uphill parts had passing lanes. I screamed past trucks and RV's and made some time. My car is fun to drive quickly. It holds down and sticks.
Sure enough, though, I was caught behind a couple of people I couldn't pass. On the way into Wyoming, just a ways south of Laramie, the
Laramie was odd. There was a bunch of hotels, and just plain flatness. I tried to imagine what generated revenue here, why people worked. I guessed farming, even though the road south of the city was so barren. I got onto I-80 going West and admired the mountains. I guess they made up for the scrubby little town. And there was suddenly lots more here; ranches, and irrigated land.
A few miles onto the highway, my cellular phone rang. How surprisng! I thought my radar detector had found a new mode, but it was the phone. I picked-up and nobody was there. So, I tried calling Liz and we talked for a while. Since the coverage was so bad, I had to pull off at a ranch exit and talk from the outside of the car. I missed Liz, but there was this intimidating sign about the ranch being private property and describing how I'd be shot on sight so I cut things a little short.
Back onto the road, I continued dead west on I-80. The little towns scrolled by and I thought about getting gas. I ended up stopping just west of Green River. Gas was still cheap as heck: I paid $1.219 for super. Of course, here, "super" means 91 octane.
The drive further west was nice. There were trees, sometimes. But mostly rolling scrub high-plains landscaping. I crossed into Utah, and slowed down a little. Utah seems, to me, to be just the most conservative place you can ever be. They'd shoot me for speeding; not only was I disobeying the law, I was listening to a Tool CD at the time.
I stopped in Evanston, just at the state line, and had an early dinner. There was a WalMart here, too, so I bought a couple of photography magazines and tried to force myself about my decision to buy a camera. Buying the new EOS was the right thing to do, I think, though I was beginning to regret not getting my A-1 repaired (or replacing it with another used one). With my A-1, I could keep my old lenses and flash and winder and buy used lenses, too.
I read the magazine over lunch at Arby's. The clerk and his girlfriend, both about 15, were learning about eachother since nobody else was in line. He had just discovered that she didn't go to church, and I thought that might be the end of it right there. We were getting close to Utah.
Though the terrain was getting more and more mountainous, I was having little trouble keeping up with National Public Radio. When they have in-depth stories about things I don't care about, I play a CD. But then I come back to them and listen. It was mostly just to hear the voice of another human.
I hooked I-84 in a town called Echo. Traffic started to get thicker as I neared Ogden. I was powering along at about 85 in the left lane and some clown moved around a semi, right in front of me, to pass. What a dope. He looked at me like I was evil incarnate as I passed him after he folded in front of the tractor-trailer.
Traffic was really hasrh, though, once I-84 joined I-15. It was about 430pm, and everyone was leaving the city. I saw it all: people cutting eachother off, folks who don't know how to merge, people who pass big rigs even though they're signalling. There was a big pickup truck that passed me and I could see the driver drinking a beer, right in the truck.
The Great Salt Lake was there. It was a little soothing, especially since the traffic was fading away. I was a bit bored with this drive, since I've been on this road so many times. There's not much in the way of alternate routes, though.
I-84 forked off and I followed it. There's a huge hill, first thing, as the highway cuts northeast in the top edge of the state. Doing my regular 85 miles/hour over in the left lane, I was passing folks like crazy. Up ahead, though, there was a Saab in the left lane just sitting around. I pulled up, and they didn't move for a while so I went over to pass on the right. Certainly, it's the wrong thing to do, but I'm tired of being the only guy doing the right thing.
Of course, as soon as I popped into the left lane, the driver sped up and tried to box me out. Fuck them: I just dropped a gear and smoked 'em. What an idiot.
There was a ton of construction—maybe ten miles' worth—once we crossed the state line. And it was rough, as I began driving directly into the sinking sun. There was glare everywehere. The sun was reflecting off the slope of my hood and bouncing into my face.
In Rupert, I-84 joined I-86 and kept going west. The driving was fine, but there was traffic again. I didn't think these towns were so big, but there were plenty of folks on the road.
Eventually, I came to a construction site that had the right lane closed over a bridge. A truck was in the left lane, but I was out of options: I had to move to the left. Instead of letting me in, the driver stepped on it and forced himself between me and the left-hand guardrail. What a moron. I fired off a letter to the company that owned the well-marked truck. What a jackass.
Fortunately, only a few miles ahead, I saw some signs for Twin Falls. I figured there'd be at least a small hotel. But Twin Falls surprised me. I exited the highway and crossed over the Snake River. There's a huge gorge here, just north of the town, and there's turnoffs on the highway to take some pictures.
I saw a Holiday Inn Express. It was brand-new; a sign at the entrance announced there would be a grand opening ceremony (with a ribbon cutting, and everything!) about six days from today. The place was, indeed, brand new.
There was only one desk clerk, and she was busy with a woman who was checking in. The woman stretched out the process, though, by demanding a discount. She said she was a travel agent, and visting on business. It must be "Take Your Daughter To Work On The Road Day", though, since her kid was there at the desk with her. She pestered the clerk for five minutes until her discount was announced: she saved twelve dollars.
While I was waiting, a pricky-looking fellow came in to register. He stood right at the desk, even though I was behind the travel agent. I always stand a couple of giant steps back in these situations because I know I don't like it when I'm exchanging private information with someone and there's someone right on top of me while I do it.
The prick made some rustling noises, and the lcekr said "I'll be right with you, sir." So, I said: "Thanks!", asserting my position in line. The prick turned over his shoulder and stared at me. People wince and shake their heads when I say that I hate everyone. But I do, to some extent: people are so often morons it's hard to decide otherwis.
When the agent was done, I stepped right up. Mr. Prick was still there, and made a little huff that I was waited on first. I checked in and got on my way. I was excited to spend time in the brand-new hotel.
And it was, indeed, nice. I sat around and read a little email, and got comfortable in my room. My window looked over a little mall next door and out onto the lights of the town.
Tomorrow, just two tanks of gas away, I'd be home.