The Smell of Mitt and Plenty More

Provo, Utah. Mitt Romney country. Oh, no, wait, he was governor of Massachusetts, right? Hard to believe, seeing as how he spent about 7 hours and 32 minutes of his 4 year term actually doing anything in Massachusetts. Most of that had to do with the Big Dig tunnel collapse.

But you don't come here to read my political views (much). You go here and here for that. Or here.

But this is Utah, which is Romney country. And we slipped into Provo late on Friday night, after a long day of doing quite a bit. We have yet to see Mitt, or his hair, or his seventeen kids, but we have otherwise seen a lot today.

Friday morning found us in Durango, Colorado. Thursday had been a beautiful day of mountains, mountains, mountains. Friday was desert, desert, mesa, desert. We were on the road out of Durango but 7:30 a.m., Mountain Time, and soon wandered into Mesa Verde National Park to see the ancient cliff dwellings of the Ancestral Puebloans. The dwellings were nothing short of impressive, and Stuart, Toby, and I even climbed down into one of their kivas -- an underground chamber for spiritual worship. Wicked cool. I can tell you those ancestral Puebloans were short people, around Stuart's height it seems. Well, okay, maybe a foot taller, but no more. The cliff dwellings were outrageously beautiful and walking among them -- even with the French Canadian, German, Italian, and Tennessean tourists -- was enough to take your breath away. It took little to imagine being a resident of those parts in those times (some 800 years ago or more), living a simple life of hunting and farming on the glorious mesas of southwestern Colorado. But cups of coffee were scarce, and it was time to move on.

By early afternoon we had crossed into Utah and on into Moab, spiritual home of the late, great Edward Abbey. A short spell up route 191 was the entrance to Arches National Park, home of such great geologic formations as Balanced Rock, Delicate Arch, Double Arch, Pothole Arch, the Windows, and Park Avenue. As mentioned in the previous post, Stuart earned his third Junior Park Ranger badge at Arches, which was a difficult feat. The little guy, like the rest of us, could hardly contain himself in the midst of so much natural beauty.

America, why do you do this to me? First the Lousiville Slugger Factory tour. Now Arches National Park? Are you mad? And in between, America, your Rocky Mountains and the sheer delight and trout madness of Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park?

Stop it, America. You may make me love you again.

Oh, what am I saying? America, I have always loved you, your natural beauty, your crazy peasants and their crazy aspirations to become the next Getty or Gates or Buffett or (Eric) Savelle. I love your byways, your highways, your maddening lane closures and your muddy trout rivers carrying runoff from a bizarre summer desert rain.

Anyway, Arches was, as you'd expect, pure and simple awesomeness, from entrance to exit.

Afterwards, it was on through the deserts of Utah (including the 100 mile stretch of I-70 where the only exits were to ranches and highway services of any kind were nonesistent -- did we fuel-up at the right time?) until we arrived south of Salt Lake City in the city of Provo.

Tomorrow? Who knows? We'll either head for Columbia Falls and our final destination, or head to Yellowstone.

Note of Warning: Once we're at our final destination outside Columbia Falls, Montana, I am uncertain what our Internet access will be. So posts to the blog may slow or even cease for a bit. We'll see. I have tonnes (as the Brits would say) more to tell you. So much we have seen, so much we have learned. However, long days and late nights have prevented me from getting to all of it.