I drove across 5 different states and every single one of them had better roads than California.
Sadly, I missed out on my chance at viral video immortality when a Yellowstone buffalo failed to charge a pair of bikers who walked right up and tried to pet it. I was ready with the camera, but the buffalo apparently was just feeling mild that day.
Eastern Utah – Salt. Lots of Salt. And nothing else. Also the area where I came closest to running out of gas. Yikes.
Old Faithful is not actually that faithful. Its eruption schedule is +/- 10 minutes. The rangers are sure to point out that they only predict, they don’t control the geysers.
Never heard the Glenn Beck radio show at any length till now. Man is off his nut.
All of Salt Lake City is laid out on the LDS Temple. The streets are numbered in relation to the temple. 800 South Street is eight blocks south of the temple, 2400 east is 24 blocks east of the temple and so on.
I can still put up a tent in the dark. The old boy scout skills are still with me.
You know when you have to decide something and a little angel and a little devil pop up to tell you to do the right or wrong thing? Well, if you walk into the right bar in Reno you can meet the little devil who leads you astray in person. She’s a brunette.
I-50 through Nevada is quite easily the most desolate piece of highway I have ever been across. About 200 miles in, and with only a crazy preacher-man on the radio, I’ll admit I started talking to myself a little bit.
However, the I-50 run did include a roadside dinner in Eureka, NV where I ate what was easily the greatest hamburger of my entire life. The service was surly, the order took forever to fill, but I’m considering starting my own religious movement centered on that hamburger.
My skill in comforting a crying baby needs work.
A bar in Utah can’t serve alcohol in a container larger that 4.5 ounces, but a “private club” can serve as much as it likes. Therefore, every bar in Salt Lake City is actually a “private club” They sign you up at the door, membership costs a dollar. I’m now the proud member of no less than four “private clubs.” They don’t seem to have very high standards for members.
At a certain spot in Idaho, you can hit scan on the AM dial and hit four stations in a row all of which are broadcasting Rush Limbaugh.
You can’t buy a beer at a county fair in Wyoming. And they call themselves Americans.
Discussion question. You are driving on the open road, which song do you want to hear?