We've just driven through the most heavenly 150 miles of freeway in the nation.
The I-70 Interstate, from its Utah beginnings at I-15 north of Las Vegas to Green River, is drop-dead magnificent, if we may gush. Every turn brings a new surprise as close-in geological formations compete with distant vistas for top billing, layers of rock are squeezed into symphonic movements evoking a spiritual response from the most jaded traveler.
Traffic is sparse and fast; eighteen wheelers seem to avoid this route with its changing altitudes. A few three-bottom FedEx behemoths worked their along this smooth riding roller coaster. Ominous signs like "Brake test station," "Run-away truck lane" "Chain pullout" and "Devil's Lookout" reminded us of the treachery lurking in paradise. Meanwhile, we often glided along at 80 mph, and some of the time it was actually the legal posted limit.
We have no photos, only stunning memories. A few pathetic snapshots would be poor representatives of this national treasure.
It is easy to understand why Utah's favorite son, Mitt Romney, is given, from time to time, to breaking out in a chorus of "America the Beautiful."
We cranked up Ray Charles' rendition on the car stereo and it was indeed, a purple mountain majesty above the fruited plains.
Tomorrow: we do fruited plains. Stay in Lexington, Nebraska. Weather ideal.
It's still the winter tourist season and there's no skiers, so we figured we'd have an easy time finding a room in Green River. There was no room at the first four inns we checked. (We need pet friendly, no smoking and wifi -- nevermind breakfast) There's some big hoop-ti-doo at nearby Moab over the weekend, as it turns out, and Green River is taking on their over flow. Seems to have something to do with dirt bikes and four-wheelers, judging by some of the gear parked at the full houses.
But they left a light on for us at Motel 6, so here we are. We're doing okay.
