from Green River, Utah

I can thank my friend Greg and a combination of my propensity for "contempt prior to investigation" (friends of Bill W. will know that phrase) coupled with sheer exhaustion in finding me at.... at.... a Holiday Inn Express. Normally the terminally cute, quaint and unusual call to me (speaking of accommodation for now). On my 2nd day of hours and hours of driving, this town reminded me of junior high school days listening to Creedence Clearwater Revival and as well told myself, 'I'll stop here, somewhere, anywhere' rather than motoring on to Grand Junction, Colorado for the night before my private weekend retreat at the Benedictine Monastery in Snowmass.  

Greg is a soft-spoken and unassuming man. He's generous and kind, deeply philosophical and talented. Here's a photo of him (I may hear about this):

So I'm spending the night at a cookie-cutter box joint and am grateful. The air-conditioning leaves a sorry carbon footprint but eases the outside air temps in the mid-90's. And while Day 1 out of Berkeley was a 533-mile slog all the way to vaguely cutesy Ely, Nevada, today's 330-miles came to a halt with another two hours looming for Grand Junction by 7:30 pm. It's cool, it has wifi, I had a lovely salad for dinner while a big fat red sun set over the Green River, and it is a very good thing to have stopped driving for the day. Last night I collapsed at the Bristlecone Motel in Ely (pronounced ee-lee). I'd perused the online reviews and it was a pleasingly, middle-of-the-road thumbs up. The huge room boasted multi-toned thick carpet, a bordello-themed bright red sink in the corner, faux wood paneling and probably die-of-asbestos-poisoning ceiling tiles. I loved it. 

The smoke throughout the Sacramento Valley (is it?) was so thick I felt ill. The visibility was 1-2 miles at the most, and this was for over an hour. It was mildly smokey all throughout the drive towards Reno. I sent a silent blessing to the firefighters and those struggling with the losses from these. The heat only added to its weight.

I drove Route 50 throughout all of Nevada and so far much of Utah. It's called "The Loneliest Road in America," and has a quaint history. Its beauties are subtle and sometimes stark. In western Utah it is far more remote, reminding me of one of those classic images of a single road extending in a straight line forever. There was not another single car on the road for long stretches of time, neither did I have a cell phone signal (thank you, AT&T). I pondered being stranded in the 95-degree heat. I stopped that thought as quickly as possible. 

This portion of Utah through which zooms I-70 is a kissing cousin to Sedona, Arizona where I once lived and still have good friends. Red rocks and otherworldly formations are strewn in all directions. I felt rebellious and took photos from my iPhone rather than stopping every mile or so. Perhaps I used up my daily quotient of Doing Something Stupid by taking blurry low-res photos while cruising along at 68 mph and so could stop in a pleasingly ordinary place for the night without driving myself into bleary-eyed oblivion. I can thank Marilyn for that one; "Drive safely and be smart." I think I've got a sliding scale for grading with the internal peanut gallery for that one....!