The Penske Express

I am already awake when the alarm goes off. There are advantages to having 25 hour days and one of them is feeling like you have had an extra hour of sleep. Unfortunately, that feeling quickly wears off on the road. I pull back the curtain and the front range of the Rockies greets me. The sun is just beginning to strike their peaks. Below I spot the pot hole that caused me grief the night before. Whoa! Sh*t! It is the size of an inground swimming pool!

The Big Yellow Truck is exactly where I left it the night before. After three days of driving in unbearable heat, I figure it’s time to check the fluids. I pop the hood. For a moment I feel like a pioneer woman trying to look at the tonsils of the ox that is pulling her covered wagon. I pull out the dipstick. My, my…what a big dipstick you have! As a matter of fact, the dipstick is at least 3 feet long. It wiggles and waggles and tries to escape me as I wipe it down. The Winner holds one end while I finally get the job done. The Big Yellow Truck is a quart low. I make a note to take care of that in Cheyenne. Then off we go swinging north and running along the edge of the Rockies.

We pass huge ranches filled with cattle and camels. Camels? I would love to know why camels roamed the mountain side but with more than 550 miles ahead of me, I decide not to stop and ask. Once in Cheyenne the Winner and I pull into the tourist center and rest area. The secret to a great road trip is the good use of rest stops. Many people believe they are for peeing. And they are. But they also are for resting and recharging. They are for allowing the feel of the road to fade while you stand mapside tracing a line from “You are here” to where you will be at day’s end with your fingertips. They are for stretching and playing and letting the world drift by for a little while. The rest stops in Wyoming are perfect for this. They are both play spaces and celebrations of the state. They are mini-museums with park like expanses and a delight to spend time in. What I learned as I drove across the state is that they have to be these things. The spaces in Wyoming are enormous, unpopulated, and breathtaking in scope. Rest stops are the only civilization you encounter for hours on end.

At any rate, the first rest stop is lovely. The picnic area overlooks a low valley that is filled with antelope. They are unperturbed by the Union Pacific train that runs past them as they wander the dusty plain or the wild haired lady that initially mistakes them for camels. I will blame this mistake on smudged sunglasses. As everyone knows, I have perfect vision.

I-80 takes the Winner and me further and further west to remote sage brush filled places. Towering rock formations give the impression of a moonscape. The world is sepia toned and there is nothing but antelope and the occasional 18-wheeler to mark our passing. Occasionally I pass a coyote lying motionless along the side of the road. We reach the highest point on the intercontinental highway at 8640 feet. The air is noticeably thinner here and the sky is large and hangs close to the top of my head. I swear I can touch the clouds that hang motionless above me.

The Big Yellow Truck takes me past the prison where Butch Cassidy was incarcerated. I spend time looking at his portrait. He and his Wild Bunch had Hollywood good looks. We roll by the Continental Divide. The Winner misses her photo op the first time. But there are is a second chance as we cross it a second time. Oh NO! We miss that photo op too! On we go through the same mountain pass that the pioneers and Pony express riders rode through. The day starts to fade when we realize we have yet to eat. We pull into the closest thing to a town that we can find and eat at The Renegade Café. We step back into time. I try to gauge the age of the restaurant. It feels like 1968 although I will vehemently deny that I was around in 1968. The left side of the menu is American cafeteria food. The right side of the menu is Chinese. I order from the right side and it is unexpectedly good.

Salt Lake City is still 3 hours away. The Big Yellow Truck doesn’t complain when I take it back onto the highway at unreasonable speeds. Many miles later we cross into Utah and descend out of the high desert plains. Red stone cliffs rise above us and it is noticeably greener. The Great Salt Lake looks like molten gold on the horizon.

I park The Big Yellow Truck in a quiet corner of the hotel lot. The Winner and I drop our bags in our room and then head toward Temple Square. It is dark by the time we reach Salt Lake City’s most recognizable landmark. It’s softly lit white stone rises before us. Oddly, the temple turns out to be a popular date spot. I am puzzled by this because I never considered a church to be a place for romance. It seems an unusual spot to snuggle up to someone. While I can understand the appeal of public petting, I’m not sure I would want to do it with Jesus, John the Baptist, and Bringham Young watching. Well…maybe Bringham Young would be okay. But Jesus? No thanks!

We have walked 12 long city blocks by the time the night is over. It feels good after so many hours of driving. A bottle of white wine is delivered by room service for medicinal purposes. I use it to wash down a couple of Aleve. I take Aleve for recreational purposes.

Tomorrow we cross the desert. I was intimidated by this when we first began our journey, but weather.com assures me that temperatures in Nevada will be lower than those I experienced in Lexington, St. Louis, and Kansas City. We expect to be on the road early and in to Sacramento very late. I have a business meeting first thing on Friday morning. It is unlikely that I will post anything tomorrow beyond “I am here. I am well.”

And now it’s off to bed. The Winner is already snoozing.
Slainte