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2003.05.28, Western Colorado

We went to a Super Wal-Mart before we left Denver. I remember buying some pretzels and some cereal. It was hot and Amy was angry.

About 30 minutes or so west of Denver the scenery began to mutate. Reasonably sized hills and rocks began to devolve into their monstrous ancestors. Before we knew it, we were in the middle of gigantic slabs of rock -- and, perhaps due to subconscious sympathies, we traveled down a similar devolutionary spiral in which we reclaimed a lost connection to our slackjawed brethren.

The highways became confusing here. I took a wrong turn and ended up at a gas station asking some hippie how to connect to another meaningless number. He pointed me in the right direction and we were off again.

This was a long day of driving, but it was worth it. The sights during this stretch were undoubtedly the best of the trip. Towards Denver, the mountaintops were covered with snow, but as we progressed westward, the snow changed to grass, and eventually the grass changed to naked rock.

Of note were the numerous homes that we saw among the mountaintops. Some looked to be only accessible by flying machines. It's an interesting thought: total seclusion, privacy, and quiet. Maybe some day I'll retire to the hills and refocus through meditations and calculations.

There was a great rest stop along the way. The bathrooms were immaculately clean and cool. I expected to walk into a hot swarm of bacteria and flies -- but instead waltzed into a high class resort filled with steel toilets. Upon re-entering my car, I followed my instincts and removed my pants -- just to put on shorts, of course.

We stopped at another rest stop, and drove, and drove some more. The Sun began to set and I daydreamed of desert animals and desert people. It seemed too dangerous to reside in these parts -- so lifeless.