When we were flying home on the last leg of a 10-month journey around the world, I gazed down from my window seat upon the vast canyonlands of the American west.
"Ah," I felt in my bones. "This is it. I'm coming home."
Debi and I are on a roadtrip into these canyonlands right now. We crossed the Sierra on Route 120 through Tioga Pass, a drive we had made a year ago, as well.
The next morning we were on Route 168 amid ancient bristlecone pines.
Then in Nevada, we hit Route 95 and first made a slight jag north to visit Goldfield, the boom-and-bust mine town where Debi's great grandfather once managed a gold mine.
But isn't mining by its very nature already boom-and-bust?
Then...what the hell...Route 95 takes you right through the phantasmagoria that is Las Vegas.
So we drove the Strip with all our car windows rolled down and Dylan's "Shelter from the Storm" blaring from the speakers. 45 minutes driving through Las Vegas was quite enough.
And we happily lit out for where we're really heading.