Road Trip Day 3: Denver to Salt Lake

Saturday morning I awoke in Denver, checked out of my hotel and headed for the Rocky Mountains. Prior to my talk with my dad the day before I had been planning to take 25 back up to 80 and continuing across Wyoming. He mentioned that if I were heading due west instead of northwest he would recommend taking 70 west through the Rocky Mountains. As I planned my trip the night before Google Maps suggested this route over taking 25 north to Cheyenne. Having been disappointed by Denver, I decided to make my detour worthwhile. I decided to cross the Rocky Mountains, to see Eisenhower tunnel, Vail, and whatever glories lie between me and the other side of Colorado.

Almost immediately upon reaching the foothills of the Rockies I began to worry. The inclines were quite steep and my car was not handling it well. It wasn’t shifting smoothly and I couldn’t drive faster than 55 without the engine making loud straining noises.  I got all the way over to the right and struggled along the best Billie and I could. I’m not necessarily afraid of heights, but I am terrified of car crashes, absolutely petrified that I am going to die in one. The drive through the Rocky Mountains had me hovering just below a panic attack the entire time. I was convinced my engine was going to fail, I was going to drive off one of those beautiful ridges where smaller hills and valleys stretched below, my brakes were going to give out on one of the 6% downgrades. I tried to admire the views as I drove but terror usually kept my eyes straight ahead on the road. When I stopped at a scenic lookout past the worst of it, my knuckles were sore from clutching the steering wheel, but I couldn’t stop grinning as I took in the mountains and lake before me. I called my dad, who assured me my poor little Neon, loaded down as she was with everything I own, wasn’t made for such driving and the best thing to do was to stay in the right lane with my flashers on, taking my time.

I stopped at nearly every scenic outlook I saw, soaking in the mountains and giving Billie rests. When I reached Vail, I realized what it was I thought Denver would be like. I thought it would be nestled in the mountains, with cabins and trees. I thought it would be like Vail. I only stopped for gas (where I actually came closest to being in an accident when a BMW wasn’t watching where it was going), but I loved Vail. I loved the look and feel of it, if not the percent of population in Cadillacs and Beamers. Someday I want a cabin in the mountains of Colorado. Someday I want to be close enough to Denver for day trips, but far enough away to enjoy the sense of isolation and wonder of nature. I want to drive a Jeep Grand Cherokee and hike in the snow with Winston. I want to visit Glenwood Canyon whenever I want, because that was my absolute favorite thing I saw during my four and a half days of driving.

After passing through the mountains, Vail, Glenwood Canyon, and Grand Junction I headed out a lonely stretch of interstate 70 where facilities were few. Stopping to grab a quick lunch I saw a sign imploring, “Visit Historic Downtown Newton, 1.5 mi.” I couldn’t resist, so I headed down a short stretch of interstate 6 and found a quaint little town. I walked it’s length, taking pictures, before getting back in my car and continuing on 70.

As I traveled I saw less and less towns and the number of miles between services grew larger and larger. I entered Utah in the middle of nothing and nowhere, a ways after passing a sign advising me there were no facilities for the next 70 miles. At Green River another sign warns of 106 miles without services along 70, but 6 splits away and heads north toward Provo and Salt Lake City. I decided to take 6 north and cut an hour and a half off my journey if I continued on 70 to 15. Before long I found myself in the right lane with my flashers on again, climbing steep hills. I crossed more mountains, convinced I really would die this time. By the time I reached Provo I was driving towards the most spectacular sunset (the pictures don't do it justice). 

I arrived at my hotel at 9:30, after Google Maps took me to an office park and declared that I had reached my destination. Another 12 hours on the road, the stress of driving through the mountains, and Google Maps ineptitude were all weighing on me by the time I reached the front desk of the hotel, so when the girl working told me they didn’t accept dogs over 40 pounds I did not react kindly. She was very nice about it and said that with it being 9:30 and the fact that there was no indication of the weight limit on the website she would let it go. I honestly don’t know what I would have done if she had been adamant about the weight policy. I don’t want to get into too much of a sidebar, but I discussed the ludicrous nature of such a policy with Darla. Winston is generally well behaved and I never let him off his leash in public places, but as we were entering the side door of the hotel one of two little Bichons that were not on leashes came running over to us yipping up a storm. Winston stared at it curiously as its owner yelled at it to come back to her. Honestly, how can you determine whether a dog is well behaved or generally under the control of its owner by its size? Ridiculous. Anyway…

I didn’t spend much time in Salt Lake City, but I was enamored with the setting. The mountains lie all around, casting huge purple shadows into the sky and the Great Salt Lake lie just north of me.