
When I left drove outta Winter Park, I was feeling kinda blue. Somehow, it seemed my trip was over and that all that was left would be an anxious ride back to Portland. So I tried to not make it so. Instead of hauling up to 80, I opted for old Highway 40 through Colorado and Utah. I stopped when I felt like it, first in Steamboat Springs... the town has changed a lot since I was last there eight years ago. In Steamboat, I found a cellphone, looked at the last text message to try to contact somebody, and it read: "casey, let's get some fuckin' french toast." Left the phone at a local fly-fishing supply shop and hit the road again.
Dinosaur, Colorado: gassed up and shared an ice-cream cone with V.
Vernal, Utah: more dinosaur fantasia. Who knew T-Rex liked watermelon? I bet Chris Herlihy did.

We found the dog park, and Vesta played with the big, mutty, black dogs that pepper ski towns. Then some dinner at a local pub, the No Name Saloon, and a walk up the cutie-pie tourist strip called Main Street. I ordered a veggie burger with bacon, my fave! Then we rode up a scarily windy road to the top of the pass, and looked down over two valleys twinkling in the post-sunset barely-there light, before hitting Phil's bar for a drink and some live music. A real good folky cover of Billie Jean made my night (and guilted me about the Michael Jackson jokes I've been giggling over since Winter Park).
So nice to hang with Phil, and nice to see cute Park City, and happy that I wasn't all alone in a scrubbrush campground with mac and cheese. Leaving this morning and I'll decide the route when I get into the car and start driving. Home real soon, tomorrow morning-ish.
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