An 80-mph-speed-limit sure does cut the six-hour drive from Moab to Las Vegas down, but it also cuts into the moments I wish would last longer.
Like, what it is to be a Holstein cow lying down with half of their bodies pressed in the cool mud. Or being the long-winged hawk pirouetting on and around and through the wind’s currents.
That said, this Pacific Northwest girl is ready to go home.
The red-rock dust, low-land pines, desert sun, and barren southwest landscape have been my jam for the past week. However, I’m over the dry nostrils, constant lip licking and ears that won’t neutralize from elevation gain.
Though, I regret not knowing more about geology.
I had a high school geology teacher, Dr. Patrick, who’d practically jump up and down when teaching about fault lines, tectonic upheavals, and retreating glaciers. During a class road trip to the Columbia River Basin, he read the land like fingers on braille – of its barbarism and chaos and, the way he did it forever lit an unquenchable desire to know more about it all.
But for now, I’m shaking the remaining drops out of my bottle of vacation.
Later this evening, we will gawk at the statues and adornments of Ceasar’s Palace, then oogle at the enchanting fountains and synchronized music of the Bellagio, and last but not least, try not to become overstimulated by the dings, rings, and bells from the slots and casino games.
For now, I’m hungry. And that reminds me; however much I’ve enjoyed eating out on vacation, I’m looking forward to some nice home cooked meals.
It’s been great sharing my journey with you. I’ll see you back in the PN-dub tomorrow. Night!