(I wish we were still on the road. WM)

We’re not skiing, duh, it’s August 6th. But we did drive through Utah today. Their rest areas are impeccably clean. The cliffs and rocks really do look like something out of a road runner cartoon. We saw a police road block.

me: What, did someone drink a Coke?
Hockey God: heh heh heh.

We also saw a lot of dead things — big dead things, things I didn’t even attempt to identify — along the side of the road. There was even soap (the foamy kind, not the grainy pink kind or the pink liquid kind, or worse, the non-existent kind) in the soap dispenser in the rest area. Ha! Fantastic! (Am I not the best travel writer you’ve ever read in your life. You want a good travel writer, go find Holly here or here, or Planet Nomad here.)

We did not stop to see my Salt Lake cousins as they were way over there and we were way over here. (Edited on Aug. 22 to say: Sorry, cuz, cuz we also didn’t stop on our way through Salt Lake on the return trip! What the hell is wrong with Provo/SLC/Ogden that you would have three successive car crashes, coupled with gridlock, at 10 o’clock at night? It was like Las Vegas getting through there. Or L.A. It was 100 degrees and miserable, and some jerk kept trying to rear-end us. Where did he expect us to go? It was a frickin’ parking lot. We were planning to stop for the night, but I told Hockey God, “Drive! Keep driving!” because there is no way I was dealing with that shit first thing in the morning, during real rush hour. So we drove to Idaho.)

Also, cruise control. Also, on a mission from God to get out of Utah.

Q: Guess how many miles I drove today?

A: All of ’em. Three hundred whopping miles. I didn’t let my husband drive. I am not carsick, thank you, and neither are the kids. (knock wood knock wood knock wood. I did give them Triaminic thin-strips, the purple kind, aka Benadryl, so they were relaxed but not asleep. It’s kiddie Xanax. Also, I have Xanax for me, just in case.)

(Edited on Aug. 22 to say: Did I already mention somewhere that I drove all 550 miles last Friday, so we got home in two days instead of three? When you drive that many miles, all by yourself, and even though your partner keeps asking, “Want me to drive?” you say, no, no, I got it… it makes you feel like a big stud. Also it kind of makes you want to make a career out of road-tripping. We’re going to head for Vancouver, B.C., next time. We’re already planning the trip.)

It was actually a few more miles than 300, I think, but I got sidetracked by the Burma Shave-style signs advertising LITTLE AMERICA, WYOMING. Kids stay free! 50 cent cones! Fresh fruit! There yet? Sold. We’re there now.

(We left Idaho, breezed through Ski Utah! and blew into Wyoming just. Like. That.) The conversations have been going like this:

me: What’s the speed limit?
Hockey God: 75. Go 80.
me: Right on.

(Yes!!! to cruise control. Yes!!! to the pint-sized DVD players my half-pints are in love with.)

me: Are we close to Yellowstone? (I’ve never been to Jellystone.)
Hockey God: Uh. No. It’s in the northwest corner. Mostly in Wyoming, partly in Montana and Idaho. We’re in the southwest corner.
me: No kidding.

Hockey God, reading a license plate in Utah: I break for the Sabbath.
me: Mine would say: I break for Black Sabbath.

We swam in the fancy pool at LITTLE AMERICA, we ate in the 60’s-style restaurant (50 cent cones!), we shopped at the truck stop gift shop. Now we’re watching the Cartoon Network and drinking beer.

Great day.