I realized the other day that it had been a while since I had included another installment about my move to the East Coast several years ago.  For those of you just joining us, this is the travel journal I kept while driving from Sausalito, California to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.  I made the trip with my beloved dog, Ibo, who sadly left us three years ago.  For those of you wanting the previous installments, here they are:

Part 1          Part 2          Part 3          Part 4          Part 5

I left you as I was headed off to Durango, Colorado and we had visited Mesa Verde National Park.  I really have not mentioned Ibo all that much during this diatribe, but she perhaps was the best dog that ever lived.  While driving she would just calmly in the back of the Explorer, napping periodically.  When she needed to “hurry up” she would stand, stretch her legs a bit and then come up and put her head on my lap.  That only scratches the surface of how great she was, and I know I am biased, but she truly was remarkable.

We left Mesa Verde around two, got back to the highway, and headed east to Durango.  Durango is a neat little town, at least it looked that way as we blew by it at 65 miles an hour (I actually stopped to buy film, but the store was closed — so then, instead of getting in the car and driving, I became obsessed about getting more film, walking frantically around town, as if film were life sustaining.  I realize I need professional help.)

After getting slightly disoriented (which, for me, was quite good that it was only “slightly”), we headed up the 550 toward Grand Junction.  Wow.  Over several mountain passes (the highest was over 11,000 feet!).  I stopped in Silverton to get some film (phew!) and asked how far it was to Denver.  The guy said: “well, first you go up to Junction, and then across 70, so about 6-7 hours.” (Quite a different ‘estimate’ from the gas station woman in Durango who had no idea how to get to Denver, let alone how far it was)

“Oh, how far is it to ‘Junction'”? (Trying to be cool and use the local lingo, but actually having no idea what was going on.)  “About 2-3 hours.”  “Thanks,” I said, certain that the guy now thought I was a local since I referred to the town as simply ‘Junction’ (yes, I know that a local would not have to ask such inane questions, but let me continue on with my little fantasy).

Interstate 70 from Junction (Grand Junction, for all of you who are not “in the know” in regards to the lingo) to Denver is on of the more impressive stretches of Interstate highway that I have traveled, followed closely by the NJ Turnpike.  (If you need to have me tell you that I am kidding, then you have never been on the Jersey turnpike.  If you have never had the ‘privilege’, well, count yourself lucky).

The Jersey Turnpike. From NJ.com

You drive right over, around, and through the mountains.  Often, there is a massive cliff on one side, and the swift moving river on the other.  I drove until it was almost dark, and stopped just outside of Vail, in Eagle, CO.

I ate a Grilled tuna steak sandwich with guacamole and a side salad.  Ibo had dog food.  I also had a rather dreadful Pinot Grigio (OK, pinot grigio almost by definition is dreadful, but the choices were slim).  Ibo had water.  The sandwich came from the Eagle Diner.  Generally speaking, I like eating in diners.  The food is rarely great, but it is almost always good and you can usually get blueberry pancakes all day long.  As a bonus, you can meet some interesting characters.  It also gives me a chance to test out some of my personal theories.  One of those theories is that people do not always do what is in their own best interest (this is proven time and again in political campaigns, but I won’t go there now).  There is a closely related theory that certain people should not wear certain things.  Now before you jump all over me, this is not a sexist or ‘size-ist’ kind of statement.  Growing up, my grandmother always said that you should always try your best to leave your house looking ‘respectable’.  I took that to mean that the average person should never be alarmed by your appearance.  Maybe that is old-fashioned (grandma was old, after all) or worse, but I always tried to adhere to her advice (with varying levels of success).

That brings us back to the Eagle diner.  My waitress.  What was she thinking?  I wondered why no one told her that she was not sporting the most flattering of outfits.  Yikes.  And she was handling my food.  Double Yikes.

If I ever wear something that I should not wear, will someone please tell me?  I will probably act hurt and offended, and perhaps I will never speak to you again, but deep down I will be thankful.

Off to the hotel and I was hoping for an early start the next day.  Denver was only a few hours away and then the Great Plains.  Never had a region been so aptly named.