Well it seems that my choice of route home was validated by
all but one element, the town of Escalante.
It is not a one horse town, more like a one jackass town that ran away
years ago. The motels are old but
utilitarian, not beginning to approach quaint.
The desk clerk was not at all receptive to my attempts at humorous repartee. There was one operating restaurant offering a
surprisingly high-board bill of fare. It
had drawn, or perhaps coerced a rather large patronage this evening as it was
the only game in town. One of the
waitresses approached and asked me where I would like to sit and in my usual
self-effacing manner indicated that any table she wished to assign me would be
satisfactory. This seemed to throw a
well-forged monkey wrench into her mode of operation.
Once seated and presented with a menu she assured me she
would return for my drink order tut suite. Fifteen minutes later, and ten minutes too
many, I retreated from the establishment flashing a look of disdain at my
waitress as I made for the door. She
seemed taken by surprise, but there is one thing I will not tolerate, and that
is being ignored when I have cash in pocket.
There are more than a few exotic dancers that will affirm my assertion. Sometimes, sadly, my sense of indignation at
maltreatment leaves me with few and much inferior choices. I dined on Trisciut Crackers and Pepsi in the
bump in the road known as Escalante. And
I doubt that the waitress who spurned me will have remembered by shift’s
end. So much for righteous indignation.
As I was still in the
Grand Staircase-Escalante complex, the views remained among the most intriguing
one can encounter in the American West.
This is cowboy country, plain and simple. An aside about Escalante. You may be wondering why they named this
region for a Cadillac. No, the region is
named for the aforementioned river (see yesterday). The river was not named for a Cadillac
either, but for Silvestre Velez de Escalante, a Franciscan priest who, along
with Father Atanasio Dominguez and cartographer Bernardo Miera y Pacheco and
eight others from Santa Fe (capital of Nuevo Mexico) conducted an expedition to
establish and overland route to Monterey, Norte California in 1776 (Who can
tell me what other important historical event occurred in 1776?). They failed to achieve their goal but did, in
their attempt, leave an invaluable legacy in maps of the Utah Valley (present
day State of Utah). If you don’t understand the connection to Cadillac, perhaps
your sense of humor is too high-brow for my humble offerings.
I ate breakfast at a quaint restaurant in Tropic, Utah. There was no chance I was going to give the
Escalante dining establishment another chance.
I can really hold on to a grudge; there are more than a few exotic
dancers that will affirm my assertion. From Tropic it is a short sprint past the
entrance to Bryce Canyon National Park (that’s number two, I’ve been there
several times so opted not to take the side trip... but from the highway one
can see the features that make this a destination) to highway US-89, which is
to Western scenic travel what Route (US) 66 is to kitsch nostalgia travel. If you visit the five Utah National Parks
(have you named them all, yet) you will spend a considerable number of miles on
US-89. My route home took me through
Zion National Park which is the shortest if hardly the fastest way home. But the vistas are without parallel, in fact
I don’t think there is a straight stretch of road in the park (That’s a
geometry joke, son!). The road in too
narrow and the park too crowded for stop and shoot photography so the following
picture was stolen from Google Images. Be prepared, Zion is a way-through park,
and they charge you $30 per vehicle just to use the highway.
The route from Zion takes us post haste back to I-15 in the
vicinity of St. George (day one) and a turn toward home. It was early in the afternoon when I neared
St. George so opted to proceed onto Las Vegas for the night so as to minimize
the hours and miles on the last day of my trip.
I am a strict adherent to the admonishment, “What happens in Vegas stays
in Vegas” but I am pleased to share there are no criminal charges pending. Like
Hillary, I’m hoping to ride it out until after the election!
The hop to home was as boring as ever so I ratcheted up the
excitement for my fellow drivers by sticking to the speed limit in the passing
lane. Yeah, that was me!
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