It's been the Lost Highway for 150 miles, with the land pressed open flat and the Milky Way reaching all the way back to your ears. A few bunnies darted across the road at lightspeed, but most were already flatted bunny carcasses.

Every car that passed us was a truck, and that's because this is Wyoming. Here, all the women, young and old, look used up. One of the waitresses at Thad's was missing a couple of front teeth and a few of what was left were broken. She had a fresh 3-inch scar on her arm that had not been stitched. The other waitresses and the woman at the front desk at this Econolodge were in better shape, but not by much.

So, we just had the worst meal of the trip and one of the worst meals I've ever eaten. One of those you feel bad about paying for but you know there's nothing wrong with it, it's just the grade of the fare out here. The worst meal I've ever eaten was in southern Utah, on another road trip several years ago.

I don't mind; it's the way it goes. At most, it's disappointing that for the many miles I've traveled in the West, I've never run across excellent local food. And I'm left wondering, what is the local food? American fare = Denny's fare = chicken fried steak, and steak, and all-beef hamburgers, iceberg lettuce tossed with a dash of red cabbage and thousand island dressing? Gravy dark and gelatinous as chocolate pudding? It's bad.

Daylight was filled with buffalo and geysers.

Morning at the adorable little log cabin at the Westwood Inn came in orange through thick 60s-hued curtains. It was cold—in the 20s at night—but the shower made up for it. The thing was a geyser and we laughed about that, because it powerwashed the soap off us and sprayed water all over the bathroom. We came out red-skinned.

Then we drove back into Yellowstone for funny bubbling and gurgling pools and holes, all exuding moist hot steam that kept us warm in the alpine chill. Old Faithful took its time but it blew, and a couple of its neighbors spat intermittently, too. We were lucky to see so much vertical action. But those aren't my favorites. I like the colors and odd-shaped pools. I like the names: Young Hopeful Geyser, Spasmodic Geyser, Economic Geyser, and so on.

And if there were buffalo on the road yesterday, there were whole convoys of them today, stopping traffic—or not. Some assholes in big trucks, from states like Idaho, shoved past the animals, causing them to shy and run.

What else happened?

Andrew says,
the self-righteous barista at the Old Faithful Inn
buffalo on the walkway
people writing on the bacteria mats
ravens hopping on the truck
the just-married couple

The Tetons entered the view just before sunset, and they made gorgeous shadows until we drove past. Lots of elk in Teton, and lots of people stopped on the side of the road snapping pictures of them with giant tripods and thousand-dollar lenses. Crazy.

OK, so on through Jackson, faux Wild West catering to the rich and famous who feeling like "roughing it" in Jackson Hole. After that we listened to the Congressional debate over Bush's Iraq stuff until we traveled beyond the radio signal.

And now we're here, Rock Springs, WY.