We’re in the most horrible little ski town ever, Jackson Hole, Wy. Jackson Hell has a population of a little more than 8,000 people, but add in the tourists and you have a teeming metropolis of yuck. Its one saving grace is that it’s the home of Harrison Ford.
I’ve been thinking a lot of my parents this trip. They didn’t always have the best marriage, and yet we made this trip at least three times by car and once by train. To survive that, they had to have some sort of deep love, the kind I saw the last two or three years of my dad’s life. While our kids have iPods and video games and DVDs, I had books and CBC … lots of CBC. The road west to me means Quirks and Quarks and Peter Gzowski. Tonight or tomorrow I’ll upload all the Vinyl Café podcasts I have saved up.
We had our first glimpse of the Rockies yesterday and today drove through prairie and foothills and taiga and mountain. We also got our first glimpse of bison, which we’ll see more of tomorrow, once we hit Yellowstone.