I’ve been dreaming of Mexico City since an admirer in college tried to impress me with a story about an drug-fueled drive through the night to go to one party there. I was fascinated with the dedication to get to the scene, if not the participant.

It’s been two months since my last post from my summer travels in the American West. Having finished a separate spat of travels between then and now, and seeing how I left off previously in Montana, I’ll pick back up in Glacier National Park.

It was lucky that we ran into Jan, because otherwise we wouldn’t have backtracked and spent the afternoon crawling through stalagmites hundreds of feet under Montana.

I think any more weight from so many tourists might force the Yellowstone caldera down into the magma that powers all those geysers.

Capitol Reef is like a mini Zion. Not as tall, not as wide, but also fewer people to muck up the scenery.

The 1500-year-old Bristlecone Pine trees tumble into the slowly eroding limestone breaks at a pace measured in centuries.

It takes most people five hours to complete the five mile journey to the top of Angel’s Landing and back. I did it in half that and still took a bit of video now and then, while sucking in much-needed oxygen.

Had I stumbled onto a sales pitch for the Mormon church, disguised as a ranger talk?

I’ve now spent the last two Julys tucked in a car, traveling hundreds of miles a day for weeks on end.

And look Dave, more underpaid writing opportunities!