Leaving.

We left Reno at about 7 in the morning.  I had one last thing to do before starting towards the Utah/Nevada border.  40 minutes later saw me walking calmly away from the Budget rental truck, across the grassy field behind Aaron's house.  I had a DVD and a picture clutched in my hand, blue sweatpants on, and my "Si, Se Habla Old Norse" t-shirt.

I walked up to his door, positioned both items in full view, straightened up, rang he doorbell, and ran.

I kinda feel like I didn't stop running until three hours ago.

Nevada passed in a familiar blur - I've driven or ridden out past Ely a fair amount of times.  As we cruised along the main street, we passed by the ancient Hotel Nevada.  A waiter sat out front, dressed in her uniform, smoking a cigarette.  She looked up at us as we passed by, a face seemingly dulled by complacency and boredom.  Waiting for someone to take her out of this town, I thought as I looked at her and her at me.  I got a shiver down my spine.

We turned sharply and dipped south toward Las Vegas.  A sky packed full of thick clouds made the small cab of the truck bearably cool.  Another sharp turn pointed the hood towards Utah... towards Colorado.  Towards my UNR.  But we spent the night in Cedar City, more than 400 miles from Dayton.

Today we got another early start, rolling north on the I-15 before 8.  After a brief breakfast stop in Beaver, Utah, and we were merging onto the I-70.  The first 100 miles or so of Colorado were a disappointment.  I guess a little bit of thinking would have alleviated this, being as it's rare that landscape changes with state borders.  As it was, we continued on through the rolling desert.

Jagged bits of rock glared out at us occasionally, framed by equally angry red dirt.  Large cliffs eyed us down from a distance on either side and the road belched heat up from beneath.  The air vents in the cab battled the fury of the desert, but without the aide of air conditioning, they didn't stand much chance.

The colorado River came to the rescue after the first hour and a half.  It brought more clouds, a breeze, and most importantly, elevation.  The interstate took to mimicking the rushing waters, tracing it higher and higher into the Rockies.

Our bulky truck began to struggle against gravity more and more as the miles slipped by, clawing at our speedometer slowly but surely.  I began to look at the GPS more often as the elevation rose.  191 miles.  186 miles.  167.  134.  I gave it up after a while and tried to sleep.

A grumbling sentence or two from my dad woke me up an hour down the road.  I focused ahead to see, seriously, miles of stopped traffic.  I looked to see the westbound lanes still cruising along, then turned slowly to face forward again.  Miles.  Speaking of which, I glanced at the GPS.  52.4.

"No way," I muttered.

"They're re-paving the Eisenhower Tunnel," Dad explained.

"No way."

Two and a half hours later saw us about 5 miles up the road.  Gaysauce.

We arrived in Denver at about 7:45 and checked in here at the Days Inn.  Since then we've made a quick run to Target and watched the Beach Volleyball finals (go USA!)  We'll wake up tomorrow and head down the road for check-in at CCU.  Then who knows what.

I'll keep you up to date.  

I'm here.