Moab, Utah. We left Denver at 7am today. HOORAY. The going was a little dicey to start, a lot of ups and downs on snowy roads. After a couple of tense hours we broke out into sunshine and better driving but my car was shimmying as if it were a contestant on dancing with the stars. I had heard a clunk when we stopped to relieve our old guy, bloated prostate induced, frequently happening liquid extraction. I called Matt who immediately deduced it was ice buildup on my rims and prescribed a power washing of the wheels. I was envisioning a complete rearrangement of my front end costing thousands of dollars and many more lost hours. An exit ten miles down the road and $3.50 worth of high pressure water and we were moving fast and smooth. Thanks Matt, you are invaluable in moments like this.
The one incident of note was when we almost panicked when our Garmin lost satellite contact upon entering the Eisenhower Tunnel and we worried that we might get lost before we could reach the exit. But daylight eventually showed it's face and we were much relieved. The only subject of note during west Colorado was a discussion about the biology of taste. It was brought on by my experience the night before of eating a few barbeque potato chips after our difficult blizzard thing. They tasted so good I couldn't believe it, so I was wondering why some things taste fabulous at one moment in time and ordinary another. We prattled on for about 15 minutes, none of our theories worth mentioning here except to prove how deranged one can become when brilliant minds are given too much time in an enclosed space.
We arrived in Moab, you know, that place just across the Jordan river from Israel. The Moabites of the modern era just like to have fun. There is a restaurant called "Eddie McStiff's" which I imagined being run by a retired porno star. And there is a great shop in Moab called the Hogan Trading Company and it would be my first opportunity to show my stuff. I think I caught the owner in a weak moment and he agreed to take one of my matted and framed prints on consignment, yea my first minor success. Consignment means I take all of the financial risk and he doesn't really worry if it doen't sell. Everything has to start somewhere, so I guess I have started. Jon