Leaving Tremonton, I jump onto I-15 for the 73 mile ride to my home town. I’m rolling between the Great Salt Lake and the unbelievably tall Wasatch Front mountains. It’s interesting how you begin thinking of America in terms of mountain ranges, deserts, lakes and river crossings when you travel long distances over land.
I’ve ridden this stretch of Interstate hundreds of times. It was the road I travelled to and from college on. Seeing familiar man-made landmarks near Ogden that haven’t changed in 25 years brought back memories, but it was the craggy outline of the mountain range that really affected me. If you grew up near big mountains you’ll understand when I say the silhouette of these mountains is a watermark on my soul. It feels good to be near them again, and I look forward to introducing Connie to their steep curvy canyons later this week.
The familiarity of family and old friends awaits me in Salt Lake. It’s been way too long since I’ve seen most of my people.
Salt Lake traffic is unbelievably heavy as I hit town at the beginning of rush hour. Salt Lake drivers are a lot more aggressive than they were 25 years ago, but isn’t everyone?
I finally reach my hotel at the south end of the valley. I’m sore, dry, tired and hungry. Standing at the check-in counter, I notice a sour, dirty odor. I’m just beginning to wonder if I’ve chosen a bad hotel when I realize what I’m smelling is me. A shower and a real bed will be nice tonight.