My Roadtrip, at long-last revealed . . .

In the wee Sunday morning hours, Lydia and I embarked on a journey that would take us through seven states, beyond the Ozarks, across the Mississippi, and into lands where diesel trucks can use the passing lane and where littering carries heavy fees. Only one of us would return. This is our tale.
During sacrament meeting in Toquerville, an old man told a story about an attempted prison break where the prisoners tried to escape using shivs. Lydia asked the very apt questions, "What are shivs? And, why are prisoners always breaking out of prison with them?" We were still in our Sunday clothes as we entered Zions Park.

A note to those who may travel through Zions Park on Highway 9 in future: the speed limit drops from 60 to 35 on entering the park. Not noticing this, Lydia and I had the pleasure of meeting Ranger Tom. He introduced himself not once, but twice to us.
He didn't bother to mention his last name, but he did mention that we should have seen the speed limit signs. Over 50 was how fast we were going, he said. But he also mentioned that he doesn't have radar. I swear we didn't break 40. I was driving.

I was really happy when all we got was a warning. He said if we go back again and speed, our license plate will be on record. I'm also really happy we were in Lydia's car--and that she's about to get Tennesee plates anyway.
The checkerboard. Or with Lydia standing in front of it, perhaps we should call it the chessboard.
The Colorado River. Even Ani didn't know why the water was so green.
Arizona landscape.
First-time visitors to the Grand Canyon, Lydia and I spent a happy, though incredibly chilly and blustery, hour walking around and taking pictures.
I'm not going to mention any names here, but I will say this: no man, woman, or child should ever enter someone else's home and sit like this. It's called awkward.
Three levels of a tower built at the side of the canyon. We were joined in our adventures through the tower by many Asians and an older couple from Pennsylvania (not Amish).

Lydia and I didn't realize until we were headed out of the park just how many people were looking at us. Then we put two and two together. Two women in Sunday clothes + Utah license plates . . .
but an hour outside of Colorado City . . . well, you do the math.

Lydia and her trusty Navarre.

Flagstaff-bound.

After a long day of driving, sight-seeing, and Sunday-appropriate music.
Route 66, pre-dawn.
Me, delighted with my camera and the sunrise coming up over the flat horizon.


Guardian of the Arizona highways.Singing along with Johnny Cash.
Hub of innovation: "Charm of yesterday . . . Convenience of tomorrow"
"Home of the Movie Stars" on Route 66.
One for my Henry David.
To be expected in New Mexico: poetical road signs.
Karen is a New York native who moved to Albuquerque and opened her own bakery in the Historic Albuquerque section of town, Rollin' in Dough. Everything here is homemade and baked fresh daily.
As we left New Mexico, Lydia and I plotted the photographic theme for our visit through Texas-- "Everything's bigger in Texas." This is the first indicator of what was to come.
A huge road sign--with mention of beloved native, George W.
Mmm-mmm-mmm. Nothing like a 72 oz. steak to close out a long day of driving-- a mere 4 1/2 pounds of cooked meat. I still don't know what you've gotta do to get it free.
Pilgrimage site for the true believers: the largest cross in the Western Hemisphere was how it was advertised. Hard to discern in the picture are the three smaller crosses with gory figures attached. These are set up to the right of the big one.
Birds! Billions of crows.
Checotah, Oklahoma -- home to Carrie Underwood. The only other sign mentioning a famous Oklahoman was outside a little place called Elk City -- home to Susan Powell, 1981 Miss America. I wonder what kind of sign they'll put up for me outside of Spanish Fork when I'm famous. (Famous, John, not infamous!)
Yeah, there wasn't really anything worth posting from Checotah till we reached Graceland. My apologies to Arkansas. One thing we did notice once we reached Arkansas and that lasted all the way through Tennessee were the billboards advertising "adult entertainment." Not in Kansas anymore . . . Unfortunately we got to Graceland after it was closed up for the night.
I was really excited to drive across the Mississippi. Lydia took this one for me since I was driving. Nice job, Lyd. The Mississippi is so cool. I only wished me and Lyd would have had time to travel up it on a raft.
Nashville, Tennessee. Home of rock and roll. Lydia and I had our last meal together at the Hard Rock Cafe. They had some Jimi Hendrix and Faith Hill paraphernalia inside along with tons more stuff. It looks deceptively small on the outside, but it is expansive once you're inside. Our waiter (was his name Scott? I can't remember.) was way nice, but definitely tripping on another planet. I'd never been waited on someone who was high before.

One example of the Tennessee hospitality: I was still feeling a little sick and wanted to wash my hands before we ate. I asked one of the hosts at the restaurant where to find the restroom. He gave me his arm and escorted me there. That made me really happy. And, I knew I was leaving Lydia in good hands--Tennessee would take good care of her.