If Whitefish and Moab are like sweetened ice coffee, then downtown Denver is like a double shot of espresso.
Last night we stayed at the fanciest Hampton Inn I’ve ever seen. It had valet parking (which we were able to avoid) but no bellmen (a good thing for those who prefer to schlep their own). We walked to supper at a diner called Sam’s No. 3. Never order a salad at a diner (their vegetables seem to come from a tired salad bar) — why I haven’t learned this already, I don’t know.
This morning was overcast as we headed out onto the plains via I-70, bound for Salina, KS. I’m sorry to leave the mountains and red rock, but also anxious to get home. It’s always fun to leave, but also just as good to return home with treasures (memories, stories and photos). Not that I didn’t shop. Our SUV is beginning to resemble a mobile library….
I love to gain time moving west — but hate the subsequent loss as we trail home. Every Christmas I went to CA, I’d stay up 20-21 hours because of the gain, and it’s amazing I didn’t get sick each time I did it. But here, I have to see coming east as an opportunity to crash early, and catch up a little on sleep.
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