I used to think I was pretty well traveled for someone my age. Growing up, my father took us to Colorado to see our grandparents nearly every summer. We took trips to South Dakota to see Mount Rushmore, New Mexico to visit Sante Fe and Taos, Wyoming to see cousins and experience the west. My mother, sister, and I went to France twice together. I’ve been through Scotland and England. Weekends as a child were spent road-tripping through New England, summers spent driving up and down the East Coast.
However, I fear at heart I am just a narrow-minded New Yorker, because Utah blew me away.
I mean, come on, East Coasters, what do we really know about Utah? We know that Salt Lake City is there and that’s supposed to be cool. The Olympics were kind of a big deal in 2002. If you’re into polygamy, it’s the place to be. Utah is part of the Four Corners and when you’re 11 it’s really fun to wave to your sister from Utah when she is three feet away in Arizona. But who goes to Utah?
Everyone. Or they should, at least.
We really weren’t supposed to be in Utah at all. We left Las Vegas Saturday morning, headed for Farmington, New Mexico. We later found out that the fastest route would have been on 1-40 through Arizona, but our GPS set a route for us that dipped into Arizona, wound through Utah, back into Arizona, and into the New Mexican corner that houses Farmington. Typing this out, I see that it sounds silly and we should have looked at a map and known better. Kids, this is what happens when you rely solely on technology.
As we wound our way through Utah, we found ourselves approaching a sign that read: “Entering Zion National Park. $25 Fee for All Cars Passing Through.” When you are financially-strapped New Yorkers, paying an extra $25 for anything in Utah seems unreasonable. But we drove on:
