Colorado is awesome. The Glenwood Springs area may well surpass Montreal for my single favorite place on Earth. It’s simply completely breathtaking.
Well. No, wait. In fact, it’s not. Because Colorado air feels a little lighter, probably because I’m a little higher (mile high and risin’, baby!), and good, deep breaths feel awesome. I don’t remember the last time I’ve been able to take a good, deep breath I didn’t in the next instant hack onto the pavement.
The roadtrip was spectacular. I bypassed the Grand Canyon, figuring it’s pretty much a giant hole in the ground, in favor of driving up through Monument Valley and the Valley of the Gods. Straight through Moab, which makes Utah, I think, nearly my thirtieth state I’ve been through, so that’s kinda cool. Moab was gorgeous. So was Williams, AZ, especially at 9 in the morning.
Lots of pictures. Even a video.
Colorado is my fourth state since Wednesday.
My lower back is totally killing me right now. I think I strained something moving out on Wednesday. It’s actually an aggravation of an old injury I gave myself, ironically, on the occasion of my leaving Manhattan/Jersey City for the very last time. I don’t think it’s a slipped disk (I’m pretty sure I’d be in far greater pain); I think I just knotted up a muscle just above my coccyx.
Yeah, I just wanted to write coccyx and have it be medically accurate (no, wait. Actually it’s not. It’s above my pelvis. So that’d probaby be lumbar, now I think of it).
As you can probably tell, I’m not doing much thinking at the moment. I’m just sitting here typing, listening to Better Than Ezra. Looking to see if I can find a Denver restaurant from which I can order some venison to go (because that’d be rad), and looking forward to an evening of ibuprofen, good beer, food, and House, M.D..
Because, apparently, what you do when you turn thirty is leave Los Angeles, throw your back out, drive a thousand miles, and arrive there precisely two years to the day after you arrived in Los Angeles.
Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention that. I turned thirty last weekend.
Which is why I’m on the far side of a lot of things. The far side of thirty. The far side of my roadtrip.
Of course, from my perspective, right now, this is really the near side. Because the sun just keeps rising in front of me and setting behind me, and forward is the only direction in life worth going, if you ask me.
Not that you did.
But hey, I’m a little heady and a little introspective and a little in love with a lot of things.
Maybe it’s the extra oxygen from these deep breaths (oxygen makes you high, as anyone who’s ever watched Fight Club knows).
Then again: nah.