Left Boulder in a flash. I-25 North never felt so good. Last time I felt this good on this stretch was when Rod was getting married in Fort Collins, a couple summers back. Good times.

I got up into Wyoming, took a sloppy, slack-jawed left onto I-80 and got serious across the better part of that big state. Smooth sailing.

I passed up Rawlins, and that old frontier prison there and got a little sad wishin’ it was earlier in the day so I could go check out that old site.

Some 520 miles later I was in Salt Lake City bangin’ on the door of Mikey’s place, “Fort Mary Dot.” J2 let me in and we caught up on all things “audio fidelity” and “mean streets of Salt Lake City.”

Fell asleep on a couch; warm, comfy and safe, and, happy. I love these fuckers.

- - - -

I was digging around on the web and came across some Flickr photos from some chap down in Austin, and, saw a couple shits doing kickturns and said, “Hey I know those fucks.” Turns out it was Coyle and Forgash. Dicks. I miss Portland.

- - - -

I can’t wait to get back home to get myself some of this and this.

- - - -

Missing home, out in Portland and back in Traverse City. Missing Leigh. Missing Gary. Missing mom and dad. Got one more day to go. 766 miles from SLC to PDX. A long haul. Then I go to work and make no less than one magazine and two catalogs. Really. Our test. Our trial. In the space of 15 days, you sinners.