Day 27: Battle Mountain NV - Heber City UT

A lie-in until eight o'clock may not sound that impressive but it does represent an extra two and a half hours in bed.  There were not a few part-worn PSOs stumbling about the Super 8.  And what of ace photographer Bas de Meijer?  Al plonked Bas' ever-present Boston Red Sox baseball cap down on a table.  Bas was not under it.  Happily he showed up a bit later, none the worse for his alien abduction¹.

The slick operation that was packing everything has reverted to being a total shambles again, but I got going at ten.  Fill That Shitbox Dodge up with motor spirit, turn left off the 305 just after the freeway bridge and say hello to three hundred miles of mostly tedium.  Apart from this:

It stands north of I-80 between Wendover and Salt Lake City.  You cannot park at it.  And in spite of having driven past it about half a dozen times I still have no idea what it is.

I later learned that Denise Koronek was at the Bonneville Salt Flats today, breaking the motor-paced speed record for a bicycle, at 189.932 mph.  I drove straight past without stopping, having clocked a large number of vehicle parked at the end of the access road to the salt.  No room for That Shitbox Dodge, I thought.

As Salt Lake City does a mostly unthreatening and very Mormon kind of looming in the distance, there are actual proper mountains in the distance:

Arthur contemplates the mountains of Utah

and eventually I-80 takes some time out from being dull with the climb up Parley's Canyon.

After this it goes back to being mostly immensely dull until eastern Ohio.  I escaped the dullness by turning off down US-40, where there Scenery and what appears to be Weather.  Or possible smoke, as the hotel has firefighters.  In it.  I hope not.

And now I shall have another cup of tea and then go to bed, because tomorrow is a long day and I am still knackered.  Nightie-night.

1: Or something