The most beautiful state?

"I must confess to a laxness in the matter of National Parks. I haven’t visited many of them. Perhaps this is because they enclose the unique, the spectacular, the astounding- the greatest waterfall, the deepest canyon, the highest cliff, the most stupendous works of man or nature. And I would rather see a good Brady photograph than Mount Rushmore." ---Steinbeck

I doubt there is another state that gives so much of its land to the National Park system: the Tetons are big, Yellowstone huge. Like Steinbeck, I had mostly given short shrift to National Parks, but mostly out of lack of proximity or being too cheap to pay the entrance fee. But once you have chosen a fairly northern route across the Plains and Rockies, you would have to actively try to avoid the parks if you want to make the Pacific Coast.

I knew somewhere in Wyoming I would hit the Rockies. They first came in the form of the Big Horn Mountains, which rise quickly from the range land of eastern Wyoming into peaks snow capped even in late summer. This happens just as the interstate veers north in search of a pass, at the town of Buffalo. Seems like this Buffalo deserves its name a little more than the New York version, but it is a small place, so will always be "the other Buffalo." The West took no time presenting itself here, as I saw four cowboys, although one was probably a cowgirl, containing a dozen cows that had come through a fence right at road's edge. They were driving them from the road and up an impossibly steep incline, one you'd associate with the Big Horn sheep these mountains are named for.

These are real mountains, rising to beyond 13,000 feet, although we were able to cut through at about 9600 feet. If you stay on I-80, you miss them to the south as you sneak through the Great Basin Divide; a hole in the Eastern Rockies between Colorado and Wyoming. Although the driving was arduous and the day long, I was so glad of this route. I think Route 16 here in the middle of the state was the most beautiful I had ever been on; by sunset it may have dropped to a close second. As we wound our day down an amazing river canyon, down a long 6% grade, you could smell brakes cooking in the air. There were semis in front of me, but also campers. I assume the truckers work their gearboxes to take the strain here. If it was the campers, I was hoping they had plenty of shoes and pads to burn, because no happy end would come to anyone unable to slow on this hill.

We hit the central valley region of Wyoming, where most of the towns had elevations higher than their populations. We played frisbee at Hot Springs High School (home of the Bobcats) in Thermopolis, and then on to Shoshoni. The drive between the two towns could be lifted off a great model railway: river down the middle, road and railroad cut into the sides of the gorge, winding through short tunnels. From Shoshoni, Jackson was close on the map, but to get there in a car you had to follow the valley far north of the target. It was here, just past Poison Creek Picnic Area (good name for a creek, but a picnic area?....hummm) and the dot of a town Kinnear, that I went through the only speed trap I saw in 4000 miles, and I went through it slowly enough to avoid attention. It was a drop from 65 mph to 35 mph with 700 feet of warning. I suspect it is the largest revenue line item on their budget.

Several times in Wyoming, signs tell of the period the rock formation represents and the name of that era. "Pre-Cambrian" says one, "3 billion years old," the sign continues. Glad to see, in Dick Cheney's home state, that those signs haven't been removed or rewritten to a stricter scriptural interpretation.

It was now 7pm and the sign said I still had 150 miles to drive to Jackson. But the road was nice and fast as it rose gently up a valley, Rocky Mountains now to my left, my right and my front. We hit the continental divide at about 9000 feet. Luci, as my innocent surrogate, peed on the spot to begin the race to the two oceans. In Yellowstone we would cross the Divide again half a dozen times, making it more common than fast food in this part of the world. We were driving into the setting sun now, sometimes directly, sometimes it curved behind a mountain. Wyoming didn't have nearly the bugs South Dakota had given up, but I still thought Orkin should be subsidizing my fill ups. Here the critters on the windshield, and the ones not yet, glowed in the backlighting of the sun and added a fascinating difficulty to seeing the road.

Suddenly, distant yet dominant, ahead in the valley opening stood the Grand Tetons. They were dusty gray in this light, the sky behind them a dusty rose. 13 hours of driving this day seemed so very worth it at this moment. It was one of those moments that will be forever printed on my mind. Perhaps the postcard I take from this entire journey. Still a couple of hurdles to reach Jackson that night: a construction zone that required pilot vehicles to lead us through, and an oversize vehicle at the base of a steep and winding hill, struggling to maintain 15 miles an hour, yet impossible to pass, but with the view of the Tetons never far away. The last 30 miles take you down the Snake River Valley with elk to the right and buffalo to the left. It was too late to dawdle, but we'd get a better look in the morning.

In the moment I was sure Wyoming must be our most beautiful state. I know there will be millions of dissenting opinions on this, many from my new home, Hawaii, I am sure. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and one can only rate what one has seen. I have not been to Alaska, for instance, which must have bigger mountains and grander valleys. I have only seen the Colorado Rockies in winter; beautiful in white but muted compared to the variety summer offers. I also think that the mountain beauty of Wyoming and the ocean beauty of Hawaii are of the apples and oranges variety......no real way to compare such different vistas. Anyway, I am not quite done with Wyoming, but it truly left a mark on me.