On the way, we stopped in Moab-- a delightfully hot place I'd never been to before. We dug into some fantastically cheesy Italian food, and used Floyd's aerobic dance class held nightly on my bladder as an excuse to spring for hotel potties instead of the KOA variety.
The next day, we decided to burn off the pasta and cheese by hiking to Delicate Arch, which I'd only seen on license plates.
It's better in person, and bigger, too. Don't believe we made it? Here it is again... zoomed waaaaay in:
In a rather unfair arrangment, Floyd had an easy ride all the way to the top. I don't know who took this picture (I wasn't aware it was being taken at the time) but it was obviously by someone who doesn't love me enough to warn me to hide my puffy post-altitude-gain-in-hot-weather sausage fingers. I swear they returned to normal human size after the descent and a strawberry-lime Powerade.
Several hours later, we pulled into our destination just outside of Vail, Colorado. Colorado, by the way, looks exactly like I imagined it would, only with fewer Denver Nuggets fans. (Thankfully.)
The next day, most of the fam headed out to the aforementioned river in order to attempt to float down it on an oversized water weenie without getting thrown onto any rocks or hijacked by Kevin Bacon.
Pookiebear looked dashing in his splash jacket and helmet. His wet suit smelled a bit of mold, but I love him anyway.
Floyd and I were anti-potential abdominal trauma this go-round, so we opted to hang out here instead.
See? Looks like Colorado, doesn't it? And blessedly, blessedly Carmello Anthony free.