![]() ![]() We traveled along US Route 89-a wavy, winding road that blew us back and forth between state borders for two hundred miles. We’d seen the rolling blue hills of the Southeast and the tidal flats of the Lowcountry, and we’d shot across the open grasslands of Kansas and spent three weeks in Colorado, and we’d cruised the California coast along Highway 1 and passed under the Avenue of the Giants into Oregon.īut this was something entirely different. So, life on the road was nothing new to us. ![]() My traveling companion was a scruffy, woolly-haired wanderer named Jake, and we’d been touring the country together for the past two and half months. We set off from Salt Lake on a Saturday in July. Simply put, something must be said for the Tetons-no matter how insufficient those words may be. The three days we spent there were moderately adventurous at best. But there’s something about those mountains that makes it difficult-impossible even-not to pay some homage. There have been, and there will be, far more epic stories to come from the Tetons. ![]()
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