So Moab it is.
Two hundred forty miles south of home.
There's a lot of living in that two hundred miles.
A lot of tromping, a lot of "where's the atlas?" and "let's see.... this dirt road goes up towards here..."... a lot of investigating. That's my kind of adventuring.
Sego, Utah. Ghost town.
Where some of the graffiti is from the Archaic period...7,000bce.
I love this life of mine--this life of ours. Have I mentioned it?
And so. We travel eagerly on down the road.
Any road, really.
Thompson Springs, Utah.
Which is a town like so many others.... mining... then a major train stop (with a station and hotels, even).... then the highway bypassed it, and the passenger train changed its stop to a different town.
Now, though there are a very few residents (strange, that people still live here) - 28, at last count - the town is definitely ruled by its ghosts.
Eventually we made it to Town,
and then to our cabin.
Hello, Moab. So nice to see you, again.