While on a plane bound from Vegas to Salt Lake City, I engaged in a conversation with a young man from Wyoming. As we overflew a swath of rugged mountains just beginning to melt into darkness, our conversation touched on what we find vital about the landscapes out West.
We both
need long, empty roads forced to curve around an upturned shoulder of stone. We want a chain of impassable mountains at
our side and nothing but a small town in our rearview mirror.
For
me, the West offers a drama in landscape I require. Give me a terrain stacked and layered with ancient
rock or a landscape that time and the elements have axed apart. Give me mountains, ravines, and canyons that
make me quiver if I stand near their edge.
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