The Mormons knew when to stop. Between the great salt lake and the Wasatch mountains is a place of incredible beauty and a good place to stop. My son John and his wife Missy, after some consideration decided to linger here, so the travelers stopped, pausing for two nights, stopping.
The mountains here rear up abruptly from the planes and, especially in winter, define Utah for many of us from elsewhere.
Salt Lake City is a blue dot in a red sea and an interactive map in today’s New York Times reminds us how starkly politics , like wealth mark the rural – urban divide across the nation. How to narrow those divides that undermine social cohesion and threaten democracy?
As Phillip Stevens writes today in the FT, populism thrives on nostalgia for an imagined past, a time, ironically, when politicians used to picture a better future. In the great sweeping emptiness that we’ve passed through, how to convey respect, open minds and improve economies?
To us resuscitated investment in public schools and universities, much more comprehensive and faster free internet, high speed rail connections, more windmills and yes, lots of those first generation industrious migrants ( like us) would be a beginning. There’s plenty of room.
Meantime we arrived chez Missy and John bearing gifts. 
They have gut renovated their house and turned it into a spacious, light filled delight. Missy converted a pot full of what looked like a bubble bath into a delicious pasta dish catering for Blair’s dietary proclivities – he doesn’t eat things that walk, only things that swim.
We were joined by Ivey and (so long) Marianne, her teacher Mom. Ivey, Missy’s buddy, moved from DC to the SLC biotech sector and has a promising stem cell approach to wound healing.
Zoe is a bundle of creative energy, athletic snowbunny and a recent convert from pink to turquoise ( bedroom undergoing a slow shift: jammies a sign of what’s coming.
Zoe’s friends Madeline and Emelia joined us for the formal celebration with the birthday boy. Missy gave him a present he might have written.
This sedentary reflection seemed to refresh him as did looking at me thrash about aimlessly..
The water was hot as the crust is thin hereabouts. We dipped in the local culture and then pushed off , turning south towards Utah but with a bit more Idaho in between.
The next few hours we drove through gobsmackingly beautiful country – verdant hills, lush meadows and big, big blue sky, Magritte clouds and an open road. 27 tons to get Ian to one hundred although 74 is the priority.
Pictures just don’t do it justice but here are a couple more 
After all that natural beauty we needed some junk food to reset the balance: well Idaho potatoes in Idaho Falls seemed just the ticket except Hugo says they are sourced in MaineMeantime , undistracted the birthday boy seeks to compare his pet frataxin sequence with that of the bat: but that’s another story.I’ve suggested he try his luck at a novel funding strategy – better odds than the NIH
Lewis and Clarke we aren’t but I really like Montana and plan to have my ranch there – the vineyard is set for Oregon!
HHThe two scientists discussed at length their dinner plans for when they arrived in Butte, first checking with the hot springs resort that food and drink would be available.
and the oddly named Ciao Mambo. As Ian ordered the Barolo, I ran up the street to catch the setting sun in such an interesting place – lots of fit young people, great scenery and interesting stores: one to return to. You can find it 
Back in the restaraunt the delightful Claire ( the French way but named after Clair an English poet in an insane asylum: I’ve always liked parents with a sense of humor) navigated the menu for the boys, culminating in linguini con vongole.
Meantime I ran for the Sunset ( just missed it)
but I caught the Moonrise.
Claire was great, we all had crayolas ( perfect for a new 73 year old) and inspiration on the ceiling from previous diners – Michelangelos in Missoula.
As there were more than two hours driving in the dark to go, only a soupçon of Barolo was consumed as we geared up Leonard to guide us to Butte.
More roadworks but the speed limit compensated. No light pollution, starry skies and an almost full moon ( waiting for the birthday lunatic) and the last two songs as we arrived at midnight in Butte were Darkness and Amen. Everything closed, no glasses but we toasted the birthday boy with Barolo in a paper cup. At least there were two beds.
It’s in a setting like this that a performance artist, a carnival barker can thrive. The only excitement for us is guessing where the demands of the aging male bladder can be satisfied in a treeless landscape. Then when things seem Beckettian bleak the road descends to this:
There was even a convenient elevation for a Titanic moment :
It’s all over now baby blue, but for the wild horses. 
Again just mesmerized by the beauty of the peaks with their lush smothering of green.
The soundtrack mixes Anne Sophie Mutter with a touch of Bach and Sinead, classically in Troy: the voice that moved a thousand hips. I know, I know – that’s pretty grim with 6 hours to go. Gassed up close to the National Snowboard museum in Summit. A bit bleak and basic without the snow but lots of craggy climbers hanging about.
Ms Waze goes awol on the cannabis fumes before getting us back on course but not before depositing us at the base of this baby.
On to Montana with Simple Minds – Don’t you forget about me! One for Matteo as he starts his new job in Milano. Meantime , we stop for lunch…
Old friend, Scot, mass spectroscopist, expert on drug metabolism and toxicologist, pilot, rugby aficionado and genuine nice guy. He gave us the line that this was the best place to eat Alaskan king salmon in the world and against my expectation, it turned out to be true! 
Our guruette , Tracy. says this one is named after the 26 year old daughter who knows more about wine than master SOMs. Perfect meal in a spectacular lakeside setting .Moan with Tom about the state of the nation.
As we mopped up after this incident we were approached by Jeff and Jean, concerned that we were texting ( or writing this blog) rather than talking to each other. We politely explained that after hours in a hot cramped space ( bloody Germans ) together , we needed private time but then fell into conversation with them. Meantime, our sensitive Norwegian SOM had a suggestion for Ian..
Jeff had played rugby in the USAF and had watched the 7s!! On his way to Dublin to drink in the Brazen Head, he is flying tomorrow to Oahu. Lots in common. Best friend with Jean’s husband, another flyer who skis Powder Mountain – we’ve been there! Again lots in common : Jean and I feel the same way about golf, Then we turned to politics.
Perhaps a lesson for the country at large: stay true to yourself but engage rather than retreat from tackling uncomfortable truths? Better a disputatious consumption than frozen silence. This way we learn about each other even if not from each other.
I assured her I wasn’t married to Blair and that seemed to reassure her as we fell on our food and sampled the sparkling, heads down communicating with Calico and Penn.
Well, some of the time anyway. Stuffed and quaffed we headed for the beach and I drank in the atmosphere ( for a change), reminiscent of Butlins in 1960s Blackpool if not Chesil Beach, in so many ways, I began to understand why Blair had pushed me north; it was his kind of town.
Bathed in nostalgia he pushed on to the beach. The smell of fried food, the damp, the evocative architecture and the chilly wind had him back reflecting on the joys of a postwar English summer. There was even a dodgems. 
Given the name of the town and some distant rumbles, it had to be around? At last, like the Greeks at the Helispont, we spotted it : thalassa, thalassa!
No paddling in the Pacific by Blair this time but as I sent him to fetch the car – such an obliging chap – I spotted a sign for final libation:
Served up by the charming local Alyshea it set us on our way , prepared for the stunning beauty of our entry across the causeway into Washington state.
The owner imports Hawaiian stock to his Oregon vineyard to deliver a delightful Pinot Gris. We learned all this from the even more delightful Tracy who, to a Beatles soundtrack dealt with a full house, chopping cheese and charcuterie, sorting almonds and pouring wine.
As in this small world she had dated a Shropshire lad, cared for her parents in Beaufort and worked in NYC and Barcelona. Already a stage two SOM, she is working the wine bars while studying for the next level ( master SOMs are level 4). The boys listened attentively and felt that their educational requirements demanded a final instructional sample before preparing for dinner.
A quick shower before slipping into some dazzling evening wear and they were hiking up the streets of Portland – Blair hit 20,000 steps yesterday – to meet Jamie and Steve.
Again in the small world category we had met these friends of Ian’s daughter Emma in Santa Fe on our earlier drive west! Now they’ve moved to Portland. As you will notice Blair always gets the pole position in these photos! Great food and chat as we resampled the Drouhin we had tasted in Bend.
I snuck in for a squeeze before we pushed on. The day ended in Le Petit Oiseau for a final instructional nightcap with Tracy who recommended we detour to the coastline en route to Seattle. Anders had suggested visiting the Spruce Goose out there too. The evening was concluded with toasts to her late Dad , my Kate and the sequence alignment of Ian’s new survival protein with that in the Naked Mole Rat: but that’s another story.
Well, not really, but they generously did, Stephanie and Ian eating meatless bacon ( well, they do like golf) while Gary and I tuck into authentic bangers. Plenty of room in their 6 acres for two horses and one big dog. Their house is a model of minimalist perfection, gutted to the brick and recapitulated in whiteness and light.
What a life! Throw in the boat in Almeda, the small plane, the brilliant art and you don’t even need the cricket bat from Gary’s days in RSA to complete the picture. Two great, generous friendly people who have life worked out. 
Having moaned about Trump, worried about the mid terms and given the nod to British, Belgian and French imperialism, Blair concluded the Brits lost the World Cup by invading the wrong countries ( despite the Irish Harry Kane) !
Almost close enough to give it a hug…
We’ve been trying to think how to monetize this. Des suggested the book, the documentary or the Opera – a remake of the odd couple. We’ve decided to pitch a remake of the King and I to Porsche. I need a haircut.
Onward to Portland with Dido and Armin van Burren doing a remix of Everything to Lose , followed by Dido singing Lost: seems appropriate.
He also lingered by the pristine waters only a subsection of which were snot green for which he established likely cause.
And then what made that long walk truly worthwhile …
It’s a long way from
Hats off to the cheery photographer.