High Desert

Rock Springs, Wyoming
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Elevation 8835
Up and up we climbed, to the highest point on I-80 West, which is commemorated with a statue of Lincoln and a swell visitor center.
Each butte we crested served up another immense view. The valleys we crossed today are nearly incomprehensible in size. Hundreds of miles wide, and simply jaw dropping in scope. The vistas are so vast that Tim said he could almost see the curvature of the Earth. Haha.
The High Desert is quite empty. It’s an enormous void of sagebrush and sand, with an occasional prong horn antelope at play, and the mountains in the far, far distance. Pictures don’t do it justice.
We are still following the line of the old Oregon Trail, and can’t help but imagine the hardships the pioneer families must have endured. Walking, riding in a wagon, or, as in the case of those crazy Mormons, pushing a handcart for months across this unforgiving landscape.
“August 28, 1857  
Dear Diary,
Provisions almost gone.
Down to 2 cups of flour and a pound of salt.
Pregnant again. Two children dead from fever.
Kill husband soon.”
Tonight, with our modern version of a Conestoga Wagon, we are safely tucked into a campground in Rock Springs. And our biggest concern is that we might run out of cocktail sauce.