Come Fly With Me

There is nothing quite like blasting Frank Sinatra "Come Fly With Me" on the radio as we speed along Historic Scenic Byway 12 in Southwest Utah, RV bouncing close behind.  Slender white birch trees stand sentinel alongside the route.  Coral rocks, jagged boulders and snow capped mountains dominate the landscape.

The beauty all around has a nasty flip side.  The route itself is a wicked, snaky highway with slick icy patches hidden here and there, hairpin turns tightly squeeze the road ahead.  Inclines appear like ski slopes on the pavement, running 65 you can only see the sky ahead and hope the road continues on the other side.  My gut tells me I'm on a roller coaster. I hear the distinctive rumble of the double yellow warning as we cross the center line on a sharp curve. This is the Wild West and I've got white line fever from the passenger side. 

We wind through canyons, old west towns, abandoned rail stations and worn out main streets.  An occasional Holstein or two blocks the road.  Even though they may be a little worn, these old gems are still America proud, flying Old Glory, waving a friendly hello.  Time and again we'll pass a brand new school at the center of town, ballfields busy, kids playing.  

Living the dream.