Road Trip Day 3 - Idaho Falls, ID

Okay. When day shed its light on Salt Lake City, the ugly truth was revealed - there is a lot of bad hair and worse fashion in this town.

Last night, it was all Michael Phelps and burgers - this morning, it's all pouffy bangs and Mom jeans. Seriously, Ken Paves and The Blues Jean Bar need to get here stat. And while we're at it, you know what else is lacking? DOGS. The only ones we've actually seen belong to homeless people. And as we made our way down the city streets with Moby, the youth hipsters and fellowshippers descended on us like he was the Lion King - more on that when we get to Park City.

So what great sights did we see in Salt Lake City? Well, let's see - everyone told us not to go to the namesake lake because it smelled and sucked (I guess every city has its Pier 39); and my desire to see the Golden Spike after having spent four years educating college tourists on Leland Stanford's laying of it in Utah to connect the east and west by continental railroad...yeah, that quickly waned when we discovered how far it was off the highway. Alright, Park City, here we come!

Oh, Park City - now this is Utopia. A pet boutique next door to a pet boutique that's across the street from a pet boutique...toss in a bunch of 5-star resorts and restaurants, and here's where Jesus is retiring. If the Salt Lake City denizens marveled at Moby's uniqueness, Park City locals simply marveled at his utter...dogness. From the waitress at the "Mexican" restaurant who ran more quickly to get him water than get us menus (although really, she was quite nice), to the 40-something couples traveling together who then shared their own dog photos on their cell phones...these people might be insane...and we might need to look into fractional ownership here.

Now, it's on to Le Ritz. No, not THE Ritz...LE Ritz. There's positively nothing between Park City and Idaho Falls (pictured above), but when we arrive, Le Ritz doesn't disappoint. This small hotel is situated right on the Snake River and smells like cinammon and bubble gum...everywhere. We settle in, and enjoy a gnat-swatting walk down the river pathway to dinner where we spot a man wearing a tshirt that reads, "You Don't Know Me," circa Jerry Springer '97. We make our way to an extraordinarily average brew pub, based solely on who is broadcasting the Olympics (shocker). Brad doesn't want me to be too mean in my blog posts, but I would be remiss in not observing that at this restaurant, a female patron is wearing a bedazzled faux-Harley Davidson tank top with Salt Lake City Mom jeans and a fanny pack. I don't know what her hair looked like because I was blinded by the bedazzling and had to look away before I made it to the top of her head.

Thanks to everyone for reading and sending/posting comments!