Back home now with newspaper headlines and Metro commutes, deadlines and responsibilities. Gone are the open road and limitless horizon, the buffalo and prairie dogs, the thin air and snow-covered peaks.

I took almost 800 pictures, my notebook is full of little things I want to remember: Potato Museum and Miss National Teenage Rodeo Queen. Gentian, Indian Paintbrush and other wildflowers spied on a hike. The rocks labeled on the drive through Powder River Pass: Granite Gneiss, Pre Cambrian, three billion years old, Bighorn Dolomite, 450 to 500 million years old.

But what I most remember isn’t in the notebook. It’s the view of Lone Peak from 8,500 feet. It’s the TR Park ridge trail on a perfect summer morning. It’s looking out over a huge emptiness, buttes in the distance, no roads, no cars, nothing but sagebrush and scrub land.

How different it would be to walk in the west. How various the views and insights. Travel, like walking, is a great restorative. Travel and walking — well, that is hard to beat.