Yesterday I was in three time zones, two airplanes, two cars, one bus and the tail end of a tropical storm. I landed in God’s country.

Tall firs reaching to heaven. A mountain pass that made my ears pop. Blue, blue skies. Motorists that allow safe following distances. And, at the end of the road, the town of Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

The air was delicious, the scenery divine.  We thought we’d walk to town to stay awake. How long, I asked the desk clerk. Twenty minutes, she chirped.

You know how this story goes. It was double that. But with the good luck that can sometimes befall the hapless traveler, we found a free shuttle bus that brought us home.

We had ice cream for dinner. We haven’t eaten a real meal in 40 hours. But we are here, on the road to Montana. Next stop, Big Sky!