Night stumbles and falls on another day in the Odyssey. Otto is luminous in the moonlight as Kristanne labors into the wee hours on another dispatch from the wilds of Utah. A light rain begins to fall, its soothing cadence on Otto's roof gently lulling us to sleep. We sleep.

Peaceful though our sleep was, the morning brought anxieties. We were already a day late with our last dispatch to this site. What to do? Fortunately, we knew there was a "Cyber Valley Cafe" in Basalt, CO just a few short miles from our campsite on the Frying Pan River. We knew this because we had called them yesterday at 5:45 to get their hours, only to find out that they closed at 6:00 PM. Bummer, yes, but a small bummer since we could just hit their advertised internet access first thing in the morning, get the site up, and head off into the sunset, Young Turks that we are.

It was not to be. When we pulled up into the Cyber Valley Cafe, they were advertising a "Going Out of Business Sale" and the only things to be seen were packing crates, styrofoam peanuts, and the scattered detritus of a misbegotten business venture gone irrevocably bad. We tried, anyway, inquiring whether we might rent one of their still active phone lines for 20 minutes or so. We were rebuffed (in a European accent, no less, which was pretty cool!) and informed that she was closed, kaput, over and out, irretrievably broken, beyond a reasonable doubt, sold down the river, and a few other cliches that I can't repeat in these family climes. Didn't we get it? It was over, man. She was gone, one foot out the door -- she didn't want any money and couldn't take it anyway, since she'd already paid all her taxes. Kristanne's rhetorical query of whether it was hard to have a going out of business sale when you couldn't accept money was met with a stony silence, and we retreated back to the van, ever so lickety split.

Then, it was off to Aspen for another abortive attempt at network connectivity with the dadblamed Acoustic Koupler. We're getting closer. It actually connected this time, but then returned some cryptic and misleading error messages as to why it couldn't proceed with the connection it had just established. Aspen was a good place to do this -- people didn't even blink at the sight of two smelly ragamuffins trying to connect a laptop to a payphone. After all, the camembert was rumored to be on sale over at Le Parisienne Deli, so they had places to go. Aspen is the only place I've ever seen "Banana Republic Employees" listed on an "Adopt-A-Highway Litter Control" sign. I felt better knowing that at least the litter was being picked up by stylish folks in safari togs.

We left Aspen and hit the Interstate...hard. It was time to put some miles down, get to Utah. The web page would take care of itself. After a couple hours, we pulled into the ambitiously-named mecca of Grand Junction, Colorado. Apparently, there are wineries there, in addition to what is reputedly the world's largest flattop mountain. This was the biggest dot on the map between us and our eventual destination of Moab, Utah. It was internet access now, or an unprecedented two day lapse in posting the website. We were not prepared to accept failure.

We pulled into the first phone booth we saw and checked the yellow pages for a sign of the word, "internet." Mannah from heaven, it was there. Rocky Mountain Online Services. We called. They answered. We spoke.

"Do y'all offer hourly internet access?"

"We've been known to do that."

"Do you think you might do it again."

"It's possible. Why don't you talk to Roger."

Why the mystery? Why the cagy attitude? I was suspicious.

"This is Roger"

"Hi Roger. Do you have hourly internet access?"

"What do you want to do?"

"FTP some files to my web server."

"When do you want to do it?"

"Some time in the next 20 minutes."

What was with the third degree? Just what the heck was going on here? I concocted brilliant fantasies of political intrigue and deception at the highest government levels. Clearly, "Roger's" little Rocky Mountain Online charade was just a front for a covert CIA operation bent on destruction of the Mexican rebels in Chiapas. Who could miss it?

"Hold on a minute."

A long pause of about 45 seconds ensues. I'm apprehensive. Kristanne is apoplectic. Well, not really, but that does sound cool. Finally, he comes back.

"Yeah. I guess that's ok. Come on in."

So we came on in. Located in an unassuming office building, there was nothing on the outside that aroused suspicion. But wasn't that just a little too unassuming, if you know what I mean. We ascended the staircase quietly, sure that a furtive approach was the right one. On Kristanne's signal we entered, ready for trouble.

This is what we saw: an empty strudel tray, some decrepit office furniture, two pieces of astonishingly bad art, a percolating Mr. Coffee with the stain of a thousand cups brewed on its pot, and a dot-matrix printer chattering merrily on an empty box. Also, three really nice folks who were only too happy to let us use their phone line for an hour of internet access. It turned out they really didn't do hourly access, but were, in fact, an ISP and a web page design place. Definitely not CIA, anyway. When we were finished, they didn't even want to charge us, but we insisted. It's even the Extreme Shot of the Day. By the way, I think they're taking offers on that painting above my head.

Once the page was up, there was nothing left to do but head for Utah. So we did, driving on past Moab to a campsite high in the Lasal Manti National Forest near Lake Oowah. Possibly the most beautiful forests we've ever seen, with acres of luminously white aspen (check the photo near the top). We got a great spot for free right on the creek and set down for a nice night. We even got one more scenic shot for y'all before retiring for the evening. Betwen those aspen and this shot, Kristanne's turning into a regular Ansel Adams.

Total Miles for 6/19=318

Next Stops -- Bryce Canyon National Park and Zion National Park

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