When I take a road trip, I try to live by the cliche of “It’s not the destination, but the journey.” Last Thursday night, I decided I was going to give myself a birthday present. For 46, the idea of sitting alone in the house with my thoughts was just not something I wanted to do for another weekend. So, I opened up my AirBnB account and started looking through the areas I could reach with a day of driving. There are so many listings, and as I am not an affiliate (so I don’t get paid for endorsing AirBnB) I like using this platform because of all the options you get for the price you pay.
A listing for $50 per night jumped out at me. It wouldn’t break the bank to stay a few nights in Park City, UT on the off-season. It was a studio apartment with a Murphy bed and anything I would be needing for two nights. Plus, it was at a location I hadn’t ever visited before. I booked the place and packed my bags. Pick a cheap destination and just go with it.
This had been the fourth time this year I have driven the I-80 corridor through Wyoming, and though I used to think it was the most monotonous drive, it was ideal just to let my mind wander. The landscape is beautiful in its own stark way, a study of extremes. When I reached Evanston, I ran into the only weather I would experience on the trip. A sudden hailstorm on the interstate with high winds. Before long, I was through it again. The scrub and creosote of the Wyoming plains meets the green hills and valleys of the Salt Lake area not long after. River valleys choked with cottonwood glens and fields, and incredible vistas of mountains, some with swaths of forest cleared for ski hills and others like the Wasatch range are a prominence of towers and spires like a cathedral from a fantasy novel.
I got to my room by mid-afternoon and already, I needed to start exploring. Too eager to nap, I decided to use the method that helped out so much in London. I started walking, headed in sort of the direction of where all the attractions were: Main Street. It just takes some boot leather and some patience to get the feel of a place if you walk it. With it, you gain a sense of direction, landmarks, and some excercise after having your butt stuck in a car seat all day. About a mile away from the Prospector neighborhood is Main Street and Park Ave. In the off-season, you will find minimal crowds, art galleries, buskers, restaurants, and plenty of bars. If you can find a place to park, you can experience some prime people-watching. I saw no fewer than four wedding parties, interesting characters, tourists, and even dropped some cash on a new hooded sweatshirt, some dinner, and even a locally crafted beer. Park City isn’t rowdy, but it has a range of different bars to pick from depending on your mood. There are also restaurants which don’t list their prices on their menu. I guess if you have to ask, you probably can’t afford it.
The whole town is like a recreation of an actual mining town from the 19th Century. What I mean by that is the whole place has been fixed up so well, you’d never think it was this old, maybe like if an architect decided to make a town while someone shouted Doc Holiday lines from Tombstone in another room. Everything has been refurbished and rebuilt so well that unfortunately a lot of the old timey charm has been lost.
Once I got oriented, I used the free bus that runs regularly on a loop. Honestly, the half an hour you might have to wait for your bus will probably get you anyplace on foot just as fast, but my feet needed some toughening up, so I was dealing with blisters for most of the rest of the trip. That night, I relaxed in the hot tub and was joined by a group of five sisters (of nine siblings) who bantered and told tales on each other and listened to my stories until we were all kicked out of the pool
They roll the sidewalks up at 11:00pm in Park City, unfortunately and most restaurants stop serving food at 9, so be prepared for that. It’s probably a big departure from its early days as a silver mining city. The silver dried up and the town was largely abandoned until skiing was discovered and breathed a whole other life into the place. They’ve probably made more money on tourism than they ever did mining.
On the 11th, I went to Salt Lake in hopes that I could visit Snowbird, a ski resort with alpine slides and mountain coasters and all sorts of things to do. Homestead hot springs was closed and after an evening in the hot tub, I didn’t really get that worked up over it. Breakfast was Huevos Ranceros at the Eating Establishment, which were tasty but probably not worth the $20 for eggs, beans, and tortillas. Parking on a Saturday morning was easy, even just outside the place, and free.
What neither I nor Siri nor Waze knew was that the only road up to Snowbird was closed for a 9-11 marathon, which had most of that part of the city cordoned off. Remember that cliche about the destination and not the journey? The problem with GPS is that we think only of going from point A to point B and it gives us the quickest way possible. We miss out on so much in-between.
At least I got to cash in my free coffee at Dutch Bros for my birthday. I somehow tricked my navigation system to take a route around the marathon(s) and got back to my room by mid-afternoon. The ski resort was a bust and by the time I arrived back at my room I was mentally exhausted. I took a nap and then set out again for dinner and to visit Main Street. Not far from my room was a lobster place called Freshies. It specialized in lobster rolls, fresh squeezed lemonade, and chowder. Not lobster salad, but chunks of lobster, drizzled in butter, chives, and sauce on a toasted roll.
I enjoyed the pinkest, girliest drink I could have possibly ordered at The Brick: the Aviation Cocktail, which is gin, maraschino cherry liqueur, creme de violette, and a garnish of lemon. My other choice would have been the signature drink, synonomous with The Brick, which featured maple syrup and rye. Hard pass. Each was $15. But the wait staff was accomodating and friendly, even with the place being infested with guys out for a bachelor party.
From my perch on the sidewalk I got to watch people, which is my favorite passtime. Park City is spendy, but I’ve seen much worse (I’m looking at you, Estes Park). The people were all friendly, the crowds not so bad, and transportation was easy-as-pie.
The next morning, I stopped at a bakery for breakfast. I picked up a frozen brick of mac and cheese, a tiny raspberry cheesecake for my birthday, a coffee and a cranberry scone for the drive home.
Like I said before, it’s the journey and not the destination, so instead of taking I-80 home, I went back to Colorado via US 40…which thankfully took me on another Path. I’ll talk all about it in the next part. Subscribe and check back for what happens next.
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