Tuesday June 18. We left Yellowstone yesterday evening feeling like we'd had our fill of America's oldest national park. Having come in the south entrance and not wanting to spend any more time in Wyoming, we went out the west entrance, which brought us right into Montana. The part of Montana we drove through was a lot like Wyoming: beautiful mountains in the distance and lots of wide open spaces. Oh, and cows and ranches.
We drove into Idaho hoping to find a free campsite in the southern portion of the state so we could continue driving to Utah the next day. Around dinner time Colin saw a sign for Pizza Hut and convinced me we should stop there. Not having eaten Pizza Hut since the years of elementary school birthday parties, I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but I wasn't expecting it to taste like pizza. (This, of course, refers to pizza as only someone who has spent enough time in Italy or the tri-state area would know it.) And this, I think, is the secret to appreciating Pizza Hut or Domino's or Papa John's or any of those nationwide pizza chains, even if you consider yourself a pizza aficionado like I do. You can't go into it thinking it's pizza or anything even remotely tasting like that culinary sublimity from your favorite mom and pop Italian joint where you grew up. That being said, the proud Jersey girl in me is still ashamed to admit that I enjoyed that sloppy, greasy pizza imposter with the fluffy braided and cheese-stuffed crust.
I wonder how many people go their entire lives thinking that that is what pizza really is. That is both mind-boggling and saddening for me to think about.
Our bellies full and anticipating discomfort from the grease-and-cheese overload, we managed to find a free campsite near a river to spend the night. Now we're on our way to the Great Salt Lake!
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