Day Four: Denver to Twin Falls

I fear I am a useless travel companion. I think I've driven about 6 hours total this whole trip, which means nothing in the scheme of how much we've driven at this point (I believe it's somewhere around 24 hours by now). Thus far, I've missed a state sign photo because of my borderline-narcoleptic travel habits. My outlandish medical fiasco appears to be wrapping up, and the trip is becoming a little more fun.

Today, we tackled the insane task of driving through the states that God forgot. A bit of a gasoline scare put is in Buford. Population: 1, Elevation: 8,000ft. I'm guessing that one person occupying this town was the mayor, the sheriff, and the resident...and the person operating the gas station we used. He seemed a bit bored; I tried to engage him in some probably-much-needed conversation, to no avail.

The rest of the day involved many stops for gas, and many hikes up unreasonable heights. After crossing the Continental Divide, we slowly glided down through Utah and Idaho–making the longest day of driving really the LONGEST day of driving, since the most exciting things we saw were a pack of bison and a sweet-ass storm in the Idaho plains. This Best Western is easily the nicest hotel we've stayed at thus far–a king-sized bed and a couch, with a TV.

With this luxury comes a price: censored Pulp Fiction on AMC. There is nothing more painful than watching Samuel L. Jackson converse with his boss in censored action. Or any of the legendary scenes, for that matter.

Italics for all the things AMC mutilated. AMC, I am disappointed in you.

Jules: What does Marsellus Wallace look like?
Brett: What?
Jules: What country you from?
Brett: What?
Jules: What ain't no country I ever heard of! They speak English in What?
Brett: What?
Jules: ENGLISH, MY FRIEND! DO-YOU-SPEAK-IT?
Brett: Yes!
Jules: Then you know what I'm saying!
Brett: Yes!
Jules: Describe what Marsellus Wallace looks like!
Brett: What, I-?
Jules: Say what again. SAY WHAT AGAIN. I dare you, I double dare you, man. Say what one more *bleep*damn time.
Brett: He's b-b-black...
Jules: Go on.
Brett: He's bald...
Jules: Does he look like a babe?
Brett: What?
Jules: DOES HE LOOK LIKE A BABE?
Brett: No!
Jules: Then why you try to hug him like a babe, Brett?
Brett: I didn't.
Jules: Yes you did. Yes you did, Brett. You tried to hug him. And Marsellus Wallace don't like to be hugged by anybody, except Mrs. Wallace.

I may be dramatizing a little...but not that much. Anyway, we'll see if I'm impressed by this continental breakfast. Everywhere we've been has been disappointing thus far.