Bryce Canyon National Park; Utah Shakespeare Festival
On our way out of Bryce, we stopped at Fairyland Canyon, where Matthew and I attempted to walk to Cuba. We did not get very far, however, because the previous night's rain and hail had turned the clay into thick sludge that cemented our shoes into the side of the mountain.Those hoodoos really blew my mind. Pinnacles of peace and perfection.
Leaving Bryce, we drove through Dixie National Forest and Red Rock Canyon Park, where we encountered snow to our surprise and delight. Seizing the moment, I began humming Christmas tunes.Driving through Utah was relatively uneventful, compared to the awe-inspiring sights we had been privy to. 
That was before we drove into Cedar City. I nearly wet myself with glee, desperately wanting to see the Utah Shakespeare Festival that I had heard so much about. But, alas, I had to pick one Shakespeare Festival this summer, and I picked Oregon.
Upon first entering the city, I was fiercely disappointed. Unlike Ashland, where banners festoon every available space, and the entire town benefits from the commercialism and publicity of the festival, there were no signs whatsoever for the Utah Shakes. We had to inquire at the gas station to find the place!
Once there, however, I was in my element. That is, creeping. Spying. 
Reconnaissance. 
I gazed slack-jawed at the facilities, walked the grounds, cherished the landscaping, memorizing it for later, and then tiptoed into the theater itself. It was heavenly. There was art in the air; I could smell it. I could sense that great performances had been held upon that stage, that audience members had
experienced a whirlwind of emotions whilst seated precisely where I was perched, that great actors and technicians and directors had padded the carpet I was now exploring with my toes.
I was so fully devoted to absorbing the essence of the world into which I had wandered, I quite carelessly left Auntie Cindy and Matthew in the car for an embarrassingly long period of time.
By the time I had decided to leave, I could not resist asking an innocent question of the cute worker in the gift shop on the way out and an animated and lengthy conversation ensued. His name was Dave and he was moving to Oregon, and he recommended that I do the same.
But despite the proximity to an excellent theater festival, I could not see myself going to school in Utah. Dave strongly advised against it as well.
That night we hit Vegas—Sin City herself. Dusk was threatening overhead and the stars were trying to light our way, when we looped around a hill and were instantly assailed (well, blinded) by an endless and overwhelming mass of lights that stung our eyes and taxed our patience. Some city lights can be pretty, or at least comforting, but these just glared and blared.
Needless to say, we opted for camping 45 minutes up in the mountains, away from the noise and the lights and the tourists. Our humble spot along a dried wash underneath a tree was all we needed for entertainment.
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