Nothing should surprise me anymore. The western half of Utah bore no resemblance to its eastern counterpart. I started off driving through mountains, moved into desert and flat plains (that looked like salt rather than sand) and ended up in a city that looked like it was right outside of a beach.
The Utah desert had many stretches of white sand, and the winds picked it up quite easily. Dust storms plagued Arizona, but the sandstorms I saw in Utah were so huge and complex I wasn't sure what I was observing.
Another interesting thing about Utah is that each town had its initial painted onto a prominent mountain to identify location from the air. It was a helpful device in passing the time and gauging distance.
Salt Lake City was interesting, but nowhere near as captivating as the lake itself. The city is set against a backdrop of enormous snowy mountains, and it is far more developed and lively than presumed, though everything dies down fairly early. Most famous for the Mormon Temple, this part of the city is very aesthetically impressive. However, the lake dwarfs the architecture easily. Driving towards the Great Salt Lake transports you to the Mediterranean, with salt in the air, mist covering the water, and rock jutting out of the dark lake. One minute you're in the desert, the next you feel you're at the beach and you're truly in a whole different world. Before you have a chance to grasp what you're seeing, you enter a city in the mountains.
My determination was impeccable. Even taking an hour to explore the Mormon history, I stepped foot in three states that day. I made it to Wyoming, braving pitch black curving roads in the angry rain.
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