Once you’ve secured your ride, do a quick leg stretch and open up the Maps app on your phone because it’s time to do some biking. And some drinking. This is how Denver should be explored.
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With Arches, Canyonlands, Zion, Bryce Canyon, and Capital Reef all within a four hour drive of Salt Lake City, it's clear that Mother Nature didn't skimp on Utah.
For you skimmers out there, all you need to know is in the title. Cobblestone, cathedrals, 22 town squares, beautifully old buildings — Savannah feels totally European. And, AND, you can walk around with alcohol in your hands, sippin' on a nice brew while window shopping on Broughton street (a mix of that classic, late 1800s, early 1900s brick downtown look meets 1950s retro) or just chillin' on a park bench underneath a giant oak draped in Spanish Moss. Yeah. If you didn't know life in Savannah was basically beer-friendly poetry (I didn't), you do now.Write here...
I turn into the Chickamauga Battlefield off Battlefield Parkway, falling victim to the first day of mid October in North Georgia when I won’t sweat like a pig after two minutes outside. Wanting to spend my initial moments off work in the evening beneath a smear of darkening clouds against patches of blue, I drive down the main road of the Civil War site past fields of concrete monuments and sea-foam green and black cannons that scatter throughout the park.
Apart for classic country western music, El Paso is a notable city (c'mon, I know you've heard of it) that gets glossed over in favor of more eccentric Austin or, well, that's about it. The rest of it is "texas," an adjective Norwegians now use to mean "crazy." Luckily for El Paso, it is so not Texas or even texas. El Paso is El Paso, and it is unlike anywhere else. It might be one of the most unique cities in the Union, and despite your friend insisting to you it's an armpit, it's not. We have proof.
Gatlinburg is strange. Americana at it's finest, but strange. Let's explore its faces.
I shift my eyes towards the canopy of Spanish moss above me, listening to the blind man in Chippewa Square play "When The Saints Go Marching In" on his trumpet. I’m enjoying my morning off work in solitude, moving along at a pace that mimics the thick and sticky air of a Savannah summer.
“In the early ’70s life for many of us was in the process of change. Those old enough to remember those days will nod thoughtfully as their mind drifts back to remember the end of the Vietnam War protests, and the calming of the revolutionary drumbeat that had throbbed in our young veins. The paths set before us then were polarizing. Would we conform or continue to press on, trying to change the world?”