It was a relief to finally get past dull Kansas and into scenic Colorado for the last third of our cross-country trek. (Sorry, Kansas, but if you want us to give you another shot, you gotta up your game. Why Dorothy ever clicked her ruby slippers together to get home to Kansas is beyond me.) As we crossed into Colorado, it had become clear that our journey was progressing through several phases:

PHASE 1, Realization and Transition: It dawned on us early on, by around Pennsylvania or Ohio, that we had to put the kibosh on the Original Plan of leisurely exploring a few cities that we’d never visited, like Indianapolis, Kansas City and Columbus. Our Revised Plan: providing 24-hour entertainment for an English Lab puppy whose only known interests are shedding in our SUV and refusing to be left alone in a hotel room even briefly. Midwest minor league baseball games were out. Microbreweries with outdoor seating and pet-
friendly policies were in. Score: Pasha 1, Jim and Kel 0.

PHASE 2, Fleeing Kansas: One hour of Amber Waves of Grain was enough. Our new goal: getting through Kansas as quickly as humanly possible. (Sorry to go on about this, but c’mon, Kansas, I’m not asking for rugged coastline. Just throw in a mountain and a lake, or even just a couple of hills and a pond. And tornadoes
don’t count as a tourist attraction.)

PHASE 3, Park Bound: Through Colorado, Utah and Arizona, we began phasing out microbreweries (well, sort of) in favor of national parks, on the theory that dogs are not only welcomed in all parks, but practically required. All that driving would finally be broken up with long hikes in some of the most beautiful settings in the country (i.e., not Kansas).

PHASE 4, Scenic Overlook Bound: We learned that the Dog/Park Theory doesn’t really apply to most national parks, where dogs are pretty much restricted to the paved areas of scenic overlooks and the backseat of your car, confining their shedding to a small space that you will need to vacuum up at a car wash for about 20 minutes every morning of your grand adventure while your wife sits in a hotel room with the dog, who is preparing to cover the recently-vacuumed backseat with hair again, leading you to question why you decided to get a puppy the year before your long road trip was set to begin.

PHASE 5, Okay Fine: The national parks were fun, anyway. Utah is especially amazing, as it turns out that every inch of the state is covered by national parks, except for one square block in Salt Lake City. At the recommendation of our sister-in-law Sharon, we stayed well after sunset at Utah’s Arches National Park,
looking at the starry sky from a pair of beach chairs along the road. Kelly was determined to see her first shooting star. (Kel: “How do I know which star to look at?”) About an hour in, I spotted one, but Kelly, looking in a different direction, missed it. She decided to look the same way I was, and finally, just as we started to think Kelly had missed her one shot (no doubt prompting later suspicions about whether I’d actually seen one), we both saw one streak through the sky. Kelly was thrilled. Pasha seemed pretty unimpressed. Too bad Kansas
doesn’t have shooting stars.

PHASE 6, Prime Rib and Overlooks: Kelly, after we’d visited Garden of the Gods in Colorado, and Arches and Zion in Utah: “Those were so great, do we really need to go to the Grand Canyon?” Which is sort of like saying, “That prime rib was so tasty last night, do we really ever need to eat dinner again?” (A better question might have been, “Missouri was so impressive, do we need to do Kansas?”) Anyway, we did visit the Grand Canyon, where Pasha was welcomed at every scenic overlook on the south side. #worthit

PHASE 7, The Incredible Shrinking Pasha: We wound up our epic trip with a drive from the Grand Canyon to my parents’ place in San Clemente, California, via an overnight stop, for some reason, in Laughlin, Nevada, known as “Kansas, but with Casinos.” At check-in, the hotel clerk and I had this exchange. Clerk: “And how
much does your dog weigh?” Me (knowing that most hotels have an 80 pound limit): “He weighs about 72 pounds.” Clerk: “Our weight limit is 50 pounds.” Me: “I meant 50 pounds, then.” Somehow, that quick thinking on my feet worked. Thank heaven it did, or we’d have missed an evening in Laughlin.