I think about that stretch of highway as the road to vacation. The one between Price and Green River on State Highway 6 where antelope and Bookcliffs sit in the dry windy desert. The first time I drove it I was on my way to meet my future in-laws. Since then, I’ve passed the spot so many times I’ve lost count.
Paper cups stand erect in rows of four or five along the shoulder, in the median, and along the highway berm. They were there when I discovered Moab, then others replaced the originals when I passed on my first trip towing the boat to the big lake. I assumed it was coincidence that there were rows every half mile. But now I know that with all other things in nature, symmetry is man-made. Big Gulps and medium-sized Pepsi cups—they stand right-side up half filled with rocks and there is no reason except levity that can explain why they are there.
I’ve thought of calling the Highway Patrol for an answer, but always get lost in my vacation once I’ve driven past on my way to weekend sun or National Parks.
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