SLC to Boulder via Wyoming

We rose early to make the drive north into Wyoming, bypassing the mountain roads that would have been a straighter, though longer, route to the Boulder area, our next stop.
The pink mountains gave way to a high desert plateau, stark in flora and starker in civilization. The sky opened up as if it had been shut up in a cupboard somewhere, only now emerging in this northern state of extremes to stretch from horizon to horizon.
Only one small herd of sad looking buffalo was to be seen, waiting for midwestern hunters to shoot them like fish in a barrel. Many big rigs, some with crosses on the front grill, some with naked women on the mudflaps, all with yellow ribbons held fast on the cab.
The radio stations hummed with slide guitar and soft-spoken preachers, both lamenting the current state of things, both exalting a divine nature of hope that resides in parts of the country like this. We saw small clapboard shacks cornerstoning ranches, trailers lined along split-rail fences with small, unused motorcycle carcasses littering the yard. Only seldom was a gated development, still reeking of volatile chemicals and fresh cut lumber, situated near the road, close to Cheyenne.
We averaged 80mph, coming into Boulder, CO in the afternoon, finding respite from the heat, and a lively, youthful downtown waiting to be explored.