I took a week off of work for my birthday where my fiance and I were planning on a short trip up to the bear rescue in Upper Michigan. Somehow we got it into our heads the week before we were supposed to leave that we should, instead, drive to the Grand Canyon (hey, why not?). We threw together a haphazard plan to rent a car and drive to the desert to look for the new van of our #vanlife dreams. We left early in the morning and set out to pick up our rental vehicle, which we had booked and paid for online. We arrived at the airport (where we were renting a car), and were told that, even though we had already paid for our car, we couldn't actually take it because neither of us had a credit card (we both only use debit). We tried every car rental place there, even driving to another airport a half hour away, and it was the same story at each one. (This must be a Wisconsin thing, because we rented a car in Florida with a debit card, no problem, just a few months ago.) Our parents even offered to have us use their credit card info, but the rental places said that they could only use the card of the person actually driving the car. There was lots of ugly crying and frustrated time spent trying to get our money back and figure things out before we just decided to fuck the rental and just drive Jasper's car.
Through Wisconsin, Iowa, and Nebraska we drove. Around hour fifteen on the road we crossed into Colorado, and a few hours later we saw *mountains.* We didn't just see mountains, we were in the mountains. It didn't take us long to realize that we should just stop driving and stay where we were because, hello. Our plans for Utah and Arizona and a new van were quickly scrapped in favor of exploring more of the Rockies. We ended up staying in Dillon for two nights before driving to the Rocky Mountain National Park for my actual birthday, which I'll talk about in a later post.