There wasn’t going to be any first names here, I could tell. Apparently, my jeans weren’t what was expected of an artist in New York.“Pleased to...meet you, Mr. Caldwell.” He ignored my offered hand.“This gallery is too big for your collection. We expected more pieces. You do have more, don’t you?” he asked as we entered the room.“Of course,” I said, subconsciously adopting a bit of his snooty tone, “just not for you.” Clarice nodded subtly to me. The room was large, but I couldn’t see that it. For the most part, there were plenty of KOA's, or similar places I could pull into and spend the night. When I couldn't, or when I preferred not to, my refurbished van would prove more than adequate for pulling off the road into some cozy remote area and spending the night that way.So it was that I headed out of Salt Lake City on a bright and early Saturday morning to begin my two-week adventure. First stop was Jackson Hole Wyoming. It wasn't even a full day's drive away either. But I figured. More

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