Our nine-member entourage complete, we head to Park City, Utah, our designated site for a day of acclimatizing. At 6,000 feet, we are about halfway to our ultimate maximum altitude. After spending approximately a half-century, more or less, at an elevation of 127 feet, more or less, just walking up Park City’s steep sidewalks causes a noticeable change in breathing patterns. And that’s without an additional 60 pounds of weight desperately trying to drag me to the center of the earth.

That remains of the day is given over to sightseeing, dining and shopping for last minute provisions, which in my case include blocks of cheese and chocolate – as if I don’t have enough caloric baggage already.

Apparently, the genetic imperative to not starve outweighs any rational appreciation of the extra load I’m forcing myself to carry. (In self-defense, I can only point out that the other slogan on our family crest is "Deus est Vita est Cibum" – "God is Life is Food.")

At this point, what are a few more pounds in the old knapsack? I’ve already saddled myself with a clearly unnecessary CD player with FM capability simply because I like the idea of lying under a star-intensive night sky while listening to Bach rendered on the piano. As it turns out, this slim piece of electronics will figure prominently in our ability to verify an unsettling story told to us Wednesday morning by a scruffy hiker of dubious credibility.

Park City, an important ski venue for the upcoming Winter Olympics, has been gentrified to within a centimeter of its well-manicured life. Despite numerous outlets for souvenirs and ice cream, it’s nonetheless a charming community, a fact that has helped propel real estate prices boldly skyward. For example, an unprepossessing 2-story frame house, now serving as a tee shirt emporium on the business district’s main drag, carries a $750,000 price tag.

This is a community that puts a high value on aesthetic qualities. Among the evidence: (a) Old buildings are restored, not demolished; (b) Billboards are prohibited; (c) Business signage is regulated, unobtrusive and equally effective for all; and (d) Landscaping is ubiquitous and pleasing. Partly because of these facts – certainly not despite them – business is booming. This was true before the Olympics and it doubtless will be true afterwards.

The town did not enter into this happy state by accident. Many other perfectly glorious natural sites have had their aesthetics ruined by unfettered signage, anything-goes development and indifferent landscaping. Not here, though, not by a long shot. Polk County, Florida could take a big lesson from Park City, Utah – but it probably won’t.

Sunday, September 9: Today begins the end of civilization as we know it (or so I amuse myself by thinking at the time), which is another way of saying that the concept of indoor plumbing is about to vanish. I indulge in a shameless drawdown of the hotel’s hot water supply before heading to breakfast.

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