 Good morning, John! I spent last weekend in Glacier National Park, a place that is dripping with scenic beauty and absolutely no cell phone signals. That might have something to do with all the extremely sharp cliffs and jutting rock formations and a desire not to, like, build cell phone towers on some of the most scenic mountains in the world. There is a road. It was completed in the 1930s, that bisects Glacier National Park called the Going to the Sun Road. It's a little bit terrifying, as for a great deal of the time, especially on the way up, you're basically driving three feet away from a precipitous drop. If you're in the car and not driving, there's this weird sensation that you need to lean away from the cliff, even though obviously that's not gonna help anything if the car goes over. But you shouldn't lean away from the cliff. You should lean toward the cliff, because that's where the best view is. It's a little strange that this road was even built. It continues to be an engineering marvel, because of avalanches and freeze-thaw cycles the road needs constant repair. And the road doesn't actually go anywhere except to the top, Logan Pass, which during the winter is regularly covered in more than 80 feet of snow. The Going to the Sun Road closes in September and doesn't open again until July. It almost seems like a uniquely American thing. There's this beautiful place, but people can't get to it unless they're ridiculously dedicated. So let's spend millions of dollars building a miracle of a road. In fact, let's give it a miraculous sounding name. We have to democratize access to this grandeur and this beauty and these cute ground squirrels and these majestic mountain goats. But you cannot snapchat them while you're up there, because your cell phone doesn't work. You have to wait until you get back to your hotel room. And then, when you get there, you'll check the news and find out that once again Donald Trump has said something disgusting and inexcusable that somehow hasn't disqualified him from seeking the presidency of this beautiful place. Listen, I'm not much of a nationalist. Part of what I like about Glacier National Park is that the ecosystem it contains stretches between international borders and into Canada's Waterton Lakes National Park. Indeed, a commitment to being a proactive part of the global systems on which we rely economically, socially, and ecologically is part of what I love about being an American. And I really do love this country, though that gets harder during election years, which always highlight what I dislike about being an American. We work so hard to demonize each other that everyone comes out looking like demons. And yes, that looks a lot worse this time around than it did last time. And yes, I do feel particularly discouraged. But it's easy to forget what this country has done, what we have built, what it cost us, and how easy it is to be proud of it. All you have to do is not look at Twitter for a few hours and instead look at what we've built. Yes, we have problems. And yes, it makes sense that we spend a lot of time discussing them because, after all, they are the problems. But God damn it, if I don't love this country, even in the face of the popularity of a despicable man, God damn it, if I'm not proud to be an American. John, I'll see you on Tuesday. This isn't a scary part. OK. Wide road. Oh. Yeah. Wide road. You just poop a pants. Put them back? Not a lot of cars. Oh my God, I'm going to murder you. They did say that we should get off the roads by a certain time. That's hail. Yeah, it hailed a little bit. They got some hail. Oh, hey there. Oh, I missed it pooping. Wow, you don't mind so much. Oh gosh, you're cute. Oh gosh, you're a healthy looking chipmunk. Face, he's making the face. Oh, yeah. How did a baby buy some pooping? Everybody poops, guys. Good job.