On my trip to New Mexico, I found that one of the frustrating things about mountains is that, being massive and tall and pointy as they are, they sometimes stop you from seeing other mountains. The best mountains, of course, are the ones behind the one you’re staring at. Those are the ones that are really far away – the hazy, bluish purple ones that have you subconsciously humming America the Beautiful under your breath even though you haven’t heard that song since your 1st grade Independence Day pageant. Yes, those are the best mountains. I saw a lot of those zipping by me on the highway on my trip, but they always seemed to duck and hide once a suitable parking spot was found. These were by a highway – I had to omit a few trees and paint to the sound of trucks zipping by, but I finally caught them.