For the past two years, a lawmaker in Boise has sought to wrench Idaho’s panhandle away from Pacific time, while El Paso fought the State of Texas for decades to avoid being enveloped by Central time. That so few Americans call the Mountain West home is ample explanation for its low profile, and the reason its time zone is both constantly threatened and oddly sought after. There are only three cities large enough to sustain major-league sports teams here, and one of them is in Utah. Though it covers roughly a quarter of the continental United States, the Mountain time zone contains less than 7 percent of the country’s population.
ARIZONA TIME ZONES FREE
Returning to Mountain time doesn’t just mean turning my watch back: It means calving myself free of the schedules that set the nation’s agenda it means a more humane relationship to the passing of the hours. What I’m really longing for is the more ambiguous perspective that arriving there imparts. My nostalgia, though, goes deeper than mere sense memory. All of that is especially true now: With most travel put on hold because of the coronavirus pandemic, endless afternoons rattling around my apartment near Boston have left my mind with little to do but wander. Even thinking about the quirky floor of the airport, a patterning of buff and pink bricks, makes me a little moony. The subtle lightness the air takes on at a mile of elevation. The brilliant warmth of the sun, of course, as well as a growing anticipation for that first pungent bite of green chile after months of enduring the Northeast’s ghastly jalapeños. When I come home to Albuquerque, there are a few sensations I consistently delight in.
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