So I ran some errands in Durango that morning. Wal-Mart for a new big
beer cooler (the old one was a casualty of the Fruita Tribe Gathering).
The Humane Society Thrift Store for a big pink fuzzy bunny for Grendel,
and other such necessities. Then it was off to Crested
from Durango goes right into the heart of the Rockies, past Silverton
and through Ouray and across the Curecanti. Spectaculous stuff. Not a
bad office window.
Oh and good news, for those of you engrossed in that storyline, my
usual truck was ready and would be waiting for me in Crested Butte. One
less thing to worry and wonder about.
(Squint and you can see the choo-choo steaming into town....)
And there I was in crested Butte. A magical place. That day it was made
up of cruisers and townies, softball games, mind-bending views, and not
nearly as much snow as all of the nay-sayers back on the front range
would have you believe.
I poked around town, happy to be out of the vehicle. Happy to have my
truck back. I kicked around the graveyard.
Caught the last part of a softball game.
And caught a beer at the Brick.
And finally, watched the big ol' June Moon rise up over the divide.
Set up a campsite up on the Slate above Oh Be Joyful! and watched the
night take over. With a sense of everything clicking neatly into place,
that night Carrie drove over, bringing Grendel along. Everything was in
From there the workdays took on a pleasant pattern. Demo in the
morning. Once all the bikes were out, sneak in a ride, then show back
up and demo in the afternoon. Then it was off to the Eldo or some such
for a night on the town. Good living.