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 Butte. The drive 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 order.
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.
