My co-workers look at me like I'm daft, but I'd really rather take a road trip than spend a weekend in Vegas...Cabo might be a different story. Seeing as I'm homeless for a couple of weeks I did what any logical twenty something would do, decided to go on a road trip. To make it even better my Daddy (who's commonly mistaken for Crocodile Dundee or Indiana Jones) came with me.
Friday, June 29
Left work early and rushed back to meet Daddy, and hopefully beat Austin traffic leaving town. We were in luck and drove for what seemed like forever. Quiet, simple, just driving. We were supposed to spend the night in the parking lot of a truck stop in Lubbok, but we pushed on into the night and crashed at an equally lovely gas station in Amarillo. The last time I spent the night in a car there were four of us, so having an ENTIRE back seat to myself was luxury.
Saturday, June 30
6:30am and time to set off. Daddy took the first shift of driving, and as I stared out the window with red eyes I noticed a river that was just as red. Now, if I comment to most people about how much fun it would be to take an early morning swim in a red river they'd laugh politely and drive on. Thank goodness I was with a Wilson...for those of you who haven't been around us in a while...we're a different breed. Daddy promptly did a U turn, left the road, and let me wade in the tomato soup with the sun still low in the sky and the various textures of sediment squishy through my toes. While he searched for his trunks in the boot, I took my bike off to explore the red sand dunes. When I came back the professional folks were unloading the atv's. At least it made me feel a bit better that I'd had so much trouble peddling up the red sand dunes in my bare feet...come to think of it, they're just woosies. I positioned myself strategically behind the car and wiggled into my swim suit too. Then it was time to swim in the soup. Refreshing, goofy, and fake tan inducing, aka fabulous. We reluctantly left the Canadian river and went down the road.
Hay stacks! Not the large round bales that we used to hop on at the chicken farm or the small square bales that we used to build forts out of and stack in the barn, but square bales on steroids. Better than that, they were stacked on top of each other into huge walls that just seem to be crying out for someone to shoot a cannon at it and play fort. Bless Daddy because he's flexible enough to deviate from his schedule and let his 25 year old "little" girl go play in the hay. Man was I lot stronger when I was 10. I'm still just as stubborn though and with the twine cutting into my fingers I hauled myself onto the top of the fortress and ran down the ridge, which evoked a few honks from the highway. Somehow I made it back down too, which is always much scarier.
Dramatic hills rising out of the plains was my next fascination, so up we went. Car pulled onto the grass, flip flops thrown on, and up the cactus covered hill we went with pronghorn antelope scattering before us. At the top we were rewarded with breathtaking views, which was very fortunate because we needed all the breath we could get. Butterflies feasting on nectar and a male pronghorn barking out a warning below us. On the way down we woke a startled coyote from his afternoon nap and he relunctantly made his way to the top of the hill and posed proudly on a large rock. With a lot of luck and some careful footwork I made it to the bottom with only a few holes in my feet. When we got back to the car one of the bikes was pulled off, but thankfully still locked to the other bike and the bike rack. Looks like we foiled someone.
I'm not a fan of interstates, so in Pueblo we left the big road and headed NW on Hwy 9. A brilliant choice on my part I think. We stopped off at Royal Gorge, but quickly decided that it was Colorado's version of Disney Land, complete with ques. The rest of the drive was spectacular as we gradually climbed into the mountains passing now isolated communities. Looking at a creek on the left I saw what looked like a beaver dam, but it couldn't be could it...could it? Only one way to find out, time to stop the car again. It was a beaver damn and lodge. No sign of the actual beaver, but loads of nawed logs. Nature really is incredible. Later we passed a heard of bison grazing on the plains. Over one large pass, past Dillon resevoir, and we found Laura in Silverthorne.
We just made it to the destination, but would I trade in the journey if someone offered me a private flight? NEVER! (Well maybe when I hit my 30s)
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2 comments:
Jeca says: 'It was a beaver damn and lodge.'
Watch your mouth young lady!
dam, I mean damn, I mean...awww shucks. I even looked it up on an online dictionary and everything and still managed to write the wrong one gosh darnit.
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