We had intended to sleep in since we didn’t need to rush into the park before permitting was required. My bladder and noisy neighbors at 4:15 AM said differently. Seriously, who considers it proper to make noise that early? But after two days in one location, we were disorganized, spread out all over. My phone needed charging, it told me when I checked it for the time. As long as I had all those distractions from sleep, I may as well make the most of it. Besides, there was leftover pizza for breakfast! Bless motel mini-fridges. Plus we’d been sent off with two loaves of fresh bread, homemade by the cousin, one including some fresh Palisade peaches, a real Colorado treasure. Anybody remember what fresh peaches used to taste like before they had to last long enough to ship everywhere? We’re planning a stop there today on our way to Moab to get our own box of fresh ones. There’s enough room in the car now since we’ve been eating the food we brought from Minnesota.
We got out of the motel around 7:00 AM or so. That’s pretty much sleeping in for this trip. Our cousin had suggested one route for heading south, but Steve & I discussed it and nixed it. It meant driving through Greeley again and there were a lot of those jolting bumps on that piece of road which are what hurts Steve’s back the worst. Even though I-25 was under construction, and by the time we’d be down the mountain via Thompson Canyon it would be full rush hour, it would be both shorter and we’d miss a known bad idea. As it turned out, this late in the season the construction was mostly over and basically we had a mile of it. Period.
Once on I-70 out of Denver it was uphill all the way, basically, to Vail Pass. They added a lane in places where it was steepest and I got caught behind a large truck doing 45 or slower most of the time, while everybody whizzed by too fast to safely pull out even if I wanted. For a bit everybody was down to 30, all 3 lanes, But I wasn’t going to bother pushing it. Despite that, in one spot the “check engine” light came on. Usually that makes me panic just a little, but experience in the mountains has shown me that it just means I’m pushing it too hard uphill. I did fill the tank with a higher grade in anticipation that morning but this was still too much, loaded as the car was. Experience has taught me that flatter terrain and another gas-up usually resets the light to “off.” (Note: next gas addition, it did go away.)
One thing I had been seeing, and there were several of them, were the letters “f j b” across a lane of pavement, sometimes in the park, sometimes on the freeway. Nobody explained them to me but I’m afraid I know already. Lotta right-wingnuts out there. I just wonder how they found the time between vehicles to paint them so legibly and have them dry without tire treads running through.
The route was beautiful, and I had time to enjoy it. One exception was driving past miles of forest fire damage before Glenwood Springs. Having heard how bad it was last year in TV reports still hadn’t prepared us for the reality. There were lots of huge swaths of orange pines with black trunks, meaning they hadn't been left to burn totally, while there were other patches of just black poles.
We did get several views of the Colorado River, though we noted that the water levels in it dropped as we went downstream. Obviously local communities are pulling from it. By now, well past Vail, it was downhill all the way until hitting Utah. But first was a stop in Palisade to buy a box of their famous peaches. Yes, a whole box. And maybe do it again next year, if we come this way again. I was informed these were picked three days ahead of full ripeness, so Sunday morning we’ll have our first bites. Then into the fridge, some for the freezer, a couple for friends. You bet we’ll be stingy! Twenty pound case, $50. The case went on top of the back seat stack behind me. Soft duffels go behind Steve's seat and the dog sits on those, sleeps or looks out the window occasionally. I joked with Steve that I’d better drive safely or that case would slide over and kill the dog!
I had to keep watching the gas gauge. The level just wasn’t going down like I thought it should. OK, driving slow uphill, long miles of practically coasting downhill, and premium gas to boot. I guess it figured. We could possibly reach Moab on a single tank, over 436 mils plus side stops, but I chickened out and put two gallons in before we dropped off I-70 in Utah to head south. Turns out we didn’t need to but I wasn’t sure of exact distance left to go. I checked my mileage and found I’d been getting for this leg of the trip over 43 mpg! A new record for this car, including times it had only been me inside it and it wasn’t loaded with luggage.
We arrived speedily at our motel after enjoying a whole lot of scenery, and got tucked in. I don’t even remember having any supper, I was so wiped. Steve and I did share some precut slices of cinnamon bread his cousin had just baked for us, so I guess that counts, but the mac & cheese packs were still intact the next morning. I do recall unloading half the car onto one of those valet carts to take upstairs. It was tricky with a dog who it turns out is afraid of elevators, and the people and - horrors! - other dogs in them. I also had to take her across a very large parking lot diagonally to the corner doggy doodoo spot. At least she obliged.
This motel required me to sign a form saying I understood she was not to be allowed up on the furniture. Seriously? Furniture is her home, her goal in life, and her bed is under the sheets/blanket next to me, all night. My hack for that one was to brush her thoroughly and repeatedly with my hairbrush in hopes of eliminating any of the evidence before it could be spotted the next morning, resulting in a mouse sized clump of doggie fur. Like me, she didn’t eat her supper (aside from her dental bone.) At least she took it back to a corner under the table instead of on top of any furniture. We’d already taken the precaution of pulling back the totally white bedspreads and folding a sheet down over them, so no little black hairs. If they found black hairs on those they'd know and charge a "high cleaning fee." With the thermostat a bit higher then usual, we both slept under single sheets very comfortably. Excuse me: we three. I inspected my sheets in the morning to find that the few hairs there were tiny and fine. I knew where to look, and tried to brush them away with wet fingers, usually a good tactic for picking up stray hairs. I came away with dry fingers and high hopes the housekeeper wouldn’t notice. I had my excuse ready: she sheds on us and we were the only ones in the beds. You know, transfer, like on forensic TV.
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