Wind whipped the sides of the tent, snapping and slapping the poles as they struggled to remain in place. All night long, and into the next day, it gusted to 50 miles per hour. The next morning the Little Woman and I decided to brave the wind and ride. Spotting a sign, she said, "There's a craft festival. Why don't we go there?" I could think of many reasons why not, but reluctantly complied.
And what do you know? We enjoyed the entire day there. Between the clever ice cream vendor with his 1927 John Deere engine powered churn to the amazing photographers, every Ez Up tent was a treat.
The stage provided entertainment as well. 'Sister Wives,' a quartet of women from Salt Lake City, sang the blues. A duo played country, blues and classic rock. Chinese dragons graced the stage too, apparently driving away evil spirits. They drove them out yesterday too, so it seemed like overkill to me.
Somehow we couldn't just sit still, so we rode out of town a piece, along the Colorado River. Once again, magnificent towering spires of red rock provided incredible views. However, any attempt to photograph them would be an exercise in futility, as the air was gray with dust. Farms split the difference between vistas. I wondered how they got anything done, what with the view. But I'm sure they hardly notice it anymore.
Back to the campsite, and the wind is picking up a bit.
Dear God, no.
How can I complain, after the incredible damage throughout the Midwest?
One more day, one more adventure.
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