John Denver sang, 'Rocky Mountain High,' and personally I think he wrote about smoking dope in Colorado, but man this country is high. Once again we crossed the Continental Divide (it is 2,700 miles long!) and reached elevations of over twelve thousand feet.
We got a late start, and it was fortuitous, as the snowplows just finished clearing the road and it was open for the first time in months. By the time we rode through, the road surface- bare and dry- bore no signs of deep snow. The cliffs of snow on each side, however, kept us remembering that we were in some mighty elevated terrain.
Deer, bighorn sheep and elk dotted the landscapes left and right as we rode. They seem pretty tame to me. I think their story goes like this: When little Bambi went to bed at night, her mother told her the story of how her grandfather went for a long trip and got shot. Grandma remembers his last words: "Whatever you do, stay in the Park!"
We landed in a campground on the West side of the Rocky Mountain Park, and this time it wasn't a KOA, but a brand X. Forty one bucks a night! For dirt, with a power tower and spigot. Oh, yeah, a picnic table and steel barbeque. I can find a Motel Six for that price. Shoot, I've seen rooms in Vegas for 29 bucks, midweek. Enough whining.
One more day, one more adventure.
For my Facebook Friends:
My humblest apologies. Facebook has blocked me from commenting on people's posts. So while so many people comment on photos and my sharing, I appear distant and aloof. Not the case. No idea how long the spanking will last, but I do apologize.
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