carbondale, colorado

Another intention we had was to do the Maroon Bells hike, which we didn't realize is about as popular as the Statue of Liberty cruise in July. Due to PPP, we weren't able to nail a parking spot to said destination, yet were already committed to staying in the general area. 

The drive there was again through an insane variety of landscapes from steep and dark mountains to Dr. Seuss looking stone and sand cliffs, to more green rolling hills and then flaxen farmland, flat, flat, flat. I kept on saying "What a fascinating country!". We stopped in the frozen-in-time town of Delta, where there was to be a pickin' in the park that evening, tempting us. There were lots of dualies (pronounced doolies - pickup trucks with extra wheels according to a Texan I know who wears Wranglers and shirts with snaps), and farm hands with hats. 

Nat has a great sense for picking hikes and the Lorax Trail Loop in Carbondale was no exception. It wasn't until around 4 that we got there, so we knew it wouldn't be a long one, but were able to grab that time of the day with long shadows and stillness. Down at 5,000 feet, we ran along much of the red clay trail, surrounded by the delicious smells of piñon and sage, grateful to stretch our legs in such a serenely beautiful place.

We had dinner in Aspen that evening. Second Moncler store, Chanel, Prada, Gucci, Valentino, private jets and fat lips. Next.

When arising from our Lysol smelling, overlooking Route 70, motel, I knew putting on the noisy coffee maker would wake the princess, so took off on foot, because Lordy knows I'd driven enough, on the sort of road that has fast food restaurants, gyms and motels. Happening on a drive-thru burger joint, I ventured in to this unlikely destination, and a most friendly and cheerful young lad greeted me, providing caffeine and out of generosity, filling it right up to the brim with a smile. Sometimes it's not how it tastes, but how it's presented. I was most grateful for many things as I headed back down the highway.

Back on the day of the 10-hour drive, it was only when we were on a small and abandoned road that I realized gas was getting low. While the gauge hadn't got to E, it was close, so after some uncomfortable hoping, a rock shop appeared with old-fashioned gas pumps in front of it. We didn't question why the price per gallon wasn't listed, or be bothered that there was no pay at the pump. The store was the most delightful mix of local honey, shiny rocks, fishing gear, t-shirts, key chains, cleaning products, peanuts and Monster drinks. It smelled of rotting meat, and the bathroom of old wooden cabins. The proprietor was sure this city girl would need help filling the tank, but I didn't spill a drop. He thanked us and said to be careful out there. Must be more vigilant about checking gas gauge!

So you'd think, two days later, there would be some iota of memory of the stress-induced searching we had endured, but sadly that was not the case. It was when we were getting close to Vail that I looked down to see a new light on the dashboard, with the marker on the E. I apologized to the car for yelling at it when it beeped at my not using the blinker or came close too close to the edge of the road. I acknowledged I might have been out of line when making it rev a little too hard while passing beer trucks on one lane curvy roads. Then I begged. In return, the car held out until we got to a station where we filled up 12.78 gallons in a 13 gallon tank. We did the math after and determined we had about 6 miles worth of gas left, less than the next exit.

The village of Vail was where we were going to get advice about hiking but instead we saw another Moncler store. We were told that the hiking trail parking lots all fill up at 8am and that if we didn't want to do a technical climb, we'd have to shell out $59 each for the gondola and then hike down or something dumb like that. We hightailed it out of there.