Yet again, a Wednesday awhile ago early through the woods and under the fog into

the smoke to be dropped on North Elizabeth in Pueblo where the Penske trucks live.

While L. continued north to the airport I, in a bright yellow 16 footer,

returned to the ‘burg, the ‘bib and

two hours loading seventy-five paintings

before merging onto 160 west, learning almost immediately the scarier aspects of the seventy-five mile an hour governor while trying to pass a barrelling semi approaching La Veta Pass

…well all’s swell that ends well.  I persisted through the Spring Fire’s ravages, crossed the upper San Luis – its architecture at least as depressing as the burn scars – to cautiously [unsure of what the mileage would be] fuel in Monte Vista and pause for a meager snack

before venturing into territories unknown; Saguache,

Trickle Mountain and North Pass [an effortless 10,149′, scenic despite the haze] to intersect Highway 50 ten miles east of Gunnison.    Followed 50 over the remaining passes to Montrose for gas [passed a triple-jack-knifed Suburban/travel trailer/boat blocking the southbound lanes at Olathe; a bad day for Motorized Recreationalists], Delta [no ’45 Chev tailgate],

Grand Junction and eventually come to rest, around six, in Fruita’s ever-dependable Super8.

Once settled I walked across to Tapatío where the good times people were drinking margaritas while I took advantage of a generously poured Merlot and many meaty tacos.

Out on the coast L., her long day still not over, remained stranded on the rush hour BART twelve hours after leaving home while I crashed heavily

that night and was away the next morning at seven with two bananas

and coffee from the Complimentary Breakfast to sustain me as

with no Lefty to notice the Trail Through Time

it was non-stop

across Utah

to gas in Salina, on into Nevada for a

rudimentary lunch south of Ely, gas, and more smoke.

The one delay was construction west of Austin, exacerbating

a long day to

Fallon and

finally Fernley where the Super8 was unfortunately full, but across the street a Best Western had way dingier rooms for way more than twice the price.  Even more unfortunately my shower didn’t work and rather than offer another room the desk sent me to showers across the triple-digit parking lot in their steamy ghetto pool house.  Said showers, located behind the men’s toilets off the laundry room, were creepy; the first one dysfunctional, the second, slimy with water too hard to raise soapbubbles, awash in clumps of [human?] hair definitely sucked and was too sordid to show, but after over eleven hours on the road I settled for it.  Not much refreshed I walked across the highway for salad and Merlot [took two, too] at the Silverado, subsequently slept fitfully and was away – not enough coffee in their urn to fill my cup but bananas for the next several breakfasts – to Raley’s before seven for the weekend’s food,

then to the Wigwam for a much better breakfast

and north in the wake of three LADWP trucks into deeper smokes, even, yet…