So maybe it was, as L. later inferred, the hydrologist telling me the upper well at Wall wasn’t flowing [even though the house well, which invariably gives out first, was] that kicked off a season of unreason and cascade of anxieties culminating two days later

in me smashing my thumb in the cabinet, necessitating hours of ice, a Bad Night and three hour trip to the ER in Vallejo of a wet Saturday…the nail will come off and the bone’s fractured so back on antibiotics for the fourth time in two months.  Post-ER it still hurt a bit, but certainly not as much as the Foot Sprained in the Night.

That settled we went ahead with our dinner for nine, which was fine and wonderful although without a submersible thumb L. had to do dishes as well as everything else except my lurching back and forth with them, leaving me somewhat crippled come morning.

We nonetheless managed most of the packing in anticipation, given my infirm condition, that Scott would come Monday afternoon to load the heavy stuff, which he duly did while in the interim the forecast changed from bad to worse Wednesday and worse to bad Tuesday so we recalculated our departure, finished up as best we could and

after a last dinner at the Union got out the next morning for a day of low clouds and occasional wet all across the west.

A wetness sad for snow…following Fernley we lunched on exotic miscellany on the howling plains well south of town

and pushed on for Fallon,

from whence I drove

with, having transited Austin with its lone Serbian Trump supporter, a small chill stop at Bob Scott Summit,

on to Ely and finally the Border Inn and Motel for the night, Salt Lake City TV ‘n’ all.

Next day the light came late since east of the parking lot Mountain Time kicked in, bringing the sunrise suddenly closer to eight.

We were in Delta for breakfast and a Trump Hat Sighting at The Rancher…strangely, the only evidence of his alleged Heartland Popularity aside from Austin the whole trip.  Makes a guy wonder; a sign in Gerlach last month, a sign in Austin, a hat in Utah; was all that grassroots support just manufactured in the Ukraine?…so, Utah.

Spotted Wolf Overlook, always a favorite,

whereupon this Bad Black Beverly Hills Audi sweeps in, guy gets out and immediately starts shooting pics by the dozens…location scouting, most likely.  He’d probably driven straight up from L.A. that morning, in his pajamas.

We left him to it, headed east

to Colorado,

L. continuing to drive until after Grand Junction [the giant “President Trump” sign above the bridge…gone without a trace] a stop in Delta for gas and a look around Orval’s Heaps…er, “Classic Used Cars” [970-201-4612]

which notwithstanding some interesting old iron have truthfully always looked more promising from the highway.

I took us to the mountains, through the Gunnison to be

caught behind a snowplow for the icy climb up and over Monarch…finally got past him on the downslope but soon intersected an even slower train of fools trailing a creeping forty-foot flatbed semi, the snow coming harder. On the first long straight after Monarch Lodge most of the cars were dispensed with and, next opportunity, the truck as well, leaving a trackless snowy highway with infrequent vehicles dreamily drifting up towards us in near whiteout pretty much all the way to the bottom’s immediately dry pavement and

clear skies by Salida, where our favorite restaurant had closed. The motel recommended Currents [great salmon special and the Malbec, called after a great dog we once had – Zolo, was also most presentable], which left us quite content.  Buzzed from the drive we watched useless TV, changed the dressings on thumb and finger [finger’s just a bandaid now but thumb remains elaborate] and went to sleep, somewhat.

Salida five-window morning, going down H Street to the Safeway

and crazy warm; shopped for the weekend, found our favorite breakfast place by the river had likewise closed, found another nearby [my only option the baked egg and cheese bagel, sans bagel, but the coffee was good] and headed for the ice clouds of the Huerfano…

Sixty-three degrees at the Gardner P.O. on December 15th…hmm.

Although nearly T-boned by a Zombie in a Town Car [a living, if barely cognizant, testimonial to the Legalization of “Recreational” Marijuana] while turning from 69 onto Williams Creek Road we made it home shaken but undamaged [save the damages I brought with me] to ice-refracting clouds and considerable mouseshit.  Don’t ever let them tell you that that new environmentally friendly mouse poison is good for anything…but MICE. Thanks, EPA, for caving in to the Rodent Lobby.

finally…

All nice ‘n’ unreasonably warm ‘n’ dry in SoCo, though not for long.

M