Out of water, out of food, low on propane and feeling desiccated as the red sand dustbowls we've been exploring, it felt good to pack up and roll home. We are now rehydrating and recovering in the blessed coolness of Lovely Ouray. Gazing into the numbers on my Box Canyon Calendar, grinning ear to ear like a circus clown, I propose a toast: Tis April eighteen, the back of Old Man Winter is broke! May he melt like a snowball in July Phoenix.
Here here, another toast: Drinks on me!
Yesterday we hiked Oak Creek Trail; it winds switchback by switchback up south-facing Twin Peaks, Ouray's sentinel two-headed watchman. It was delicious. Bathed in mid-day sun and freshened by pine scented air we chirped along like a couple of spring song birds. My MoJo pulled its annual "Lazareth" and rose from death, "Risin', Risin'... Mr. MoJo Risin'..." as sure as Jim Morison whaled from my tape eating eight track player back in '71.
Our Rockies are known for reluctant springs. Couple that with anxious winters and, well, something has to give. Summer gets shortened into Danny Devito. The first (and only) thing I remember from Econ 101 is that nothing drives up value quicker than shortages... be it fuel, food, or fair weather. Barkeep, another round for my warm blooded mammal friends. Here's to the value of fair weather; hip hip, hurray!
Say goodbye to Valley of the Gods and Anasazi Spirits. We look forward to going back, when it's cooler.
|Hanging out at home...|
|We only have one "snake" in Lovely Ouray. It's the curvy Million Dollar Highway that crawls over Red Mountain Pass|
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