On Sunday, Colleen and I went to a birthday party for a particularly old golden retriever. We said goodbye to the last of our friends in the dirty river town, then loaded up (or severely overloaded) her tiny car, the Silver Shoe, with all our bikes, stuff, and Gonzo cats. The next morning, we drove. The Gonzo cat cried.
At three the following morning we were in the middle of Kansas. We passed out at a rest stop for two hours in the upright position because the car was too stuffed to recline the seats. When I woke up stiffly, I went into the rest stop, bought a not-so-fresh pumpkin donut and bad coffee, then fired the tiny car back up.
As the sun came up, so did the wind. By late morning the headwind was so strong that I was flooring the gas to keep the car above 60. The roof sack and bikes sticking out the back of the car were too much drag:
We got 15 miles to the gallon the whole way across Kansas. The Silver Shoe usually gets better than 30.
But we were close, and by late afternoon we made it to Boulder. I rode around Valmont for a little, tried to get used to things that I never have to do in Pennsylvania, like cornering and pumping, then we spent a night with the ever gracious Old Meat Scissors Morrison.
Next morning I stole three espressos from Old Meat Scissors Morrison’s little machine. We threw away the Gonzo cat’s disposable litter box, and got back in the car to finish the drive over the Rockies.
Then finally, we were home:
Glenwood Springs seems like it’s going to be a rad place to be. It has trails, big mountains, red rocks and brown rocks, sun every day, and it’s just over an hour from the desert. I’m stoked to be here.
And the cat seems to dig it: