Friday 25th August 2017

Birthday

And time to move on yet again. But the days of salad are slipping through my fingers, and we begin the first of the legs of the long journey home, a six hour drive from the cabin to Loveland.

I was awake well before the alarm went off at six, rain had woken me in the wee small hours, but I guess I must have dozed on and off. For the last two nights, we took changes of clothes, intending to leave the cases in the car, so the first half hour was sorting clothes, packing the stuff we didn’t need and stuff we had bought.

All done by twenty to seven, so we walk up to the lodge where we knew fresh coffee was brewing. As we walked out of the cabin, the air was full of the yipping of many coyotes, singing for the dawn. It was incredible, and others stood at their cabins listening. The calls faded until there was just a couple still going, then silence fell.

It was biscuits and gravy day for breakfast, and as neither of us are keen, we make do with some kind of bun and syrup and lots of coffee.

As we walked back down to the cabin, the sun rose above the forest the other side fo the meadow, making a light mist rise and diffusing the light. So sad to be leaving.

But all things have to end.

We load the car, one case in the boot, the other on the back seat, and pack the other stuff all around so stuff wouldn’t move around when we drove. One last look around the cabin to make sure we hadn’t forgotten anything, and we closed the door for the last time.

I climbed in the car to program the destination of the hotel, whilst Jools went to pay the bill. I had some trouble as I had managed to write the address wrong, that would usually result in the computer saying “no”. But I get round my error, and the sat nav says six hours and 15 minute.

The bill is paid, and I climb in the passenger seat, as Jools wanted to drive down the mountain, although as we were heading north, we assumed more steel roads and sharp bends.

Even before getting onto the main road, we had to get past the herd of errant cows, who were now forraging in the trees, or wandering along the road, being cow-like. A toot of the Mustang horn gets them out of the way, and Jools touches the gas, and we spring off.

It was a cool morning on the mountain, 6 degrees, but glorious sunshine, so whilst Jools dealt with the driving, I took photos,as that’s my job. Trees scattered on the upland meadows, topped with treeless domes of the mountains beyond.

The road gently drops, and it is fun for Jools cruising down a 1:20 hill, down the side of a gorge, but nothing too taxing. We see lots of cows, but also some springhorns bouncing across the road and a couple of elk looking out for the edge of the woods.

After joining route 14, and passing many lakes, craggy mountains, the road girds itself and begins an eight mile drop down the side of the mountain, twisting and turning, but not quite as dramatic as the southern side, but still, good for Jools to throw the mustang round them bends, even if its really only built for straight lines.

She overtakes a truck hauling a horse box, although we’re sure he’ll hammer past us on the interstate later. She engages all the horses and we are past in a flash.

The land levels out and we pass through green fields, ranches and sleepy towns just waking up.

We turn onto the interstate, and the sat nav says turn left in 90 minutes. Jools engages the horses and takes the Mustang up to 80. Amazingly, the road is almost emoty, so we relax and cruise along, with the miles being eaten up.

We tuen the radio on to find something decent, but of of large towns and cities, choices are limited, and even when you do find a good station, the signal lasts half an hour at most.

Time drags, but the miles fly by.

We turn south at Buffalo, and the sat nav says turn left in 335 miles. We settle down for the long drive.

Wyoming is home to just over half a million people, and yet is the 5th largest state in the union; meaning there is a lot of space. You miss a gas station or rest stop and it could be an hour until the next one. We failed to fill up at Buffalo, but make it to Kaycee, a town of a dozen or so houses (probably more) and two or three gas stations. I go to fill up and Jools goes to find breakfast. There is some kind of sub-shop, but you can’t just say what you want, you have to fill in a questionnaire. Each. What about coffee we ask? She is confused, help yourself and pay at the counter she says, hoping we would go away. So, we manage to fill two cups with coffee, vanilla syrup, and then take 5 minutes to put the lid on.

We elect to drive and eat, not that it meant any kind of hazard, as there were so few others on the road. So we went back on the interstate, eating our wraps and sipping coffee.

The other thing about this part of Wyoming, and most of the central part is that, it is dull. Even we managed to squeeze all interest from it, as the interstate rolled on hour after hour, we lived in hope that with each slight hill, from the crest we would see more than the ribbon of highway stretching to the horizon, sun burnt fields and weathered rocky outcrops.

But it was always the same view.

But the State Capital was getting close; Casper is where the road turned east 90 degrees, and it was where we thought we might break the journey.

In the shadow of a line of dark hills, Casper nestles, spread out and grown fat from decades of profits from the oil and gas industry. I wanted to find a book shop to get a butterfly field guide, but there was no Barnes and Noble, but the car found the address of another in the heart of downtown, so we follow its instructions, leading us to its very doors and an empty streetside parking space.

They didn’t have what I wanted, but had a pictorial guide, which would do, so I get that. Elsewhere there is a bead shop, a quilt shop, 2 fine old cinemas and a record shop. I get a rare Kate Bush ep from that too, not sure how I will get it back to Blighty mind.

It was too hot to wander around, thirty degrees in the shade, so we beat retreat to the car, ramp up the air con and resume our journey back south. And out of Casper, and back on the interstate, the mile after mile of nothing resumed. Hour after hour the miles rolled by; sometimes we went across a river valley, and the land got greener, only to revert to the brown and wilted again.

We stop off in Wheatland for ice cream and to break up the trip. It did me good, as my eyes were getting itchy. Just two hours to go now, the end was in sight, so redoubled the effort and we even listen to a “pop” station on the radio until we give up again.

Chugwater sounded interesting, especially as they claim to be home of some kind of chili, but no time to investigate today, we press on.

Clouds were building in the south, and it looked like we might get to see a storm, but we didn’t. The clouds did mean not having to squint into the sun, so driving was more pleasant. We cross the state line into Colorado, we were now on the road we went up two weeks back.

We couldn’t get into the hotel we stayed in two weeks back in Fort Collins, instead we were booking into another in Loveland, some 15 miles further south, meaning we encountered our first jam since the eclipse, and crawled the last ten miles until we turned off. I suppose it was Friday afternoon, and isn’t everywhere crowded at that time?

The explanation is two minor shunts, and once we are past that, traffic speeds up and we get to our turn off. We go down two blocks and are directed onto a business park/strip mall, and our hotel sits at the back of it, surrounded by lush trees and planting.

We check in, go up to our room with our collection of shopping bags, ramp up the air con and relax. I check the internet, get lots of messages on Facebook, which is very nice I have to say.

After an hour we go out, on foot, to find somewhere to eat. The Tex Mex place I spied on the way in turned out to be closed. The Mexican place was really just a take away place. So we walk off over the huge parking lot outside Target towards two restaurant-looking buildings. One was an Italian place, the other was a branch of Chillies.

We go to Chilies.

We order spiced steak and shrimp and margaritas. Our server loves our accent and won’t stop talking to us, even when our food arrives, which was nice. I mean, who doesn’t love a British accent?

The food is OK, not spectacular, but being in walking distance we could have a second drink if we wanted. I do, Jools doesn’t.

It is still 30 degrees when we walk back, gald to be back in the room with the air con on, and listening to Radcliffe and Maconie, almost like being home.