Monday 28th August 2017

For the benefit of the blog, the 28th began just after I wrote the last post, sat in the lounge at Denver Airport. It was already Monday in the UK, and our transition into Monday would happen sometime over the Atlantic, or somewhere close.

We drank lots of fluids in the lounge, and had some snacks. No meals in this lounge, but it had high speed free internet, which is always welcome. So, catching up on Facebook, the news and sports. But come seven, we had run out things to do, and just wanted to get on the plane. A call goes out, we can now go down to the gate and be ready to board..

We were both shattered to be honest, walking down to the departure hall, and a few yards on was our gate, A37. Hundreds of people milling about as usual, but already the first people were being allowed on, when those with frequent flyer cards were allowed on, I was allowed through, and the disappointment of finding that we did not have the couches from the outboard flight, regular reclining seats, though a little wider and with more legroom.

Jools arrives and so we settle down, taking off our shoes, getting headphones out and all the rest.

We take off some half an hour late, just as dusk was falling over Denver, climbing into the night sky with the lights of city spread out below us.

In the first hour or so, drinks and snacks were brought round, then dinner, more drinks, and then the lights dimmed in an attempt to make out it was time for bed. I watched a Bruce Springsteen documentary and then an episode of Masterchef. before trying to get some sleep. When I last looked at the moving map, we were still over northeastern Canada.

And when I woke up we were just half an hour's flight from the Irish coast, some four or so hour's later. Amazing. As I sit up blinking, trying to clear my wooly head, the lights were put back up and soon breakfast of a cream cheese filled bagel and a cuppa was served. Others wake up too, and the plane is made ready to land. We cross Ireland, and the Irish Sea before making landfall somewhere near St David's in Wales.

Below I see Cardiff, Bridgend, Bristol, Bath, Devizis pass by before we enter a holding stack for half an hour.

We drop lower, then turn north and fly over south London, and from my seat I get views of London spread out along the Thames.

Welcome home.

We touch down, some 20 minutes late and taki to the gate. After some faffing about, Jools and I are the first to be allowed to leave the aircraft, walking quickly up the airbridge and then along miles of corridors until we come to the immigration hall. No queues there, so we go straight to the machines to scan our passports. Jools goes straight through, but I don't. I have to go to see am official, and the chip in my passport is not working, and will have to be replaced soon.

But I get through and so we can go down to baggage reclaim, wait for our bags to come out. Jools calls Ricky and he is waiting outside, or nearby. So all is good.

We walk out and spot the taxi over the road: he was breaking the rules in picking people up there, and was about to get a fine, but we did not know this. So I shouted "Rickaayyyy", we walked over, he threw the bags on the back of the van and we are away before the traffic warden has returned, so no fine for him and we are on our way home.

Of course it was a bank holiday, and the roads, especially the M25 was heaving, with much slow traffic. However, we keep moving, and once past the M23 junction there are no more hold ups. We pass into Kent, down the M26 and on the last leg home.

It was another glorious late summer afternoon, warm without being too hot, and sunny to make the colours of the countryside look so warm. Most of the harvest is now already in, some fields ploughed ready for the next crop, and other just stubble.

Dover is fairly quiet, so we take Townwall Street and up Jubilee Way, right along the Deal road and finally back to St Maggies.

Of course we have no food in the house, well except frozen, so I say I will go to Tesco before it closes at four, and Jools will empty the cases.

Tesco is crazy, with families out apparently going there instead of the beach, walking around in flip flogs and shorts. I zip round, getting what we needed, as I had been clever enough to write a list before we went away! How clever.

At home the first load of washing was in, and the cases empty. So we carry on getting chores done until we were both pooped, and I only then put the computer on to download some shots and check on the news.

We have insalata for dinner; requires no cooking so is easy and so delicious. Only thing missing from the house is the cats, and I will collect those in the morning.

It is dark now by eight, and feels autumnal for that, but it is very warm indeed, so we sit in semi-darkness in the living room with the back door open until we cannot keep our eyes open any more, so go to bed after long refreshing showers. It was half nine, we were home. And poor Jools had to go back to work in the morning

Sunday 27th August 2017

And all good things come to an end. It is time to bid America farewell for now, pack our remaining stuff and make tracks for the airport. But as we had an evening flight, we had an almost full day to spend.

Dawn had gone out to fetch muffins and cake, so over strong coffee we talked more, but then with the clock ticking towards ten, we knew we had to part. A sad parting, but maybe we will meet in the near future if they come back to England. We shall see.

Dawn had suggested the botanical gardens, so it was there that we headed, programmed the sat nav and back onto the crowded interstates. I thought they would be quiet on a Sunday, but no. Madness.

We go through a rich looking leafy suburb to the gardens, find a place to park in a free parking garage, then walk to the entrance, pay our 15 bucks each to go in.

It was another hot and humid day, and really we were hoping to see butterflies. And we did see a couple of yellow swallowtails, but they never settled. I did snap three dragonflies. In fact, it was a fabulous garden, lots to see, but then it was also very warm, so we sit down a lot, and just watch stuff. I spend ten minutes watching a large blue dragonfly circling a pond, hoping it would settle, but it was too hungry and the weather too warm for that.

We have lunch in the garden, but my order of two salads somehow was only one, so we share, and it is Ok.

Come half one, we are pooped, and had seen enough, our final visit was to the tropical house which was, as you would expect, even more hot and humid than outside.

We walk back to the car and program another Barnes and Nobles in, it was downtown and parking was seven bucks for twenty minutes. We pass on that and find a large branch out of town so drive over there, down long busy dual carriageways past strip malls, gas stations and the other stuff that makes up modern America.

I get another butterfly book, and then we have iced coffee in Starbucks next door. It was all at an end now.

Back to the car, we set the sat nav for the airport, and jools drives us over back to the other side of the city, though downtown again, and out through the industrial areas back onto the interstate and so to the airport.

The checking in of the car was easy, just a quick look over, sign here and you are free to go. We jump aboard the shuttle bus, it departs right away, and we are on our way to the terminal.

A half hour queue to check in, and another at security and immigration, and we were through. We go to the lounge where I could hear the sound of free beer being served.

We just wait now for the flight to be called.

Saturday 26th August 2017

And here we are, in Loveland. Still. The air con meant we slept like logs all night, and so woke refreshed and delighted to see another fine sunny day outside. We pack the cases, I mean the final pack, other than an overnight plastic carrier bag, ready for the flight on Sunday.

Downstairs for breakfast, to find there is a queue for the waffle machine. I like waffles, but not enough to queue for them as you have to make them yourself. In fact, apart from cereal, and coffee, we don’t eat much, somehow the sausage tastes the same whether is in in links or in a patty.

I have been friends online with someone from the Denver area since 2001 when I first went into the digital world. Over the years I have read Dawn’s mails and blog posts about her life, trials and tribulations, her marriage fall apart and then she bring her three children up on her own. We have never met, and flying in/out of Denver I hoped it would be possible to meet up.

And it did.

Aurora was an hour’s drive from Loveland, braving Denver’s interstates and motorways, and marvelling as drivers ignored speed limits, and all other rules of the road. I take us along at the speed limit, following the instructions from the sat nav, along the busy main road to downtown before heading east. Traffic calmed down at least, and by the time we pulled off the interstate, it was almost rural with ploughed fields and dead grass abound.

Dawn lives in a trailer park, at the back of it, with views over the farmland. We drive round the park to find her waiting for us, waving like crazy. One of my best friends, and yet the first time we had ever met. It is the modern way.

We park the car round back, get out and hug like crazy. What a wonderful meeting it was, a first time meeting and yet best friends, best friends who knew so much about each other thanks to the words we both write.

Her fiance had driven over from Iowa to meet us too, and Doug was a fine gentleman for sure, and we greeted him with warm handshakes too.

They had planned a day out for us, up in the mountains and the words “cog railway” was mentioned. I was excited, but had no idea what to expect.

We got in Doug’s car, and we set off for Colorado Springs, along another interstate sandwiched between two railroads, and I was very happy as both lines were busy with long freight trains. The land began to rise quickly, and soon we were back in the mountains, the rusty red Jurassic rock contrasting well with the blue skies above.

From Colorado Springs, we drive to Manitou Springs, where despite it being the height of of the tourist season, the local council seemed to be digging up every road in the picturesque town centre. We drive along and find a car park, so for five dollar, we park until ten at night, if we wanted.

Manitou Springs is a thriving town, lots of ftny independant arty shops, restaurants and bars, we walk along the main street and decide it was lunch time. So go into a place beside the river, although they didn’t seem too keen on serving us at first, but we get a table outside under the awning, and the menu is splendid, I could have had it all, but have a sausage taster platter, four local bangers, different meats and spices, with some pickled onion rings.

The we did some more wandering, window shopping, until the ex-armourer suggested that we might go into a bar to try some of the local craft ales. All agreed and then had to keep up with me as we searched for a bar with an empty table. Three pints of IPA were ordered, and an orange juice for Jools, as down in the deep valley, no air was moving, and it were mighty warm. So a cool frosty beer was just what was needed.

After drinking up, it was time to go back to the car for the short drive to the cog railway, where Doug had reserved us places on the quarter to three train up the mountain.

The car parked, tickets collected, we wait on the short platform for the train to come down, disgorge passengers so we could climb on board. Jools and I were entranced by two hummingbirds buzzing about taking nectar from a feeder a few feet above our heads.

Three blasts on a whistle meant that the train was near to returning, so I go to the end of the platform to snap its arrival. I was the only person who did this, but I don’t care. A two car diesel came rattling down, bright red in colour and looking very Swiss.

Once the previous passengers had gotten off, we were allowed on, we all had reserved seats, so there was no need to worry, and we had seats on the left hand side, which, as it turned out would have the finest views once the train got above the treeline. But that was a long ride ahead.

Once the train was full, we clanked off, lurching onto the rack and hauling us up the mountain. The Pike’s Peak Cog Railway is the longest in the world, and highest in America. We go up through a narrow valley, crossing and recrossing a tumbling alpine stream, while a young lady gave us a puntastic commentary on stuff we might find interesting; diamond shaped rocks, waterfalls higher than Niagara, abandoned houses, demolished hotels. And wildlife.

Plentiful lower down the mountain were Aspen trees, like a paler silver birch, and looking fabulous, might be my new favourite tree. And there were pines. Lots of lines, and as the land opened out, the trees covered the slopes of the lower hills.

Just over halfway up, we passed through the treeline, meaning our views were uninterrupted to the higher peaks. At one of the crossovers, we spotted a couple of Marmots, beaver-like creatures who gladly accept any seeds or trail mix passengers might like to throw his way. Up and up we went, closely following a single car train, meaning if you could just swivel round, you could get shots of it as it tackled the 1:4 gradient ahead.

We reach the peak, some 14,115 feet above sea level, the tracks stop with a simple buffer on the edge of a sheer drop hundreds of feet down. Sun shone brightly on the summit, making the red locos shine, it was fabulous, even if walking around made you breathless even on the slightest incline. I take hundreds of shots, of course, and it was quite crowded, as there is also a road up the mountain, and I spoke to one gentleman in his 60s who had cycled up it. I took my hat off to him, and he was rather pleased his effort was appreciated.

There is a shop up there, and a place selling “world famous donuts”, people sitting with us on the train had some and said the donuts were average. So maybe famous for being average? Two toots on the whistle at quarter to five meant that we should reboard and get ready for the great descent down the mountain. Jools and I swapped places, so I now had a window seat, so I get a few more shots once we start down. Going back down would mean it would be warmer again, as it was only about 14 degrees at the peak, but 30 in the valley below.

Down and down we go, no waiting for other trains coming up at the switchovers as the line was closing, so we make good progress getting to the bottom in just over an hour. On the way down Jools and I spot flowers and fungi, but really there was so much to look at as we dropped down.

It was six when we got to the bottom, we huffed and puffed our way to the car from the station, up a slight rise in the road that made me breathless, it easy to forget even at the bottom of the hill we were over 6000 feet above sea level.

Doug started the car, fired up the air con and set course back home, the same route as before, but bathed in evening sunshine.

Dawn wanted to take us to her favourite restaurant, so we go to an outdoor mall made to look like a town centre, we find a parking spot, and walk to the McCabbes, only to find it closed and clearly not going to reopen. But there were other dining options, over the road a Montana grill, so we get a table there, and I have bison steak again, and Jools, Dawn and myself have huckleberry margaritas. As you do, and very nice they were.

Darkness had fallen, and Doug raced us back to the trailer, where he cracked open the 101 proof bourbon. Oh dear. Anyway, we talk and listen to music for an hour or so as the bottle empties and my memories are a little hazy after that.

And I suppose that means we went to bed at some point.

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.