(This post is a day late because I had neither internet access nor electricity. Makes it difficult to be on time)
Collegiate Peaks Campout 1
On the road again, but a much shorter journey this time. A two-day campout was planned for Monday-Wednesday at a place called Collegiate Peaks Campground. Ordinarily this would be a three hour trip from Montrose, but a crucial bridge on that route is being repaired which meant we needed to drive the long way round, about seven hours.
Robin and I took off Sunday afternoon and bunked in Glenwood Springs, about halfway to the destination. We walked a few blocks from our motel to a Mexican restaurant, ate well, and on our way back were caught in a sudden rainshower. If there is anything more delightful than a surprise summer rain on a sticky 92 degree evening I don’t know what it would be.
******
******
From The New Yorker
******
Collegiate Peaks Campout 2
Almost as soon as we reached the campground the thunder started cracking. Soon the rest of our group arrived and we were eight. After two hours of this symphony it began to rain … hard … for an hour. The rain let up for an hour, then began once more and continued at a less ferocious pace for about 8 hours. Spirits were definitely dampened.
Next day … same scenario. Blue sky morning, then thunder, then rain. At the first evening’s supper we learned that if you try to eat a pulled pork sandwich in the rain you are left with a handful of pork as the bun washes away. So the second evening some creative members of our group rigged a tarp to cover the picnic table which made things much better.
So … the outing was a flop? Nope. Not at all. On the one morning we had between the rains returned the eight of us drove to the top of Cottonwood Pass and took a walk under blue skies. Altitude 12,800 feet. Mountain views in every direction. Outstanding! It was worth a bit of dampness and inconvenience for a couple of hours of this experience.
One of the female members of our octet said there were similarities between camping and childbirth. In both instances there can be pain and misery but the next day all that is forgotten if the baby is fine or the sun comes out.
******
******
From The New Yorker
******
I don’t know exactly when it began, and the changes were so gradual that at first they passed almost unnoticed, but Robin and I now live in completely separate personal climatic universes.
There is no temperature at which we are both comfortable. If I am at my ambient ease she is too warm. Not a little bit too warm, but over the top too warm. When she smiles because she is finally in a body-friendly environment, I am over there shivering in a corner and wrapping myself in layers of afghans.
Oh well, if we are destined to become different subspecies I have confidence that we will do it with our usual panache. We’ve already worked through several dichotomies, including male/female, Buddhist/Lutheran, and lunkhead/sweetheart. Temperature misadventures … a piece of cake.
******
Little Home In The Valley 