This is kind of a long story, so you might want to pour a glass of wine or pop a beer.
[ BACKGROUND: My wife starts screaming if I get too close to a guardrail when I pull over at a scenic overlook. I have asked her to just close her eyes if the height frightens her, but in the grip of such overpowering fear she forgets. ]
We set out this morning and the drive was beautiful.
We somehow took a wrong turn in Montrose, Colorado. You may remember that it was the rather large town with no motel vacancies because of a convention or something. Well, it wasn't a convention...but that's a story for a little later.
We didn't realize our mistake for an hour, and by then we were in Ouray, Colorado, a quaint little town in the most beautiful part of the mountains. After consulting a map I determined that we could loop around and rejoin our original route if we followed US 550 (remember that number...it's kind of important).
Ouray was very crowded and we couldn't figure out why. We really hadn't seen that much traffic during our approach to the town. We did notice that there were (was?) a plethora of bicycles, but we didn't dwell on the subject. As we passed through Ouray and rose up the mountain, I came as close to a panic attack as I ever have.
The narrow two-lane road dropped off for two thousand feet on the right (my lane) and there was no shoulder or guardrail. I was so close to the drop off that I could see nothing but void out of my wife's passenger window or over the right fender of my truck. I swear that it reminded me of that highway of death in Peru or some such fucking place that I learned about on the History Channel.
At a hairpin turn a semi-tractor trailer truck came toward me and the turn was so tight that he had to swing out 3 feet into my lane to make it. I was terrified. My wife didn't say a word. I determined to abort the climb, but there was no place to pull off the road or turn around for several miles. There was a lot of traffic going up and down the mountain. Then I found a dirt bike trail to the left and managed to just get my bumper off of the road. When there was a break in traffic I backed out and descended the mountain. As soon as there was a narrow pull-off, I eased to the side of the road, gasping, then took this picture out of my window from whence I had come.
(check out the right shoulder...or the absence thereof...and no guardrail...DAMN!!!)
Then I looked at my wife (who still hadn't uttered a sound) and asked, "How is it that you weren't screaming with the meemy-geemies the whole time we were on that road?" She replied that she was too terror-stricken to speak." And I believed her. The poor woman was literally frozen in terror...and I mean that.
She later told me that even if she had been able to protest the stupidity of going up that road, she knew not to distract me in any way. It was THAT harrowing.
I don't want to sound like too big a sissy, but that fucking road scared the holy shit out of both of us. I haven't been that scared in a long time. I think if I had been alone on that road with no other cars, then I could have coped. However, there were many cars passing me in the opposing lane, cars in front of me and cars behind me, and any of these drivers could have done something really, really stupid that I would have had to pay for...me and my lovely bride that I love more than oxygen.
We decided to just retrace our route back to where we made the wrong turn (a two hour loss), and right outside Ouray I wanted to tag the 550 sign, but couldn't because the post was round. So I tagged the closest thing to it with #85.
If you are ever in Central Colorado, I challenge you to to take US 550 east out of Ouray. I think you will find it as memorable as I did. But do it when there is a lot of traffic scheduled.
But it gets better. We are now in a perfect motel room in Gunnison, Colorado.
Luck is a very fickle thing.
This is the site that backs up what I am about to tell you.
The reason there were no motels for a hundred miles is that the huge Bicycle Tour Colorado starts tomorrow. You won't believe this, but it begins and ends right here in Gunnison. Luckily, it is going west and we are going east. But luck is more fickled than that. We knew none of this when we drove into Gunnison and tried to find a room. There were none, of course, however, a woman in the parking lot of one motel told us that a friend of hers owns a motel off the road and she called and there was one room available, but no smoking rooms. We drove to it, checked in and just as we got our luggage into the room, the phone rang telling us that there had been a screw up and a couple just arrived who was scheduled for a smoking room and demanded a non-smoking room...so Debbie just switched switched keys with the woman in the lobby. Further, we were pleased that there was a Mexican restaurant right next door within walking distance so we wouldn't have to fight the traffic in town. The clerk told us that it had just opened yesterday...YESTERDAY!!! Yes, luck is a strange thing. Now if the ptomaine fairy will just not make its way to our door, then all and all it was a good day.
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I found this picture on line. After Dodge City, we plan to head to New Orleans. I just want to see the damage with my own eyes...and throw some money around to help their poor tourist trade. Debbie has a friend who lives there and she is finding out the best place to go to see this disaster.
Silly, but I thought it clever...and well done...
If you just happen to be one of those people who don't watch THE BIGGEST SPORTING EVENT ON THE FUCKING PLANET, then you will have no idea why this is funny.
One of my very own...
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