Yesterday morning, we left the tiny house Airbnb.
Leaving town, we cruised up Road 50. More beautiful winding roads up up the mountainside. There was a road delay up ahead, a sheriff told us: a thirty minute wait. We parked by the side of the road, across a ranch, where a hawk spun around in circles over sunflowers and grass. We ate Qboda in the back of the truck and soaked in balmy sunshine.
Around 12:30 PM, the long line of cars began to creep. We passed by construction trucks parked below jagged canyon rocks. We drove across a bridge, past lakes and mountains, singing to M.I.A, until we reached a small town. There, we filled up on gas before making way to our next destination: a mountain pass off-road trail called Ohio Pass.
I drove off-road! This time in its entirety. It was more forestland than canyon. The mountain crawl was peaceful, serene. Long sloping trees, gentle dips, mountains, mountains, and mountains. We took a snack break at the end of the off-road, ate oranges and grapes, readily fermenting in our cooler.
Onwards and upwards. We arrived at Crested Butte, a town in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. People were on bikes, skating through the idyllic town. Le beau stopped by a dispensary.
On the drive up, we ran into a herd of cows. They filled the main road, lazy and grazy. A rancher, dressed in plaid shirt, road a horse, went “hip! hip!” as his two dogs rounded up the cows, all meandering and mooing on the road. For ten minutes, we were blocked by the cows, who mosied in front, beside, and behind us, gurgling a symphony of moo’s.
Shortly afterwards, we passed by a beach in Colorado. People in ATs rode down sand dunes, reminding me of Napoleon Dynamite’s grandma. Le beau skipped rocks.
During one of our last stops, le beau parked by a cliff.
You ever done jumping jacks on a cliff? I asked.
You sound like Uncle Rico.
Finally, after eight hours on the road, we arrived at our last Airbnb, a condo located several minutes from Breckenridge. Of all the cities and towns we’ve passed through, this was the densest. Unlike the glossy black mountain roads, there were potholes, and highways, and Targets and Crocs.
Once we unpacked our bags, I popped gummy (or two, or three) and proceeded to exceed the maximum recommended dosage 4x. Next thing I knew, I was plastered to the couch, arms like wool, scenes pulled straight from Jump Street 22. There was a dog somewhere. Then an old woman. Then a Christmas tree strainer.
“I love cheesy bread. I love the cheese, the marinara…. and the bread.”
“You….literally just described the ingredients of cheesy bread.”