Lamar, CO (8:30 AM Mountain) to Roeland Park (Kansas City), KS (6:30 PM Central). 474 miles.
Notables: Jim Butcher’s audiobook Small Favor (laugh-out-loud supernatural fun).
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Eastern Colorado got hot yesterday; upper 80s and dry as shed rattlesnake skin. So, it was pure d-lite to open the windows of my shabby-chic turret room and sleep with the night air washing everything cool and clean. Mourning doves woke me this morning; a sound I grew up on and always says home to me. I’m close now.
Jane, my host, made a real breakfast for me and the family staying downstairs; a wedge of watermelon with blackberries and strawberries sprinkled on top, French toast with a warm orange/lemon sauce; bacon; and really good coffee.
Jane started B&B-ing twelve years ago, and like the other pro-hosts I’ve met on this journey, her hospitality far exceeds expectations. She carried my heavy bag upstairs for me, even though I tried to stop her. She came back in a few minutes with a cut-crystal glass of ice water when she saw my little fridge was out of bottled water. A slice of her chocolate bread waited for me on an antique breakfast-in-bed tray.
Like Doris in Roseburg, Oregon, Jane did all these wonderful extras matter-of-factly. Just part of the job. But their businesslike demeanors cover fonts of generosity and genuine kindness. These are the kind of ladies you want for neighbors, who show up when disaster strikes and get to work doing what needs to be done.
I met the family staying in the downstairs room briefly when I arrived; a dad with a tween daughter and younger son. Breakfast was pleasant with kids who weren’t too shy or too bored to talk. And the dad had lovely manners (Jane and I were both “ma’am”).
He mentioned in passing that he wrote crime novels. My ears perked up, but I didn’t pry; he didn’t seem inclined to talk about it. I looked him up, though. The blurb for his latest novel, Cry Father, claims:
In the tradition of Cormac McCarthy and Larry Brown comes a haunting story about men, their fathers, their sons, and the legacy of violence.
Cool! I’m downloading that book tonight!
(He looks like a total bad-ass in that PR photo, but he was quite shy with a nervous giggle).
That was the fun part of the day. The rest was… Kansas. Like Iowa, there’s not much to see; a few cattle grazing, lots of wide spots on the highway that have names, gas stations and rest stops. But my audiobook and the pull of home made me cheerful. And a new witticism from my Navigator.
A stretch of I70 is a tollway. John announced, “Congested traffic ahead. Cough it up. That’s medical humour.” And he gave a very Cleesian snort of disgust. Just when I thought I’d heard all his funnies.
Tonight I occupy the basement of a young, professional bachelor. He’s out to dinner at the moment, so I’ve let myself in (per his kind instructions) and set up shop. Soon, my Ramen noodles will be burbling, and I’ll see about finding Ben’s book.
A good day.
Tomorrow… home.
And stinky, sticky with adrenalin.
So, properly chastised, he sent me up through the Continental Divide. No more puny foothills, we were in the Big League today. We traveled the kinds of roads that required special Runaway Truck Ramps for semis with fried brakes. And wide places to pull off so one can attach their tire chains. There we were, switchbacking and trundling along those straining Peterbilts, with snow and low-slung clouds obscuring the peaks. Ooo, it was an exciting day!
And then, it was Spokane, and bright warm sun, and Linda singing to me as she drove up the drive. We’ve known each other through my blog (and my cards, and Facebook) for years, and finally got to hug and squee like proper girlfriends. She took me to a little park for a nice walk and the beginning of our non-stop babbling. Three hours later, after a scrumptious Thai dinner and a tour of her home, she dropped me off, still singing.
Instead, I did the Sun Salutation until my aching back started to unknot (thank you, 
My mood slid south while I pointed Corvus northwest. I wasn’t surprised by the depression after Sunday’s giddiness; too much tension, too tired, too much of too much. Moderation was required. And another validation of who I am as a human being.
Here were ranches and homes tucked into the crook of these huge elbows of rock. Didn’t people get claustrophobic? How did they orient without a horizon? How could they prepare for bad weather if they couldn’t see it coming? Maybe there was a sense of safety and comfort in being nestled up against a mountain-ish thing. I don’t think I’d like it. I’d always be looking over my shoulder.
The speed limit out here is 80 mph on the freeway (or “motorway,” as John calls it). I couldn’t bring myself to go that fast. Even 75 felt out of control and dangerous. I’m sure a lot of colorful swears darted through the whooshing air as everyone passed me, but what with zipping up and down mountains on curvy roads, and juggling a water bottle, and maybe changing out the audiobook, I thought prudence should prevail. Besides, I might have missed the little herds of antelope grazing on the slopes, and they were too sweet to be missed.
The folks at my meeting found jumper cables, and I cancelled two other appointments to hurry home to my mechanic (since I could only hope it was a dead battery). Even though they were booked solid, Rich, Rose and Jeff at 
Guesthouse on the Green, Billings, Montana
“EECOM…”
“INCO…”
“CAPCOM…”
SandySue Altered
A Mind Divided 