I drove out to Colorado to buy some of the pain relieving ointment that I’ve been using for months to soothe the pain of the pinched nerve in my neck. It is really does an excellent job but because it contains THC (the active ingredient in marijuana) you cannot buy it here. (eye rolling emoji)
When I realized I was going to run out of the stuff I started to consider a trip out to see my niece who lives in Denver. You can buy medical and recreational marijuana in Colorado. I figured what the hey. A good book on tape in the car, a stopover at some cool place, a day or two in Denver, see my lovely niece and then a speedy trip home. And then Loralyn signed on, so Fait accompli.
I’d done it before. Although that was 40 years ago. So I was thinking of the old days when a road trip meant bags of corn nuts, Cheetos and beer. All the detritus that goes with that, plus skis, boots, poles all crammed in the small car and your pillow, of course, taking turns driving the non-stop 20 hours from Wisco to ‘rado in blinding snow. That was fun, if uncomfortable or downright terrifying. This time, though, I had a nice car, the ability to stop and sleep. Eight hours shifts at the wheel. That’d be pretty much like a day at work and since it was summer, no snow, possibly. With my luck who the hell knows.
But I had forgotten how BORING it all is. Hundreds of miles after hundreds of miles of nothing. Except the occasional Trump billboard, a couple of over sized loads, and a God Bless the American Flag billboard—I am not sure what is gained by blessing a flag, maybe it’s extra wavy afterward. In Kearney where we overnighted there were several weddings going on simultaneously in a cavernous convention center. The guests, and in fact the grooms themselves, all turned out in relatively clean t-shirts (depending on your standards) and the brides in white and cowboy boots plus a lot of virginal cleavage. We wandered around completely unnoticed by anyone but since I was the only person whose shirt had a collar that was pretty remarkable. I was afraid it was a dead giveaway that I’d voted for Hillary and sooner rather than later I’d be a-tarred and feathered. I wasn’t.
We had dinner in a restaurant nearby seated under an enormous antelope head while yet another wedding was going on in a semi private area of the joint. I say semi private because I had a straight shot view of the proceedings. The bride in cowboy boots appeared to be missing a part of her bodice and her boobs sloshed precariously hither and tither while she argued with her mother (her mother’s massive hair was so yellow she could have been mistaken for a taxi).
I was certain a gun fight was going to break out. Everyone in the place had to be packin.’
We finished and left. La Quinta has lovely breakfasts and we had ours with the night-before wedding revelers many of whom were barefoot and looked pretty much like they’d been ridden hard and put away wet. (Horse lingo). and then we skedaddled.