The Mudstang now says "Oil change required". It still seems to have an adequate quantity of the stuff, though, so it can go home in that state. Sorry, Mr Budget. This afternoon a Yoof in a passing motorcar in Cañon City stuck his head out of the window, exclaimed "Mudstang! Cool!" and made that gesture with his index and little fingers so beloved of the late Ronnie James Dio. So let's have a bit more rispek in future. Innit.
Just because I am spending two nights in the same place does not mean I have been idle, no. I have still driven quite a long way, only without a rucksack on the passenger seat or The Luggage wearing out the rear shock absorbers. A few quick miles up I-25 and then off into the woods and lumps of the San Isabel National Forest. I could have reached my destination rather more quickly on I-25 but it runs along the bottom of the Front Range - the bit of the Rockies immediately west of the Several of hundreds of miles of flat bit between here and the Mighty Mississippi - which is dulk. The San Isabel region is not.
|Lake? Trees? Mountain(s)? Sorted...|
West from Pueblo along our old chum US-50, which is emphatically not lonely in this part of the world. Up the hill after Cañon City and turn left onto a very wiggly back road, which leads to this:
On the other side of the bridge is this:
|An Infernal Device, yesterday|
|What? The? Fuck?|
The lady in the blue dress is eighty; that is her thirty-one year old grand-daughter in the white blouse. Neither of them screamed either.
All this was bad for my heart rate, blood pressure and general mental well-being, so I went back to Pueblo in search of something which didn't move when you looked at it:
|The Arkansas River emerging from the base of the Pueblo Dam. No, it's meant to!|
|The last of the mountains?|
For this year.
- Keanus2 anyway.
- Keanu = big piece of wood3
- Wood is an excellent material for making trees but is otherwise not to be trusted - LJK Setright.