We successfully crested the Continental Divide this past Sunday at 6,393 feet. While this pass is low by comparison (I crossed via Colorado’s 11,312 Monarch Pass on a motorcycle 20 years ago), the last few miles are steep. You’ve likely been in a car on grades like this, whizzing past the line of lumbering semis that seem parked in the right lane. On this day, the semis were passing us while we inched up, petal-to-the-metal in second gear, hazard lights flashing, hoping nothing breaks. Even worse: it’s hot, we couldn’t use the AC, and I was trying to convince Windy and the girls we needed the windows up to reduce our drag coefficient.
|Good times with Great Uncle Michael.|
|Eleanor and cousin Orion with the 1867 log cabin behind.|
|Frances and Ara hit it off.|
|Talking shop with cruising veterans Robbie, Ali, and Gene|
(at Windy's great grandparent's dining room table we
hauled across the country).
|If I ever open my own beauty salon, I will steal this name.|