02 July 2012

Eads to Ordway CO 61 miles (TransAm 2,191)

Well, it seems that eastern Colorado actually has nothing on Kansas, at least not in terms of scenery or road safety. The excitement of yesterday’s border crossing was tempered today by semi-trucks passing within a hair’s width of a hair and no paved shoulder upon which to escape. Instead of rolling along past corn and wheat fields, our TransAmmers are now rolling along with the tumbleweeds. I liken it to trading Mars for the Moon – a little closer to home but not really any more hospitable. And on top of all that, no service stations of the worthy type, according to our little Gina. I didn’t ask if this meant no Starbucks mocha drinks or no toilet paper because really, either one is a crime against humanity and I need not know more than that.

The day was saved, however, by this evening’s accommodations – a real live hotel. With your own bathroom. And your own bed. A bona fide bed, the kind with stuffed pillows and clean sheets, the kind that means, and I quote, “no sleeping on the dirty floor.” More glamorous than should be allowed. I hope Gina is not getting spoiled. Maybe getting her that aerobed for her birthday wasn’t such a good idea.

Back here on Earth, where real beds are a dime a dozen, my day-long scenery of computer monitors and web browsers (the monotony of eastern Colorado has nothing on me) improved when Rocky made an appearance. It wasn’t a scheduled appearance, at least not according to the calendar in the condo lobby. I dunno, maybe his Outlook is down or his assistant on holiday. But it was nice to see him.

I like Rocky. Yeah, I know his type can be mean and vicious and infect me with rabies, but I don’t plan on getting that close. Maybe it’s more precise to say I like Rocky from a distance. He is, admittedly, pretty cute when you put all those other traits aside. His mask, his ringed tail, the way he holds his food. I mean really, didn’t we all love the story of Rascal when we were growing up? I did, one of my favorite books. This is the version we had in my household:

Now who wouldn’t want a cute, cuddly Rascal of their own, sitting on their shoulder, the envy of all their friends? The only truly scary thing about Rascal is the fact that this particular book edition, the one I read, is from 1969. I wasn’t old enough to read in 1969 but learning my ABCs was just a few revolutions around the Sun away.