Colorado Day Seven

After sleeping in this morning, we parked at the back of the hotel and Levi read the daily scripture after Shirl and Paul led a song or two.  The singing continued as we drove down the road, headed for the tallest sand dunes in North America.  Still exclaiming over the brilliant aspens that lined the highway, we were awed by the stunning beauty around us.  God is good!

The size of the dunes were deceptive when we first saw them at Great Sand Dunes National Park.  When Anna Mae told us it would take an hour to walk to the top I was enthused about trying it.  Sam, Helen, and I headed out together and after walking hard and fast through soft sand, we topped a steep incline that appeared to be about a third of the way to the top.  What we couldn’t see until we crested the hill was the sheer drop off down the other side, and still a long distance from the dune that reached to the top.  We all three realized there was no way we would make it to the summit with the time we had left so we stopped laboring along and visited instead with a mother and her two daughters.  They were planning to take their snowboards to the bottom of the dune we were on.

After thoroughly rubbing the bottoms of their boards with wax  Mom went first. She made it to the bottom in good form and yelled encouragement up to her girls.  The oldest one didn’t fare quite as well, sliding sideways before she fell down.  The youngest sat on her board and sailed to the bottom screaming all the way.  I was so amazed by the sheer size and distance of these dunes!  We have vacationed in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina for many years.  Those dunes top out at about 100 feet.  These are seven times higher!

When we got back, breathless and sweating, to the picnic area below, Anna Mae and Irene had set up a lovely picnic for us.  Cold sandwiches, macaroni and potato salads, chips, fresh fruit, and a birthday cake for dessert.  We have four birthdays to celebrate on this trip.  The picnic site was perfect.  The weather was perfect. The company was perfect.  How grateful I am to be able to get away from responsibility for two weeks and rest up – mentally, spiritually, and physically!

As it happened, before we turned toward Durango, our destination for today, we would be passing within a quarter mile of the hotel we had stayed in last night.  Lucky thing too since Pearl forgot her very special pillow.  A quick call to the hotel by our faithful tour guide, Anna Mae, and the pillow was located.  A short detour, a quick stop, and Pearl and her pillow were reunited once again.  And the person who accidentally kept their key was able to return that as well.  I’m feeling better and better every time someone else has a senior moment.  I’m losing my title as the bus screw-up, and happy I am.

We passed through more beautiful farmland and Anna Mae told us there were probably at least forty Amish families that had settled in the area.  We passed several of their farms and spotted buggies parked outside.  No one was in sight since Sunday is a day of rest and the Amish take it seriously.

The rest of the afternoon was spent on the road with all of us enjoying the scenery, or napping.  Or both.  We stopped several times for photo ops and bathroom breaks.  When everyone woke up, popcorn was passed around.  Every good Amish person knows that Sunday evening is for eating popcorn.  Then a few stories were told.  And the mystery of “who stole Carolyn’s cookies” was discussed.  No one will own up to it.  But they mysteriously returned when no one was looking.

We stopped at the continental divide at Wolf Creek Pass.  Pictures must be taken and, yes, the song must be played overhead.  Then on through the town of Pagosa Springs with a pause for pictures of the sign.  And always the aspens, brilliant, breathtaking, plentiful!  Aspens will only grow at a certain level of elevation.  Too high or too low and they die. We flew past Chimney Rock far off in the distance but still close enough for another bunch of photographs.

We arrived at our hotel earlier than usual and everyone scattered to eat supper wherever they wished.  It pretty much turned out to be the hotel restaurant which was fine since the food was excellent.  And now for some card games!  A fine, relaxing Sunday it has been.

Colorado Day Six

This morning our destination was Molly Kathleen’s gold mine.  I woke with a headache and opted not to join the group heading down into the dark underground.  One thousand feet down they went and all the reassurances in the world did not make me feel inclined to join them. “It’s only two minutes down,” they said.  “It’s only crammed during the elevator ride!” they said.  “We only had to put our hands in the air that one time, to get more people in,” they said.  Sorry. You lost me at “two minutes down.” I don’t like small spaces on a good day.  Today, with a head that feels thick and wooly and throbbing, I’m doing everyone a favor by staying up top.

Paul went along and loved it.  He took a lot of pictures per my request and told me all about it when he came back.  The only thing that really sticks with me is that they kept donkeys down there to help with the work of mining, some of them born there and never seeing the light of day their whole lives.  They had stables and all, way down there in the dark.  The government finally put a stop to that, saying they had to bring them up at least once a day.  Well, in the way that politicians have, that turned into a disaster too.  The poor beasts did not tolerate the up and down trip well, and since they had never seen sunshine before, their poor eyes couldn’t handle the light and they went stone cold blind. To this day wild donkeys roam free around on top of the mine and they are thought to be the descendants of those left behind by miners more than a century ago.

I did find out a little bit about Mary Catherine Gortner, for whom the mine is named.  Known as Mollie, she moved her family west and one day when she was out hunting elk she got winded and sat down for a rest.  She looked around while she was sitting there and what should she spy but a rock run through with gold.  Since the place was crawling with prospectors she surreptitiously slipped it into a pocket and kept quiet about it until she was able to file a claim.  The prospecting office said a woman couldn’t own a mine but wonder of wonders Mollie Catherine’s husband just happened to be a lawyer. 

Use your imagination to fill in the blanks but, yes, this was the first gold mine owned and operated by a woman, even though the National Geographic listed the owner as a MR. M C Gortner.  It was in operation until the 1960s, long after Mollie’s death, eventually closing as a mine but remaining open for tours. The mining and tours had operated simultaneously for years due to the high demand from people wanting a first-hand look at how gold was wrested from the earth. The closing of the Carlton Mill in 1961 left all the mines in the area with no way to process their ore leaving them little choice but to close down.

Mining was a dangerous job but the wages of $3.00-4.00 per day found many men willing to risk their lives and over the course of the mine’s operations many thousands died.  The deadliest year, 1907, ended the lives of 3,442 souls.  Fortunately, it is safer today.  We drove past the Newmont Mine, still taking out $1 million a day.

We left the mine at Cripple Creek and drove through Victor, another mining town that still bore the signs of the old west even though modernization was evident as well. It wasn’t hard to imagine how it was a century ago; the lives lived here were hard and life was cheap, valued only as long as you could produce more than you demanded in care and cost.  Times have changed, I think.

Our next destination, I was looking forward to: finally seeing the Royal Gorge and crossing the bridge.  Several of us were hoping to zip-line across.  I had been struggling with a headache all day but decided that I might never have a chance like this again so I decided to join them.  Unfortunately, the zip-line was shut down due to high winds so that was that.

After lunch ($3.49 for a bottle of water!!) we decided to take the trolley across the chasm and as I crawled in beside Paul, Dave called across the barrier separating us, asking if I was prayed up.  “Yes,” I called back, “I’m prayed up!” 

“Oh good, she’s prayed up,” said a big, tough, macho-looking man sitting across from us in the tiny little cab that was dangling from a cable stretched across the canyon.  I told him he was responsible for his own “praying up.”  I’m not sure how the lady beside him had convinced him to take the ride because he was obviously not too happy about it but he laughed nervously.  They kept discussing whether it was 2400 feet down and 1000 across or vice versa.  I told him I don’t think it will make any difference whether it’s 1000 feet deep or 2400.  Either way we’re dead if it falls.  Yep, I’m probably not the person you want when you need reassurance while you’re dangling over the abyss.  I’d rather do this any day than go into the deep, dark bowels of the earth, into a cave where one little earthquake could slowly crush the life out of you. 

We made it across just fine and walked a spell until we reached the bridge.  The wind had definitely picked up and we stopped frequently to enjoy the view below.  A sign forbidding “fishing from the bridge” inspired some comment.  I’m still not sure if it was a joke or not.  I kept watching people swinging over the canyon on a huge swing and I knew if I didn’t do it I’d always wish I had.  But I didn’t want to go alone.  It took me about ten minutes to find two other people willing to go along.

When we were securely (we hoped) harnessed in, Pearl informed me that she would never forgive the person responsible for getting her into this.  Merv, on the other side of me said he hoped his heart could handle it.  “Do you have heart problems??!” I asked him anxiously.  They were already pulling us upward and there was no way out now.

“No.” He laughed at my panicky voice.  “My heart’s fine.”  Wow. Way to give me a heart attack before we ever set sail.  And WOW what a rush it was!  The view was spectacular.  And Pearl forgave me before we were even unstrapped from our gear.  We were laughing about the whole experience all the way back to the bus.  And my headache was gone.  Well, pretty much.

We drove several more hours through scenery that left us without adequate words to express our feelings. The aspens were everything I imagined they would be. Winding our way through rock canyons we eventually reached a one-hundred mile long valley with the “longest straight stretch of highway in Colorado.”  The valley was fifty miles wide ringed by mountain ranges on both sides.  The only thing indicating how far one could see were the numerous farms dotting the landscape looking about the size of pinheads. Herds of antelope ran free, helping themselves to the sagebrush coating mile after mile of the flat valley floor.  We could see green patches where irrigation had taken place in the middle of the wilderness.  And hayfields, huge hayfields, the tractors looking like toys as they crawled along cutting and baling.

We stopped for the night in Alamosa.  The hotel had wine, cheese, and crackers waiting for us. 

Colorado Day Five

A brilliant blue sky and chilly air greeted us as we left the hotel and boarded the bus at 7:00 this morning.  It was our Pike’s Peak day. Since the Cog Train is out of commission we were shuttled up by bus. Much smaller buses than the one we are traveling on.  Our tour guide turned out to be from the same town as Floyd and has the same last name as well.  It’s amazing how often we run into people from our home turf when we are halfway across the country. 

Our first sighting of interest this morning was a septic truck that pulled up alongside the bus at a stop light.  “Yesterday’s Meals On Wheels” was emblazoned on the tank.

Tom turned out to be a great guide and talked all the way to the top of the mountain, except for a particularly precarious turn or two, when even he fell silent.  With nary a guard rail in sight, the sheer drop-offs would have been the death of us all had he not been paying attention.  And there are 155 turns, with a number of switchbacks where we almost met ourselves coming around. As our elevation increased he kept reminding us to drink water and let him know if we are needing help breathing since he carries O2 tanks at all times.

About half way to the top Tom pulled into a rest area for photo ops and other needs.  We found a wood carving caricature of Big Foot which led to a story from one of our group, a strong believer in the mythical creature's existence. And who am I to say different? Leroy told us about his own personal sighting many years ago.  A massive hairy shadow that left behind 18 inch foot prints, each step spanning six feet.  He said the creature left behind a strong noxious smell as it disappeared into think underbrush where even the local law enforcement, turning out in full force, was unable to find it anywhere. 

The top of Pike’s Peak is 14,114 feet above sea level and it definitely made me feel a little “off.”  To put it in perspective though, Mt Everest stands at 29,029 feet elevation. Tom encouraged us to try some of the donuts available for sale up top.  He said they aren’t all that good but that it had taken quite some efforts to figure out how to get the dough to rise at that elevation. He claimed that they would explode into crumbs if we brought them down the mountain.  I’m not entirely sure whether or not he was serious.

Several of the others fared worse than I did.  Paul’s face was beet red and he sat in the café the whole time looking anxious.  He was a little annoyed with me for, as he put it, “bee-bopping around outside like nothing was wrong!”  He was afraid he was approaching death’s door but I assured him he would have had to get quite a bit sicker to qualify for entry.  While I enjoyed walking around the outside, I didn’t push my luck by getting too close to the edge and I was glad for the cold air stimulating what little oxygen was available to move through my system.

I thought of my little grandsons and felt relieved they were not along.  With no guard rails or fences whatsoever, I would have needed to leash them all up in order to keep them safe.  Or maybe in order to keep myself from freaking out.  On our way back down we stopped at The Bottomless Pit, a three thousand foot sheer drop off.  Tom told us he never stops at that spot if there are any teenagers on the bus because, well, we all know how that could go.

The mountain was named after Zebulon Pike although the first person to reach its summit was Edwin James.  If you want to know all the drama behind those facts, there’s Google. We could still see the faint wagon ruts from pioneers who lugged their possessions over these rock-strewn and harrowing mountain ranges.  Tom said the women walked alongside while the men steered the wagons over, around, and through what looked to me virtually impassable places.  I would have walked too, I think. What courage!  Or was it insanity?!  Maybe a little of both.

Anna Mae had cautioned us to drink a lot of water prior to reaching the summit and we were all gamely trying to follow her advice.  However when one drinks a lot one must visit the outhouse a lot as well.  She told us that we will lose a pint of water on this tour.  She underestimated, I think.  I was dizzily walking around outside the mountaintop gift shop when I muttered to the person behind me that I am going to have to go to the bathroom again!  I assumed it was someone from our bus but woe is me, it was a total stranger.  He hustled around me and away, and we avoided eye contact.  I stifled the hysterical laughter that was trying to escape.

After returning to 7,000 feet, we transferred back to our bus and left for lunch in Old Colorado City, a quaint collection of shops, bistros, and such.  We ate with Dave and Irene at The Lazy Elephant, an especially charming coffee shop and café.  At first Paul, whose face had lost its unhealthy looking hue but was still not looking very well, said he didn’t want to eat there because nothing sounded good.  The proprietress heard him and we explained he had just come off the mountain and wasn’t feeling too chipper.  Well, that’s all she needed to hear.  She took him firmly in hand and told him what he needed to eat.  I think her mothering did more good than the food because in no time he was almost himself again.  I felt a tiny bit ashamed at how unsympathetic I had been.   A very tiny bit.  But I was glad to have him back to almost normal again.

We stopped at Focus on the Family for an hour and I took a lovely nap while the others watched a video about the organization.  At least I assume that’s what it was about.  I put my head on Paul’s shoulder and heard none of it until he woke me up to go. Focus on the Family does just that: they have created a fun place for kids and adults and our children would have loved it when they were younger.  A three-story slide and an elevator that looks like the time machine from Whit’s End would have fascinated them. 

For supper we went to Rudy’s BBQ. Fortunately one does not have to excel at spelling in order to be a great cook. Brisket, red-skinned potatoes, creamed corn, coleslaw, and peach cobbler, and another pound or two added to my increasingly rotund figure.  I’m trying to remember that a vacation resulting in weight loss is probably not a very good one.  The temptation to buy some “buffet pants” as Irene calls them, is lurking though.

Colorado Day Four

We left the hotel around 8:30 this morning, looking forward to a busy day of tourism.  Our first stop will be Cave of the Winds, not far out of Colorado Springs. The hairpin turns and switchbacks leading up to the entrance were interesting from the inside of the bus. Noah, our bus driver, was obviously not in his first rodeo.  At one curve roadblocks stopped oncoming traffic because we took up both lanes.  Hanging over the edges didn’t cause me as much anxiety as the upcoming venture into the bowels of the earth.

Our guide, Slim Jim, did a great job explaining all the stalactites, stalagmites, sink holes, rock formations, and all things cave-ward.   He told us hair-raising stories of his own caving experiences, pointing out openings barely big enough for a body to squeeze through; he told us of scooting himself forward, one hand stretched forward, one behind him, on his belly, letting the air out of his lungs to make himself thin enough to move.  On reaching a dead end, he had to scoot backward quite a distance back out.  I felt a little queasy just hearing about it.  Jim, however, was full of enthusiasm about the whole thing.

Next, we went to the Garden of the Gods, where boxed lunches were provided for us on a scenic deck overlooking red limestone rocks with Pikes Peak visible in the distance. The perfect weather was made-to-order. Our ride-along guide, Jane, told us about the kissing camel rocks, the Scotsman, the Indian maid who cries when it rains, and the man with the big nose. The red in the sandstone formations comes from iron oxide and we saw a film that told us in detail how everything was formed over billions of years. I confess I’m skeptical, being a creationist myself, but then who knows how exactly everything was before and during the “without from and void” years. It is the height of arrogance to presume the minute amount of knowledge we possess is all there is. 

The film showed dinosaurs roaming freely and ultimately being destroyed by one natural disaster after another, so now we must content ourselves with the occasional black bear or mountain goat, neither of which we were fortunate enough to see. 

We stopped at the 700 ton balanced rock for photo ops, then we returned to the main buildings to drop off our guide and head to the next attraction. 

Among the many advantages to traveling with this group of people are the tasty snacks that make the rounds whenever a hint of hunger threatens.  We munched on spicy pretzels, party mix, and dark chocolate covered almonds, all home-made of course.  Since today the hearings on the Brett Kavenaugh confirmation hearings are getting heated and downright embarrassing, several people had their phones cranked up so we could all hear what a sorry pass we’ve come to in this country.  When I heard the word flatulence I realized that we have sunk to new depths.  Imagine if you will George Washington talking about GAS.  Seriously, it makes one contemplate immigrating to . . .somewhere. . .anywhere. Legally, of course.  Well, okay, not just anywhere.  Preferably a country where women can drive cars and people we don’t approve of are not killed willy nilly.

A mountain peak far above and to the far left is sprouting antennae of all kinds. Our guide had told us this is NORAD, the North American Aeronautics Defense Command where Canada and the United States work together to provide aerospace warning, air sovereignty, and protection for North America.  Far beneath the surface fifteen 3-story buildings are built on massive springs, designed to protect them from earthquakes or explosions.  They are presumed to be safe from a megaton nuclear explosion from as close as 1.2 miles outside the 25-ton blast proof doors. The complex houses a medical facility, store, cafeteria, and fitness centers.  Housing for personnel ranges from communal bunks to well-appointed apartments, depending on one’s status.  The area surrounding the entrance is restricted and hikers will be escorted away should they venture too close.

We stopped next at the Manitou Cliff Dwellings. Strolling around the pueblo and exploring their homes carved out of the cliffs, I could almost hear the children running and playing while the women ground the corn with only stones for tools.  I could see the hunters disappearing soundlessly into the surrounding vegetation and trees, stalking game, returning with venison and buffalo.  The old men sit around the fire telling tales and boasting about past exploits; the old women entertain babies while their mothers tend to tasks requiring young limbs and strong backs. 

The oldest part of this pueblo was built in 1898, remaining occupied until 1984.  The Taos Pueblo was built around 1450 and has been continuously inhabited.  With no doors or windows in lower floors the only access to the dwellings was by ladders which were pulled up at night or during enemy attacks. An amazingly effective and comfortable habitation, altogether.

Then it was on to Seven Falls, a spectacularly scenic series of waterfalls spilling out of rock formations rising hundreds of feet into the brilliant blue sky.  I chose to ride an elevator to the first scenic overlook but decided to take the hundreds of stairs to the bottom after drinking in the incredible sights.  When my knees didn’t protest too loudly after several hundred steps down, I figured why not attempt the 210-step climb to the platform nearest the upper falls?

It went fairly well considering the high altitude gave my lowlander lungs some burning, breathless minutes.  And the views were definitely worth the effort.  If you will look closely you will see me descending in the picture to the left. I'm almost one-third of the way down. I’ll see what my knees have to say to me tomorrow.  The older I get the louder the voice of my joints.  It’s rather infuriating.

A tired but satisfied group of travelers boarded the bus for our evening meal at The Golden Corral.  Gourmet cuisine, not so much, but quite sufficient none-the-less and certainly a good fit for our dusty, hungry group.  Weary we were and happy to see our hotel tonight.

Colorado Day Three

We left the hotel around 8:15 this morning and Cal read the devotional.  There were lots of reminders hurled his way to “make sure you have your phone!”  I must say I enjoyed that more than I should have, maybe.  And things continued to get better.  Pearl confessed she had accidently used fabric softener on her hair instead of the conditioner she was thinking she was using. (She smells fresh as a spring day, her hair has no wrinkles, and it’s static free).  I tell you, anyone who doesn’t think seniors and those fast approaching that status don’t have joy and laughter in their lives has never met a bunch like this busload. I’m finding new advantages, the older I get.  I realize many, probably most, young people think I’m irrelevant and with this realization comes the freedom to be who I am and do what I want. I laughed until I had tears before I even finished breakfast this morning.  And no, I wasn’t sitting alone, talking to myself, or cackling insanely.

Our first stop was exactly 1,561 miles between both San Francisco and New York City.  A small store/museum sat next to an old country church with spire, pews, and pulpit all in pristine condition.  I could almost see a beribboned Nellie Olson misbehaving while her mother sat self-righteously and oblivious beside her in the congregation.  Traveling with a group of people who love to sing means never passing up an opportunity for some spontaneous harmony.  I think that little church enjoyed the hymns rising to its rafters as much as we enjoyed singing them.

We ate lunch at the Central Station Bar and Grill in Dodge City.  The BBQ was great and the atmosphere even better.  Train dining cars from long ago let us step back in history, providing a glimpse of what travel may have been like in the old west.  That is, after the railway made its way across the continent.  Before those tracks were laid, it was much more harrowing and tedious.  We stopped to take a look at original markings, still faintly visible, of the Santa Fe Trail.  Beginning in Santa Fe, it stretched for 900 miles through five states: Missouri, Colorado, Kansas, Oklahoma, and New Mexico. The hardy souls who ventured forth with their families and meager possessions, knowing full well they would likely never see the loved ones they left behind, these people were made of some stern stuff.  Standing where they stood, one can’t help but imagine what it might have been like.

We stopped at the edge of Dodge City to see a feed lot, off in the distance.  In my mind the words “feed lot” brings forth a mental picture of an acre of land with a few cows feeding from a trough.  Forget that!  We stood maybe half a mile away on a rise looking down on acres of fenced off lots filled with thousands of cattle.  The strong aroma of manure permeated everything, including the bus.  Off in the distance we could see a cluster of large buildings where the processing takes place, after the cows have eaten their way to sufficient plumpness.  Over 2,000 employees work round the clock, six days a week slaughtering, processing and packaging 6,000 head of beef a day, cows that walk in one door and leave in neat, ready-to-sell containers by another.  I was impressed and creeped out all at the same time. They claim to use every part of the cow except the udders.  I’m not sure why that is.  And were it not in poor taste I could think of so many puns to insert here.

We passed many wind turbines along the way, hundreds, maybe thousands.  The huge blades start at around 116 feet long and are fastened atop a 212 foot tower, reaching a total height of over 300 feet.  They didn’t look that big, driving by.  I convinced Anna Mae to climb up in the end of one on display to give some perspective on size. But knowing the cost for each one ranges from 1.3 to 2.2 million made the scope of investment we witnessed mind-boggling. I can’t help but wonder if the electricity produced justifies the expense. But that’s research for another day.

After crossing into Colorado we stopped at a welcome center in LaMar where a statue known as the Madonna of the West stands tall and proud, one child clasped against her breast, another clutching at her skirt, as she honors the many women who courageously followed their husbands to lands unknown.  These amazing pioneers faced everything from hostile Indians (not that one can blame the natives, but that’s a story for a different blog), to volatile weather, to hazardous trails, and even starvation, often losing their children to disease, and giving birth along the way.  Impossible for me to wrap my head around.  I suspect I would have opted to stay safely in the east until the West was won.

We stopped at a museum so filled with the past, even the smell reeked of history.  A real sod house, furnished in the way of the pioneers, was open for touring.  The small home was quite snug and showed the ingenuity of the men and women who reached the plains and found nary a tree with which to build dwellings of any sort.  With its foot-thick walls made of sod, straw, and mud, it looked able to withstand some brutal conditions, withstanding frigid winter blizzards and sweltering summer heat.  There were many pianos in the adjoining museum providing evidence that harsh realities were made more bearable by retaining the finer things in life, even when lugging them across mountains, over rivers, and through endless prairies must have been incredibly challenging.

I was surprised to see the plains continue well into Colorado but they gradually gave way to gentle rises and even a small hill now and then.  I’ve never been to Colorado except one brief stay in Denver and not being a city-dweller by nature, I found today’s journey more to my liking.  We drove many miles through desolation before finally seeing Pike’s Peak, over seventy-five miles ahead, nearly invisible in the haze.

We passed through a tiny town of Wild Horse where an Amish settlement started in 1909.  Land was offered at about 12.00 an acre.  The Amish only stayed five years.  Crop failures, among other misfortunes may have played into their swift departure.  Mile after mile of prairie without any trees in sight give the place a desolate, forlorn atmosphere.  A small block building with US Post Office on the front looks fairly new and is presumable still in use.  The railroad runs like an iron ribbon cutting through the grass that blankets everything in shades of gold and brown.  Small groups of antelope feed in the distance and are the only signs of life we can see.  Occasional washes prove there are times when water is flowing across the arid wilderness.

As we neared Colorado Springs we crested a hill and saw the flashing lights and backed up cars that never indicate anything good.  Our amazing bus driving turned us around with no more difficulty than some of the small cars doing the same in front of us. We later learned someone had made an illegal u-turn on the two-lane highway, ending up directly in the path of an on-coming big rig.  Had we been only a few minutes earlier, it could have been us.  Our prayers for protection are a daily thing and we thank God for protection and mercy.

 

 After supper on our own (we ended up at an Out Back within walking distance of our hotel, as did a few other others), we strolled back to the hotel and played cards until we were too tired to focus.  Well, some of the ladies did.  It seems all the men needed their sleep. Or maybe the lack of oxygen at this altitude is affecting them.  For myself, I can tell I’m short of breath too, even though our uphill climb was so gradual I never even noticed.

Colorado Bound, Day Two

We met in the breakfast area a few minutes after 6:00 AM for coffee and to wait until our breakfast was ready.  It was much better than normal hotel breakfast fare.  We actually got real eggs!  Not the plastic, rubbery kind that are dumped out of a milk carton.  After good food and a great night’s sleep, I’m ready for new adventures.  And Oh Happy Day, there's finally another person on board who has phone issues for which he can be harassed!

We had just pulled out of the hotel when Cal realized he didn't have his phone.  I knew I was still paranoid about my absentmindedness from a former trip when I surreptitiously checked my pockets to make sure I didn't have an extra phone hiding in one of them.  The bus turned around, we headed back so he could check the room he had stayed in.  I admit, some rather nervous thoughts ran through my head while he was gone.  "I'll NEVER live this down if somehow this is my fault."  "It's impossible that this is my fault!"  "If I find his phone in my stuff, I'll know I really am on the short track for senility."  "Maybe I really  am crazy and it's finally going to be confirmed."  "Please God let him find his phone!!"

People were jokingly suggesting searching my bags when Cal's wife Shirl started talking to him on her phone.  Several of us asked the obvious. "Did he find it?"  Well, probably since he's talking on it! I tried to hide how relieved I was even though it would have been pretty impossible for me to have gotten my hands on it.  And I'm pretty excited that I'm not the only one on this bus to mislay things.  But I probably shouldn't rule out therapy altogether.

Anna Mae read our devotional after we were on the bus.  And as soon as we got on the highway a thunderstorm broke loose and we crept through the downpour with the other vehicles brave enough to venture forth.

We drove past a 198 foot cross in Effingham, Illinois.  It claims to be the largest cross in America, a creative way to inspire the 50,000 motorists who pass each day.  Ten stones at the base are inscribed with the commandments given to Moses by the Almighty Himself.  John Herman Schultz was the man instrumental in erecting the cross and more info can be found at: https://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/10913

Much of the day was spent just driving.  We crossed the mighty Mississippi, drove through St Louis, passed the Truman Sports Complex where the Kansas City Royals and the Kansas City Chiefs play, and eventually entered the state of Kansas.  The level fields of Illinois are like hills and dales compared to the flatlands of Kansas.  While I’m thankful for the breadbasket of America and the diligent farmers who sow and reap for us, I have to admit I would not be able to live in a place without the occasional hill.   

After checking into the Comfort Inn in Hutchinson we were met by our local tour guide, Leonard Yoder. He gave us much of interest to think about as the bus cruised up and down the streets, or should I say The STREET, of a quaint little village with the name of Yoder, after the first person who lived there.  Leonard handed out brochures showing the details of their annual Heritage Days celebration, and who should be on the cover other than one of our local bands from back in Ohio, Liberated.  In fact Paul has played guitar for them on occasion.  Leonard told us that the town of Yoder has about 60 people living there at present, “if you count all the dogs and cats” but that it swells to 10,000 during their Heritage Days festivities.  How they all fit, I have no idea.  Well, there are a lot of surrounding fields, come to think of it.

When the US Postal service tried to shut down the Yoder Post Office, they held a meeting to explain to the townspeople the whys and wherefores of their decision.  They figured around six people would show and set up chairs accordingly.  When two hundred people arrived in protest of the proposed shut-down, it created such a kerfuffle among the postal authorities that they agreed to keep the doors open for half-days, a compromise that prevented all-out civil unrest among the outraged locals and peace returned to the community once again.

We rode up and down more roads, each one as straight as an arrow and looking exactly like all the others. Massive grain silos dot the horizon.  Train tracks criss-cross everywhere. The longest grain elevator in the country supposedly resides just outside Hutchinson, although there are claims of one slightly longer in Wichita. Kansas.  Whether its length exceeds that of all others or not matters little; at a half-mile long, it is indeed impressive.  It holds 17 million bushels of grain and is owned by the Farmers CO-OP Commission.

Just across the field is a maximum security prison, inmates clearly visible behind the huge coils of barbed wire that line a chain link tunnel, separating their world from ours. How different are the lives of people who live mere yards apart!

We passed another local wonder, a salt mine that allows visitors to see the workings deep below the surface, 650 feet within the bowels of the earth.  Thankfully, we did not have time to see this for ourselves.  I prefer to stay above ground and am quite content tohear about such excursions second hand.  The mine is still producing large quantities of salt and is the only such mine in the western hemisphere that allows visitors below its surface at such great depths.  There are only two other underground salt museums in the world: one in Austria and one in Poland.  Another interesting bit of trivia:  Old films are stored in the mine because the zero humidity helps them to stay preserved.

Leonard showed us fields of corn, sorghum, soy beans, milo, wheat, hay, and a few other things.  The vast acreage cultivated and put to good use is staggering.  How blessed we are, in this great country! One field, on Leonard's own farm, held more large round bales of hay than I've ever seen in one place before.  He said they are all sold to a farmer in Missouri who has 2000 head of cattle and not enough food to feed them.

We ended up at the Amish Community Building where a local Amish lady, Mary Mast, prepared a delicious supper for us.  Several of our group knew people from the area and had arranged to meet up there, so as we were eating visitors began drifting in.  I have a niece from WV who married a fellow from Hutchinson and after living here several years they moved to NYC.  Talk about experiencing every spectrum of American culture!  From mountains to plains to the largest metropolis in the country!  I suspect the city suits them best after all.

With bellies full and drowsiness descending, we boarded the bus and headed back to our hotel.  We aren’t leaving tomorrow until after 8:00 so I’m excited at the prospect of sleeping in!  And tomorrow we hope to reach the mountains.  I’m ready!