A Long Drive

Sign proclaiming the loneliest road

Just a few days of warm weather causes us to miss the cold – just a little. About the drive on the Loneliest Road. (Map this!)

After waiting six weeks for the car to be done we were hoping for a nice relaxing drive home. Hah! We just happened to pick the worst storm of the season to drive to San Francisco. After dumping nine feet of snow in the Sierra Nevada it moved straight towards us. Luckily we skirted around it but outside Idaho Falls we hit the slipperiest spot on the trip. Going 50mph was fine until I wanted to pull over to take a photo – the FJ scooted forward like a hockey puck upon the most minimal braking.

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Serenity at Las Rosas

A hiatus in the hometown – Our journey South begins.

The hiatus in San Francisco passes by in a flurry of activity. We buy things, we make calls. The Northern trip exposed logistic gaps that we take care of. The FJ goes to one shop to get new lights installed; I go to another to get a haircut. We meet friends. Normal, mundane things of everyday life; mixed in with the unusual enquiries like how long we can keep the car out of the country before it is considered exported. (The answer is as long as we like, as long as it stays registered).

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Vista from Jackson Hole Ski Resort

Jackson becomes a second home for us, with new friends and adventures. (Map this!)

When friends buy us dinner or take us out to the movies I gladly accept their generosity since I know that sooner or later I will return the favour because friendship is a long term relationship and over the course of a friendship such things even out eventually. But the kindness of strangers is another matter altogether and is surprisingly difficult to accept.

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Contentment

Seeking a balance between the new and the old, exploring and keeping the comforts of everyday life.

We seek the new and the unfamiliar. A good friend of ours (A certain Mr. Fredrick Gault) once asked us why we wanted to start teleskiing when we were such good downhill skiers. And as we ski precariously balanced in the tele position, trying to stay away from inept skiers careening downhill on intermediate slopes, I ask myself the same thing.

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In Yellowstone National Park

A trip to Yellowstone is reminiscent of Canto thirteen of the Inferno.

This last trip to Yellowstone I couldn’t help but think of Canto thirteen, where Dante describes a walk through the wood of suicides. The souls of those who took their lives are entombed in trees without leaves which are not straight but knotty and deformed.

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