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And then the wonderland of Florida, its billboards and its bling. We drove past Gainesville, place where decades ago (or was it yesterday?) where Charlotte and I met in an anthropology class and, in a sense, a longer road trip began...of which this is a side trip. And then, after cruising Alligator Alley, we arrived in vast, diverse, cosmopolitan, sun-splashed metro Miami. 
And the palm tree (cared for in Fort Collins for the past months and decorated for Christmas by Charlotte) arrived along with the sofa, bed, CDs, clothes, books, wine glasses, bunt pans, lamps, paintings, cabinets, tv, watering cans, pottery, pots and pans, stereo speakers, keyboard, chairs...safe and sound. The stuff of our lives. Leaving the unloading to the next day, we sat on the balcony of Tom and Halie's apartment, looking out over the houses and wetlands that form south Florida. Road trip over. Home
After visiting with Jose, we headed across the wide Mississippi (tho' it was lost in the fog) and headed southeast through Illinois (tho' it was lost in the fog). Then crossing the Ohio (partially obscured by fog) into Kentucky, into Tennessee, into Georgia (partially obscured by fog). The cities were centers of swaths of slow moving trucks and cars pouring onto the interstates in search of ways out of town, ways to shopping centers, to emporiums of stuff for Christmas presents. 
But we ate up the miles, fed the beast, noted our reliance upon middle eastern oil, told stories, listened to music, listed to news (obscured by the fog), stopped for food at gas stations, noted how billboards obliterate the American landscape (actually form the new American landscape), shared observations on law school and life, and made decisions about stopping for the night (we headed for the Florida border...making it around 1 am), about which highway to take (two interstates diverged in a wood...), about how to live our lives. You know, road trip talk.
I 70 laid down its dry pavement east across the Nebraska plains. We ate mile after mile. As well as eating snacks that Charlotte had packed. We stopped at truck stops, taking a while to figure out just how you pay for diesel fuel at gigantic pumps and how you really need a long broom handle to wash the windows. I also learned that when you want to check to see if the diesel is going into the tank, you do not just pull the handle out and look at it while it continues to pour out the fuel.
Fog replaced sun as we crossed into Missouri. In the late, damp afternoon, we pulled into the eastern fringes of St. Louis. And, following up on a morning call to Melissa, we met up with her and Jose for supper. Jose liked the truck (what's not to like) and wanted to join the road trip. But we told him he'd have to ride in the back (where he could sleep on the sofa). He declined our offer but thought it would be fun to drive the truck himself.
After supper, we navigated (more or less) successfully through the complex of interstates that slice through St. Louis, crossed the fog-strewn Mississippi, and headed southeast toward the next major city, Atlanta.
Wed. Dec. 19 - After Charlotte, Cory, Tom and I loaded the Penske truck with the contents of his Denver condo, we headed east. This was a Christmas road trip. Two thousand, two hundred (more or less) miles of interstate: I 70 - I 64 - I 57 - I 24 - I 75 (more or less) should get us to his and Halie's new apartment in Pembroke Pines.
The weather was bright; the road was dry; the conversation flowing.
We put into Hays, Nebraska for the evening. Ate a a brew pub that was not really a brew pub, but it was right next store to an Auto Parts place that supplied some additional tie-downs for the Vespa which, being the last item but the most precious item we are carrying, needed some extra care to stay upright against the side of the mighty Penske.
When I came over the pass to Winter Park on Wednesday, the "beach" at Berthoud Pass was in full blast. These guys were enjoying a break from the heavy falling snow. All they needed were the pink flamingos to make it a total scene. The rest of the backcountry skiers and riders were still gliding between the trees. I had come up somewhat late from Fort Collins where Charlotte was finishing the 13? 14? 15? packages of gifts she was sending off to family scattered across the country. We were still feeling the glow of the annual cookie party which, these days, has become less about cookies and more about friendship, neighbors, music, and a wide range of pot luck food and drink.
But at Winter Park twelve inches of powder had fallen. Deep powder, deep silence. And Thursday was one of those perfect ski days: clear sun in the morning on the deep powder, clouds come rolling in the early afternoon, around 1:30 the temperature begins to drop and by 3:30 when I was leaving the parking lot to return to the hostel in Fraser the snow had begun to fall again.
I've been working on the bumps and have noticed some slight improvement, though it could just be the deep powder is being gentle. What remains the same, without any regard to technique, is the beauty of being in these mountains in the midst of winter snows and that sense of exhilaration that comes from a smooth descent of the slopes.
And then the wonderland of Florida, its billboards and its bling. We drove past Gainesville, place where decades ago (or was it yesterday?) where Charlotte and I met in an anthropology class and, in a sense, a longer road trip began...of which this is a side trip. And then, after cruising Alligator Alley, we arrived in vast, diverse, cosmopolitan, sun-splashed metro Miami. 
And the palm tree (cared for in Fort Collins for the past months and decorated for Christmas by Charlotte) arrived along with the sofa, bed, CDs, clothes, books, wine glasses, bunt pans, lamps, paintings, cabinets, tv, watering cans, pottery, pots and pans, stereo speakers, keyboard, chairs...safe and sound. The stuff of our lives. Leaving the unloading to the next day, we sat on the balcony of Tom and Halie's apartment, looking out over the houses and wetlands that form south Florida. Road trip over. Home
