I had timed my arrival in Alamosa just about right, rolling into town around 6 in the evening, a perfect time to check in at a motel. I had bedded down in Ol’ Blue for eight straight nights, so I figured it was about time for a good shower and shampoo. Thinking back, I could have showered at the Farrises Saturday afternoon, but I had eschewed the idea for not wanting to get in the way of all the house guests. I felt I had made the right choice because it was one helter-skelter afternoon. I checked in at The Best Western Inn and took advantage of the overhead light and table to really up-date my journal (I really hadn’t got much done at the truck stop in Santa Rosa). I retired in a maid-made bed. What a luxury!
I headed north on U.S. 285 to Saguache, then over North Pass at an elevation of 10,149 feet on CO 114. Just past the summit, I noticed a stranded motorist waving his hands in distress. I thought to myself, “What the heck. I’ve got plenty of time. Maybe I can give him a ride into Gunnison and have someone to talk to.” As I was negotiating a U-turn on a two-lane roadway with no shoulders, I inadvertently slid down into a gully and found myself mired in deep sand. I rocked Ol’ Blue back and forth from drive to reverse, but to no avail. I thought, “Great! I was trying to be a Good Samaritan, and look what a fine mess I had gotten myself into.” I flagged down a motorist in a SUV who unfortunately didn’t have any means by which to pull me out, like a chain or whatever. He was headed to Gunnison, so I asked him to call Triple A to send a tow truck. He obliged.
I wasn’t about to sit around feeling helpless, so I wedged my four 2 x 8 levelers (two each behind the rear tires), and spun out onto the pavement. Oh, what a great feeling to be so resourceful! I hadn’t noticed any cars coming from the direction of the stranded motorist, so I took off back up the hill to offer my help, only to find there was no stranded car in sight. He had vanished into thin air — one of those unsolved mysteries I guessed. As I was nearing Gunnison, two patrol cars, an ambulance, and a fire truck passed me headed towards the summit. I thought, “Hey, I only asked for a tow truck, not the county militia.” Then a tow truck did pass me, but waving at him to stop was fruitless. Well, at least, they had the whole gang up there to save my rear end.
I immediately drove to the Gunnison County Records Building to renew Ol’ Blue’s Colorado registration, and at the same time called Triple A to cancel my emergency request. I made my way over to Wal-Mart to use the pay phone to call Gene Patterson, my friend from highschool days. There was no answer, but I decided to drive up to Almont anyway, only a short 12 miles to the north. I was determined to give her what I hoped would be a “knock your socks off” present, even it meant having to leave it on her doorstep. I found her outside in the corral tending to her beloved horses. What a perfect time to hand over Something Wicked, an aquarelle of a bucking bronco, kicking up a whirl of dirt and sand. She was overwhelmed, giving me an unexpected hug with her appreciation. Now that was worth a 900-mile trip to give a special gift to a special friend.
We retired to the house where we had a most enjoyable reunion, especially when it came to rehashing the memories of old highschool friends. I asked her if she had seen two exceptional equine movies, namely The Man from Snowy River and The Horse Whisperer. She said, “Oh yes, I’ve seen them both several times. I loved them.” I was surprised to hear that her house was up for sale, a beautiful one-storey with loft wood structure. I was equally unprepared to learn that she was responsible for the design, and even assisted in the construction. I said, “Gene, architecture might have been your second calling.” She replied, “Maybe so, but it would have never taken the place of my love for raising and training cutting horses.” I retired to Ol’ Blue, thankful again that I didn’t have to spend the night in a Wal-Mart parking lot. It was a crisp 36 degrees outside as I gazed up at a starlit night.
Gene had to leave early for Crested Butte, so I was left to fend for myself. Fortunately, I had my usual staples of milk, orange juice, and a banana. I headed east out of Gunnison on U.S. 50 and eventually up an interminable ascent to Monarch pass at 11,312 feet. I stopped at the summit to pan the Continental Divide in all its snowy splendor. Gosh almighty, it was so serene up there on top of the world. Turning off the engine proved to be The Big Mistake. When I tried starting her up, I could tell the carburetor wasn’t getting enough air, meaning the butterfly valve was stuck. I should have known better. It had happened to me before on a high Colorado pass where the air was cold and thin. I pulled off the console and the “doghouse”, and removed the top of the air filter. That was a big hassle, but the advantage of having access to the engine from inside was that I was able to reach in with my finger and open the valve while pumping the gas pedal. After a few tries, she started right up. Whew!
I coasted 4,000 feet down to Salida, all the while wondering what to do next. It was mid-afternoon and I thought, “Should I try to make it to Denver or what?” I spotted a Checkers Auto and stopped in front. When I tried starting again, I had to go through the same fingering procedure to crank her up. This did not ring right. I went inside and asked a young man behind the counter, “Is there an auto repair service anywhere close?” He said, “Sure, there’s a Amoco station just down the street on the right.” I easily found the station and explained the problem to the head honcho. Regretfully, he said it would be a couple of hours before he could get me in a stall. The sun was getting low in the sky. I was at a crossroad. There was a Super 8 Motel next door, so I said, “Keep her for the night if you have to. I’m checking in at the motel next door.” I had never stayed at a Super 8 because of their uninviting, econo-boxes with an interior corridor layout. As luck would have it, this one was laid out with drive-up-to-your-door rooms. After settling in, I biked up to the station to see what progress had been made, and lo and behold, they had already made the necessary adjustments to the carburetor, but emphasized it would be a good idea to keep it in the garage to see what the overnight cooling affect would have on the carburetor. I could buy that. It was so reassuring to find a real working service station, so rare these days. Back in my room, which incidentally, had a back window with a marvelous mountain view, I up-dated my journal while blessing The Good Lord for getting me through a most eventful day.
Check-out time was 11 AM, so I went by the office to ask for a little grace time, explaining that my van was next door undergoing repairs and might not be ready until noon. She politely obliged my request. During the morning, I made several bike trips over to the service station to see if everything was up to snuff. About 11:30 Ol’ Blue was ready to roll, and while I was paying the tariff, I said, “I’ll never stop the engine on Monarch Pass again, that’s for sure.” He got a little chuckle out of that.