colorado triangle

It takes approximately seven hours to drive from my home to Denver, on a good day, within the speed limit. That being said, I have spent between five and twelve hours on the road getting to Denver.

Little Gen making lemonade.

One of my earliest memories is making the trip with my best friend and amateur private eye, Agent A. We left on a Friday night at rush hour. Two hours later, we left our city limit. Ah, the folly of youth.

Somewhere around Antonito, nearly into Colorado, I was complaining about the constrictive nature of my jeans.

"Why don't you take off your pants," Agent A advised.

"Uh, that's OK," I said, eying her strangely. I spent the next several hours wondering why my best friend would suggest that I drive in my underwear before it was clarified that she had actually meant, "take off your pants and put on another pair." Well, why didn't she say so? I'd thought we were in the middle of a poorly budgeted...not to mention dangerous...lesbian porno. Obviously, I've never watched lesbian porn.

On the road, again.

We were ten minutes from our contact in Buena Vista, who was waiting in her truck on a snowy night at the post office, when we unwittingly went left at the split when we were supposed to go right, and ended up driving an hour out of the way into the snowy moonlit mountains. At one turn, I swear there was a huge antlered deer looking straight into the driver's side window.

But last summer was, by far, the worst blunder in the history of driving to Denver escapades, for which I take full responsibility. As you may know, there is one freeway which goes the entire way from Albuquerque to Denver; all one must do is stay on that freeway for the quickest route. Little Gen, her boyfriend Asif, and I were on that freeway. Then for some inexplicable reason, aside from a previously set pattern of detour, an hour into our drive, I took us off said freeway.

And thus began a twelve hour tour through northern New Mexico into southern Colorado. To add insult to injury, Little Gen's SUV was in the habit of bucking violently back and forth when it became overheated, so we had to stop and let it rest every half hour, making for some scenic photo ops, but very tired and frustrated travelers.

OneArmGirl making lemonade.

We did, however, get to see a black bear and her cub cross the road in front of our car, which I consider to be well worth the additional five hours of driving time.

This past weekend, Little Gen, Mountain Guy, and I headed north once again. We actually managed to stay on the freeway this time which, combined with LG's average 93mph, put us in Denver about five hours after we left, brief stop at the outlet mall for underwear notwithstanding. Unfortunately, we drove into the city just at rush hour.

But we did eventually arrive at our final destination, the home of the aforementioned long-suffering contact who was then a rafting guide living in her truck. Now, she and her husband have a lovely old wood-floored abode in the Denver suburbs. It's a stones throw away from a coffee shop from which MG carried fresh brews each morning to his late-rising traveling companions.

When we left on Sunday morning, MG almost immediately started us down the wrong road and, after a bit of shopping downtown, it was discovered that I had left my pillow at our weekend hosts' house, necessitating a twenty minute back track. LG was unnaturally quiet in the backseat.

Denver, I love you, really. If it's not you, it must be me.

OneArmGirl